Yesterday I watched as female delegates at the DNC were moved to tears at the official nomination of Hillary Clinton. It was touching. It is a huge historical event. Hillary is the first woman to receive a nomination from a major political party, and she may be the next president.
I get it.
But as a Black Woman with the heart of a Revolutionary, I am not moved.
Call me anti-feminist.
I don’t care, and if you knew me you would never say such a thing.
Apparently my identity is in a constant state of evolution, because the voice of the woman in me wanes in comparison to the voice of the baby panther slowly growing inside of me.
This inner child is wailing. She is outraged. She does not feel represented by Hillary and her platform. She does not feel that because she is a woman she should pledge her allegiance to this white woman of privilege.
I have to vote for Hillary because I am afraid of a world where Trump is president. But I am not thrilled with the choice I am being forced to make.
Part of me hoped that by some miracle Bernie would walk out of the DNC as the candidate.
Instead, he did his part to try and unify his party, and I respect that.
So many things about yesterday irritated me…
And I am sure I will be in a state of frustration for months to come…