November 8

November 8th we put the kids to bed and sat down to watch the election coverage. Expecting a sweep of blue -- like the last Canadian election -- we instead saw red. We switched from CNN to PBS -- the public broadcasting station -- to search for a more intellectual opinion and watched as seasoned political analysts stumbled over their words. Unable to mask their own shock (and horror). Our newly minted confidence in a more progressive America shattered. We held hands and I cried.

I woke on November 9th furious and scared. I knew every visible minority would be at risk of being roughed up by emboldened bigots on this day and the weeks to come. We spoke to friends, checked in with neighbours. We donated to the American Civil Liberties Union and Planned Parenthood. Our friends asked us, "will you go back to Canada now?" And we said, "No, we stay, we fight. This is our home too."

The anti-Trump sentiment in the San Francisco Bay and Los Angeles areas is loud and proud. People are organizing, donating, debating every aspect of the incoming regime. I feel like people are remembering the political activism of California in the 60s and 70s and drawing not only from the baby boomers years of experience but the ideas of the tech-savvy millennials. I feel hopeful and at least safe and supported here right now.