On fear and hope

A lady? For president?

Saul Loeb / AFP - Getty Images

Joe Rogan’s voice vibrates from the Tesla speakers as I step into my Uber. 

The drive from my house to West Philadelphia is 20 minutes long. I buckle up and bite my tongue. 

Rogan’s talking to some guy about the size of his dick. Now, his balls. Something about the way a dick and balls sit in a wrestling singlet.

Surely, he’s going to shut this off. Or at least turn it down? 

I’m no prude, but the election is less than a week away, I have a migraine, and I’m not in the mood to listen to the King of the Manosphere yap about his genitals for the next seven miles. 

I check out the driver. He’s in his late thirties or early forties. White. Thin. I lean away from my anger and into curiosity. 

Or maybe I’m in the mood for a fight.

“So, are you a big Rogan fan?”

“Oh, God yeah. Huge. I love him. I love him,” he says in a thick Northeast Philly accent.

He doesn’t sound unlike half of the guys I went to high school with, who still argue politics with me in the Serra family backyard during their annual Christmas party. 

“So what did you think about the Trump interview?” I ask.

Shut up, Lauren. Just shut up. 

“Well… I mean Trump talked a lot. Wish he had let Joe talk more. Joe’s always going to give a fair interview. But he’s a Trump guy. He’s definitely a Trump guy.”

“Hmm, really? He hasn’t said who he’s voting for. He sounds a little fed up with Trump actually.. Maybe he’ll go the other way.”

I can feel the temperature in the car rising. 

“What? No. He’s a Trump guy.”

“Are you a Trump guy?”

“Yeah, I mean, I like the people he’s gonna surround himself with. He’s gonna get rid of the swamp people and actually put some smart people in charge.”

“Yeah? Like who?”

“I mean Elon. Elon’s the smartest guy in the world.”

“The smartest guy in the world?”

“Yeah. He is. He definitely is.”

The heat rises again.

“I’m not sure about that.”

“Who would you nominate then?” He’s getting louder.

“For smartest person in the world? I don’t think I have a way to measure that.”

“You really don’t think Elon’s the smartest guy in the world?”

“I don’t. He is one of the richest though, and I don’t think I want the richest man in the world, who has only ever acted in his own self interest, to make decisions about the country.”

Shut up, Lauren. Just shut the fuck up. You’re trapped in a car with someone who hates you. Just shut up. 

Then, “So what about the border? What about all ‘dem illegals running over the border?” 

Boom. 

“What are ‘illegals?’ Do you mean undocumented immigrants? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about? The ILLEGALS. THE ILLEGALS COMING INTO THIS COUNTRY. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THAT?”

He’s screaming now. 

What is he so scared of? I wonder, genuinely.

My hands are shaking, and I notice my phone battery’s low. I have an intrusive thought: This man wants to kill me.

I can’t flee. My fight brain takes over.

“Well, I’m Mexican. But besides that, I’m not going to sit here and talk about ‘illegals’ with you.”

He yells some more.

“Where are you from?” I ask.

“Philly?”

“Where are your parents from?”

“Philly!”

“What about their parents? Where did your family originate? Are you Native American?”

Now I’ve really pissed him off. “I see what you’re doing. They’re from Poland. My great grandparents are from Poland.”

“Poland. So, your family immigrated to this country from another country? When was that? Were they escaping something? Did they come here legally?”

“OK… I got seven minutes left on this ride and I don’t want you in this car.”

My heart feels like it will beat straight out of my chest. Fuck this guy. 

“I paid for this ride…”

He cuts the steering wheel so hard I’m sure he is going to run us off of the road. He’s going to kill me.

The car screeches to a halt in a deserted section of Grays Ferry. He tells me to get out.

“You have a nice day, sir,” I say. 

***

I’m sitting in a circle of Harris supporters on a Sunday morning in South Philadelphia. 

We’ve been asked to introduce ourselves and say who we are canvassing for. 

Some of these people are my neighbors. Others have traveled — from New York, Maryland, Illinois, and California — to knock on doors for Democrats up and down the ballot.

“I’m canvassing for my mom who passed away a few days before November 2020.”

“I’m here for my kids.”

“I’m here for my future kids.”

“I’m here for the future of the planet.”

“I’m canvassing for Kamala Harris.”

“I’m canvassing for my family back in Virginia.”

“I’m here for Kamala!”

“I’m here for her,” says a mother with a nine-year-old daughter in her lap.

“I’m here for my generation,” says the girl. 

It’s my turn. I try to swallow the lump in my throat that has been growing over the past three months.

“I’m canvassing for my mom,” I say. “She’s 71 years old and deserves to have a female president in her lifetime.”

***

Kamala Harris reminds me of my mother. She looks like her, laughs like her, and they share a similar penchant for sweet treats.

Growing up, my mom taught me first and foremost to have empathy and compassion for all people, and most importantly, to take care of those who were less fortunate than myself. In college, my newspaper adviser echoed a similar sentiment: “Comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.” It is an ethos that guides my writing, my comedy, and my life. It is what being a progressive means to me. 

My first draft of this newsletter laid out all of the ways in which Donald Trump is an immediate danger to our health and safety, and an existential threat to the future of democracy; that he and the extremists who he sends to the White House would deny women their rights to basic health care and spread illness among our families; that he would further embolden domestic terrorists to inflict violence in our communities; that he would worsen the human rights crisis in Gaza and use military force against the protestors who push back against his policies; that he would purge scientific experts from his Administration and further destroy the planet; that he would impose tariffs, deport millions of low-wage workers, and crash the economy; that his endless lying, gaslighting, and hate-fueled propaganda would further destroy the commonalities that bind all Americans. 

I wanted to remind you that he has no right running for the presidency at all; that he is a convicted felon, a rapist, and a fascist who refuses to accept the results of a free and fair election and incited a violent mob to attack the U.S. Capitol on January 6, 2021; that he has made endless vile, racist, misogynist comments about women, people with disabilities, and every racial and ethnic group that exists in this country; that he is 78 years old and shows clear signs of dementia and overall cognitive and physical decline; that he is wholly unfit and undeserving to hold the highest office in the United States of America. 

I think the fact that Kamala Harris is Not Donald Trump is as good a reason as any to vote for her on Tuesday. However, that is not why I am voting for her.

I am voting proudly and enthusiastically for Kamala Harris, a 5’4 biracial woman who three months ago changed the course of American history, stepped into the most important presidential race of my lifetime with no preparation, and has since run a near-immaculate campaign. I am astounded by her stamina, her likability, her poise, her intellect, and her ability to look flawless after campaigning in multiple cities in a single day. While I don’t agree with all of her policies, I am confident in her willingness to listen and to learn, and to create the conditions in which progressive change is possible. 

If you’re thinking of sitting this race out, if you think politics don’t affect you, then fine, don’t vote for yourself. Vote for your neighbors, your daughters, your mother, your friends. Vote for their futures. We don’t want to go back.