Donald — Thank you for the best hangover of my life.
Hangovers have never tasted so sweet. Tuesday 3 November was the date of the American election: Donald J. Trump versus Joe R. Biden. This was going to be one of the most hotly contested and important elections in the history of the United States — perhaps the world. The world held its breath and prepared to sit up all night to wait for the results.
I went to bed.
Not out of boredom. I run marathons, and this I was in training mode. This was going to be one long and gruelling race with swing state percentage points, Senate seats, and protections yanked from red to blue like a tug rope race.
The most important tug rope in history.
Okay, in my history. Sure, I wasn’t for Prague Spring, I missed the inscription for the Vietnam War. On the month I was born, the Berlin wall fell. I waltzed into the world just when shit got pretty good.
Today, I witnessed the global ache of relief when democracy was snatched from the jaws of narcissism. The fateful day when Joe Biden proved that the American vote can throw a spanner into the colossal machine of post-truth, sensational, Trump cultism.
One simple voice has the power to confront an arrogant billionaire, fingers hovering over the nuclear button, spreading fear, paranoia, and hatred with his blowtorch tweet account. One voice, one vote, and that overweight, tyrannical man one atom away from merging American President with dictator has been replaced with a Democratic 46th POTUS and his sassy Black Vice President.
I cried. Not only because i had finally been able to pop the Prosecco growing warm since Tuesday night. I cried — actually I lie — I SCREAMED — because the good guy won. This wasn’t even my fight. I am not American. I am not a disciple of Joe Biden (though I could arguably be classed as a Harris groupie — what a legend!). I worked as a journalist to spread the truth about Trump.The “fake, news” media he trolled from the comfort of his bed strewn with burger king crumbs. That was me, guilty as charged. Not for being “fake news” but for being part of the liberal media. I admit hand on heart that I wrote Trump without neutrality. I tried — but his toxic, misogynistic, racist, and let’s face it, generally embarrassingly juvenile behaviour robbed me off my journalistic objectivity.
He is a foul man. And I have a daughter.
The world is obsessed with American elections. The British gave us cucumber sandwiches. Thinly sliced, a decent and civilised amount that would simply satisfy and not gorge. The American returned the Club Sandwich, a decadent double decker extravaganca of mayonnaise, bacon and meat. Possibly with a bucket of “French” fries on the side and some cheese — sliced, grated or even sprayed! And a tiny American flag out of the top — why not. Americans do not do things by halves. My mum, my best friend and my colleagues stayed up for days to watch the results come in. It was mesmerising and critical.
Joe Biden versus Donald Trump was more than just the political equivalent of a ‘gloves are off’ cage fight. American democracy — and by virtue — global democracy — was at stake. Marginalised communities in the United States — LGBTQI community, disabled veterans, minorities of colour, — all the groups that Trump has either ignored or deliberately waved his orange spray tanned weener over — today they realised they were not ignored. They were not forgotten. They had a voice. They had power. They were remembered, and they ARE the future.
My two year old daughter has just woken to spare you — so I will wrap this up. She is also hugely to blame for my hangover. Donald getting the giant stars and stripes boot on his orange rear end was hugely symbolic for me as a woman and a mother. Today, the people of the United States made a choice. Misogyny, patriarchalism, racism and outright lies would no longer be tolerated. America said NO.
Donald, be gone.
On Saturday the 7th of November, I danced with my daughter in my arms. i danced to the sound of honking cars and elated cheers, hundreds of thousands of miles away. I danced to freedom. I danced to truth. I danced to democracy.
My daughter will not live through the President who could not spell. The President accused of rape. The President who played golf through a deadly pandemic.
That is worth a million hangovers.
Joe and Kamala, America is wounded and you better bring more than Kool Aid. Donald, we’ll bring you fake tan on visiting days.