Represent.

One more thing to be grateful for.

In her speech on November 7, Senator Kamala Harris poignantly reflected on the legacy of generations of women, particularly Black, Asian, White, Latina, and Native American women, who fought for the 19th Amendment, the Voting Rights Act, and who continue to be the “backbone of our democracy.” Her election to the vice presidency reflects a ‘first,’ a series of firsts really — she will be the first woman in the role, the first Black person, the first Asian-American — and she framed it as a moment of visible and meaningful change, evidence of the possibilities that come with American democracy.

Tonight, I reflect on their struggle, their determination and the strength of their vision — to see what can be unburdened by what has been — I stand on their shoulders.
And what a testament it is to Joe’s character that he had the audacity to break one of the most substantial barriers that exists in our country and select a woman as his vice president.
But while I may be the first woman in this office, I won’t be the last.
Because every little girl watching tonight sees that this is a country of possibilities.
And to the children of our country, regardless of your gender, our country has sent you a clear message: Dream with ambition, lead with conviction, and see yourself in a way that others might not see you, simply because they’ve never seen if before.
And we will applaud you every step of the way.

I’m not ashamed to admit (and anyone who knows me will not be surprised to hear) that I cried at least five times during her speech. My own thoughts echoed Harris’ words — “every little girl watching tonight sees that this is a country of possibilities.” I thought of my own students over the years who were “the only” or “the first,” who found themselves implicitly and explicitly expected to explain their difference for the people around them, who didn’t see themselves reflected in the nation’s leadership, who didn’t see themselves reflected in our school community’s leadership, who didn’t see themselves reflected in the leadership of their classrooms. Almost immediately, Bria Goeller’s painting of Harris in step with the shadow of Ruby Bridges (invoking Norman Rockwell’s iconic “The Problem We All Live With”) popped up everywhere, and my eyes welled with pride and astonishment at the connection between 6-year old Bridges’ steps into William Frantz Elementary School on November 14, 1960, ending segregation in New Orleans schools, and Harris’ steps into the second highest office in the nation. “Every little girl watching tonight sees that this is a country of possibilities.”

Every little boy, too, I thought. And every big boy.

Yes, Senator Harris’ ascent to the vice presidency is important for girls, for Black girls, for Asian-American girls, for all girls of color. Through teaching, including 13 years in girls’ schools, I saw the power of role models at work in girls’ capacity to develop confidence, make connections, and demonstrate competence — what JoAnn Deak identifies as the essential criteria for thriving (explore How Girls Thrive for more specifics on these aims). So, just to be clear, I neither discount nor displace this as the primary focus of the moment. However…isn’t it also important for boys?

Every little boy watching saw a country of possibilities. A woman of color will be Vice President of the United States. This is their normal. It won’t totally deconstruct the ravages of patriarchy and white supremacy, but it moves the needle.

Every grown man who gives life to Marie Shear’s definition of feminism, that “radical notion that women are people,” saw a country of possibilities. Maybe they’d hoped and prayed for a moment like this. Maybe they actually did the work to chip away at the misogyny they learned, and they got out of the way for and supported women on the path to leadership and influence. Every grown man, and every grown woman, for that matter, who have fought for gender equality saw a country of possibilities. Every grown man and every grown woman who demonstrates respect for human dignity, who have tried to do the work to dismantle systemic injustice in small and big ways — they saw an ideal made real, an abstract and hard-fought-for idea made actual. It doesn’t mean that we’ve established gender equality, but it moves the needle.

Every grown man who, um, doesn’t see the world that way, too. Every grown man (and every grown woman, for that matter) who doesn’t believe that women should be in positions of power and influence saw a country of possibilities. Every person who perpetuates injustices through their actions and inactions, through their words and through their silence — they, too, saw a country of possibilities. It doesn’t mean that their dispositions were transformed or that they’ll all suddenly get on board, but it moves the needle.

Every person who has known marginalization, discrimination, or violence because of their identity, every person who can empathize with Harris, every person who has faced irrational, degrading, and oppressive boundaries, every person who has been told to leave part of their self behind or who has been bullied into hiding their full self — every person who has faced those barriers saw a country of possibilities as Harris dismantles one of the most recognizable barriers that others set for her. There’s a reason that politics, and political representation in particular, gets personal — when someone “like me” is the first to go where anyone else “like me” hadn’t gone before, it means that life might get a little bit easier. There’s one more door that’s open, one more resource to access, one more path to follow. So in Harris, we find a little bit of fuel for our often-low, often-empty tank of hope. It moves the needle.

It’s funny — in that moment, connecting the women who preceded her to the girls who will follow in her steps, she praised Joe Biden’s “audacity to break one of the most substantial barriers that exists in our country.” In that moment, a peak moment in history, she gives credit to the cis, White, heterosexual Christian guy just off-stage…or at least that’s what it seems she’s doing. In that peculiar shift, I hear her giving instructions to all the other guys like him — men. Men who hold power, men who enjoy privilege. Men who set the needle, who resist its move toward things like equity, justice, fairness. They have to be like Joe. They have to move the needle.

By my gauge (and, I hope, by yours), the needle has much farther to go, but it’s worth taking the time to recognize that amidst the maelstrom and morass of 2020, we still have the capacity to hope, to envision something different than our present. Since April, I’ve been returning to Arundhati Roy’s reflection, “The pandemic is a portal,” to help me frame this moment and which way to look. “Whatever it is,” she writes, “coronavirus has made the mighty kneel and brought the world to a halt,” upending the world we know and sparking in us a longing for a return to “normality.”

Nothing could be worse than a return to normality.

Historically, pandemics have forced humans to break with the past and imagine their world anew. This one is no different. It is a portal, a gateway between one world and the next.

We can choose to walk through it, dragging the carcasses of our prejudice and hatred, our avarice, our data banks and dead ideas, our dead rivers and smoky skies behind us. Or we can walk through lightly, with little luggage, ready to imagine another world. And ready to fight for it.

Representation has been a key strategy for many groups who have known marginalization not only because it plants a seed of possibility in young minds but also — and maybe more importantly — because it demonstrates to everyone else what change looks like. It plants a seed of possibility in less-young minds, with the hope that they will cultivate a future that looks like all of us (or at least they’ll know when to get out of the way). And when they do, we should applaud them every step of the way.