In November 2016, just a couple of weeks after Donald Trump was elected President of the United States the first time, I visited Centre College in Danville, Kentucky to hear Wendell Berry speak. Berry, a Kentucky native, is a novelist, poet, essayist, environmental activist, cultural critic and farmer.
He’s one of my biggest heroes.
Berry made his way across the stage to the podium to thunderous applause. Then, in a deep, quiet voice, he said this: “I’ve just been informed that I was invited here tonight to offer words of comfort to those in despair about the outcome of this election.” We all leaned forward in anticipation. What might he say that would help us believe things weren’t really so bad? “Unfortunately,” he said, “I have no words of comfort. What has happened is a monumental disaster for this nation.”
Eight years have passed. Wendell Berry is ninety years old. And I’m certain he would say the same thing now that he did then.
How can the 71 million of us who voted for Harris-Walz find any comfort at all after this unexpected and soul-crushing defeat? Speaking for myself and many friends who voted my way—and, yeah, there were almost 9,000 of us in Putnam County—we’re sad. We’re angry. And we’re fearful of what will happen if Trump and his henchmen are able to carry out their plans.
Back in November 2020, when the only bright spot in the seemingly interminable Covid crisis was the election of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris, I adopted a dog. Her foster mom called her by a crazy name I don’t even remember. In celebration of our first female Vice-President, I changed the name to Kamala. Imagine how excited I was this year that my dog would share a name with the first female President!
Even more exciting, I had plans to attend Kamala Harris’s inauguration on January 20, 2025. A high school friend who lives near Washington, D.C. was going to make arrangements for a group of friends from long ago and far away to be there to celebrate.
Perhaps we’ll go to the Women’s March in D.C. on January 18 instead, where we absolutely won’t storm the Capitol or threaten to hang anybody.
But back to seeking comfort after this devastating election defeat. I allow myself to cry whenever I want for as long as I want. Some days, I take extended naps. I walk a lot. And I watch TV shows that make me laugh. I found some really old ones on Roku—shows like “Ozzie and Harriet” and “Donna Reed” and “The Real McCoys,” which I’m pretty sure I haven’t watched since I was a child. They’re silly but distracting. I’m watching some of my favorite light-hearted movies, too. (No, not “Slingblade.” I said light-hearted.) “Cool Runnings.” “City Slickers.” “You’ve Got Mail.”
I’ve noted that many folks around town who displayed MAGA flags and banners and yard signs haven’t yet taken them down. This isn’t true for signs for Democratic candidates, which were pretty much all vandalized or stolen every time they appeared. I didn’t bother putting signs in my yard–because what’s the point?–but I do have a couple of bumper stickers on my car. I was a road-rage victim back in 2020 when I sported a “Ridin’ with Biden” sticker, so the ones I have now are smaller and more subtle.
One is a cartoon donkey face. If you didn’t know better, you might think it represented my high school mascot, the Hillsboro burros. The other is a sticker that says RESIST. I plan to leave them in place for as long as I own the car, which I hope is many more years.
Last but not least, I’m finding comfort in re-reading books that speak to my heart. Books like “Jayber Crow,” which I’ve already read several times. Its author? My hero, Wendell Berry.
(November 16, 2024)