"SHOW ME WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!" a middle aged woman of color shouts to the hundred or so students, parents, teachers, and children standing at the base of the capitol building in Sacramento, CA.
It is April 10, 2016, months before Trump's election. Months before the country turned from the years of the first black president to to the years of bashing the elite, electing the infamous outsider and claiming he would speak for the forgotten men and women.
This was back when I was a I was still a sophomore in college, attending the ACLU conference as a part of the Pitzer in Ontario academic field learning program. We had driven up in a large charter bus from southern California, forming study groups with names like "The Justice League". This was a weekend of Thai food and cafeteria sandwiches, of workshops and dancing and lobbying senator (...'s assistants).
I decided I couldn't be a politician, because the meetings looked long and mundane and I couldn't see a single person knitting in that whole auditorium of senators and congress people. I thought maybe I could get into political advocacy; after all, I was skilled at writing and research, and I wanted to make a difference. Visiting the state capitol, hearing bills being passed on a tiny fuzzy television projection of the auditorium, I had hope. I had dreams. I had plans.
