October 7th, 2016
I look in the mirror, and who do I see? I see a strong woman who has fought for her rights and for her voice to be heard. But then why, do I suddenly start to feel the volume of my voice dimming, almost becoming a whisper?
“I moved on her and I failed. I’ll admit it.” He breaks out into laughter as he says these predatory statements. “I did try to f—k her. She was married”, he continues to say. I watch the recordings with shock on my face. But am I really shocked?
I turn on the television. Days have passed since the “pussy grabbing video” surfaced, yet it seemed that no one was affected. Women still supported him. They were not influenced by his sexist words or his chauvinistic attitudes. They did not care. As long as their families were not subjected to his crude, violent, and demeaning words, they still planned to mark the box on their ballots next to his name.
My stomach is tied in knots. Many women voted for someone who did not care about their rights or even them for that matter. It was inconceivable. Why did it happen? We all knew he was capable of saying these things. What more does he have to do to really demonstrate his character?
This man is the leader of a country that champions free speech, but how can we allow someone to represent us on the global stage who continues to spew derogatory, lewd comments towards women and other identities? It makes me sick. It makes me question who we are as a society. Who have we become? Not only as a woman, but as a person of color I look at the progression of our society in concern.
A part of me wants to give him another chance. But how many chances can I afford him before I run out? I want to be positive, but it is so hard.
I don’t know what to expect anymore. Does anyone?
Journal Entry
Ghost Story
November 7th, 1916. It was the day it all began. An ominous cloud cast over Southville, an upper middle class suburb of Detroit, on this brisk, fall day. No one knew it just yet, but dark times were ahead.
It was election day. The two candidates were Ronald Finch and Elizabeth Minton. Elizabeth was a seasoned politician and represented typical politics; she was nothing out of the ordinary. If elected, she vowed to devote more money to education and fixing the deteriorating roads. Alternatively, Ronald Finch ran on an extremist, divisive platform. He ran on a platform of elevating certain groups over others. Many did not see his platform as such, however.
The polls had Minton winning in a landslide. She would be elected Southville’s first woman mayor. The youth of the town were hopeful for change their city so desperately needed. The town was leaning to more progressive ideals, but it still found itself stuck in the past often.
The citizens of Southville lined up at community centers, Southville High School, libraries, and gymnasiums to cast their vote for the next mayor. The voting lasted all day, and then the ballots were sent to be counted at a secret location. As evening came, the counting began. 54 counters sat in a room, and each individual carefully counted each ballot. Each ballot was double checked, and the tallies were triple checked to ensure the utmost accuracy.
The last ballot was counted at 2:43 am the next morning. Tears dripped down the counter’s face. He could not believe it. Finch had won the election, and with that so had his extreme rhetoric and the people that stood behind him. Change was on its way. What was next? Only time would tell.
During the semester, I experimented with my original piece, a Facebook post, in two different genres as well. Deciding on two very different genres, I was able to explore the meaning of this topic in contrasting ways. The journal entry led me to understand the work in an intimate way. My audience in this genre was primarily myself which led me to be very free with my writing. I did not have to worry about how my words would affect the reader as much, since I was the primary audience.
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The other genre I wrote in was the ghost story, which required me to apply the narrative in a creative way. I wanted to explore fiction writing and try something very unique, so I decided to write about the election in a fictitious ghost story that captured some of my horrors. The conventions of this genre were hard to grasp because I had not written fiction since I was a child (when my writing skills are a bit less developed). My primary audience was left leaning college students.
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Below are two excerpts of the experiments.