On Jan. 21, 2017, my dad and I drove from Maine to Washington, D.C., for the women’s march, a protest against the Trump presidency and oncoming conservative rule. It ended up being my dad’s last trip out of Maine before the cancer spread too far.

At the time, it was said to be the largest single-day protest in American history, and it sure felt like it. The entire day we were in downtown D.C., it felt like we were in a human river, pressed shoulder to shoulder like sardines. Looking back, it seems like a dream.

We saw several speakers at that rally, standing on tiptoes to try to catch a glimpse of the stage. One of them was the newly elected senator from California, Kamala Harris. You know that old cliché about people not remembering what you say but always remembering how you make them feel? I hate clichés, but this one’s true for a reason.

I remember two things about Harris’ speech that day. She was wearing a really snappy winter coat (I’m from Maine, I notice these things), and as she spoke, I began feeling … hopeful. My spine straightened as she talked.

I also remember this: There were two women standing in front of us – a middle-aged woman and her older mother. We stood so close together that I was practically in her purse. As Harris left the stage, one of the women turned to the other and said: “She done drawn a line in the sand.”

That was seven and a half years ago. So many things have happened since then, so many terrible things, both in my life and the country’s. And some good things, too. And I haven’t forgotten that line in the sand.

When Harris geared up to run for the Democratic nomination in 2019, I was so excited. I donated. I bought stickers and T-shirts. I didn’t agree with all of her choices or stances, of course, but I agreed with many and I just liked her vibe.

I felt that her experience as the attorney general of the biggest state in America and, when measured on its own, the fifth-largest economy in the world, as well as her experience as its senator, gave her a solid background for the role. I was sad when she ended her primary campaign due to lack of funding.

I remember exactly where I was in the summer of 2020 when President Biden, who had by then sewn up the nomination, chose her as his running mate: in the living room of my ex-boyfriend’s apartment in Gorham in the middle of a heat wave. Longtime readers may recall Ishmael; I shoved my phone in his face and hollered. He didn’t understand what I was so excited about (this should have been one of those little hints that the relationship wasn’t going to work out).

I suspect I will also always remember exactly where I was when I heard Biden was dropping out of the race (hanging clothing to dry on the back porch in the middle of another heat wave). My mom texted the family group chat: “Aunt Barb just called me with the news!”

This text caused the rest of us to panic; we all thought there was a family emergency going on.

I was genuinely shocked at Biden’s move. American political leaders rarely give up power willingly, mostly because they refuse to retire and would prefer to die in office. I mean, just look at Maine’s federal representation. Three-quarters of our squad is well over the official retirement age of 65.

The fact that Biden dropped out of the running when he had the option not to was astounding to me.

When I saw him endorse Harris to be the next president of the United States of America, my heart traveled back in time five years. Suddenly it was the summer of 2019 again and everything was possible, even a Black woman being elected U.S. president.

I’m kicking myself because I got rid of my Harris 2020 shirt a few weeks ago when I did a clothing purge to make room for my girlfriend moving in. I have to order another one. It’s time to get going. There’s three and a half months until Election Day, and there are phones that need calling and doors that need knocking (if you’ve got cousins living in a swing state, now is the time to make sure they’re registered to vote). We’re going to see an awful lot of racism, sexism and ugly, bare-knuckle politicking. Remember that line in the sand and choose what side you want to be on.

All rise, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Court is now in session.

Victoria Hugo-Vidal is a Maine millennial. She can be contacted at:
themainemillennial@gmail.com
Twitter: @mainemillennial