We Won’t Go Back
It was Election Night 2016, and I found myself at a private rooftop party in one of San Diego's swankier downtown hotels. I was working for a cannabis company at the time, and in 2016, recreational marijuana was on the ballot. With the measure expected to pass by a landslide, our company was partnering with other cannabis businesses in the city to host a celebration.
After work, a group of us walked the five blocks from our office to a hotel in San Diego’s trendy Gaslamp Quarter. Once inside, we took the elevator to the rooftop lounge. The energy was high; legal marijuana was coming to California, and Hillary was heavily favored to win the White House. With expectations of a big win for legal cannabis, several news stations sent crews to cover the party.
The lounge featured an open bar, a heated pool with cabanas around its perimeter, and couches along the glass barrier, revealing expansive city views. We stopped by the bar for drinks and claimed one of the cabanas. Inside, there was a table, a sectional couch, and a TV. We tuned in to the election results and waited.
Just before 6:00, the first results started rolling in. When they announced that Proposition 64 passed, legalizing adult use of cannabis, a long-time advocate who had spent decades in jail for smuggling marijuana over the border honored the moment by lighting up his first legal joint on camera as everyone cheered. Soon, someone came around and handed everyone a pre-roll from a large shopping bag. We lit up a few at a time and passed them around. We were feeling fine, laughing and joking. Whenever we put out a joint, it seemed someone was coming back around to top us off again.
But behind us on the T.V., something was developing. We were slowly becoming aware that the unbelievable was happening: Trump was winning the election. One by one, critical swing states were being called for the GOP candidate. And it wasn’t just the Presidential race. Conservatives were securing state-level elections, too.
By 11:00, the once uproarious party had become despondent. And one-by-one, people began to leave. Gone was the jubilant spirit that began the night. Through the haze of marijuana smoke, reality began to creep. I left shortly before midnight and started the walk to my car. Here and there, people stepped swiftly down the sidewalk, rushing to get home. On one street corner, a drunk man was chanting, “Trump! Trump! Trump!” A chill slithered up my spine, and I hurried my pace, eager to be off the streets.
Along the way, I tried to reason with myself. I had lived through G.W. Bush, the decades of wars he started, and the economy he collapsed. How bad could a Trump presidency be?
But this was before. Before Covid-19 and January 6th. Before the markets crashed and unemployment spiked. Before the cozy meetings with the world’s dictators. Before the overturning of Roe v. Wade and before the abortion bans. It was before the toxic campaigning. Before the dehumanizing. Before the threats of violence. Before the actual violence.
Now we know how bad it can be – how bad they want it to be.
So, as I sit here on the eve of yet another election, I fear for our country. I fear for our freedoms. And I fear for the rights of women and for the future of our children. I fear for the immigrants, legal or otherwise, and for the minority communities that give our country its soul.
But I am hopeful, too. This election is a referendum on the country America wishes to be. And I still believe in that best version of America, that beacon on the hill that shines as an example to freedom-loving people everywhere.
Remember as you go to the polls today… We can’t go back. We won’t go back.
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