The candle of hope I’d been carrying for Elizabeth Warren’s candidacy barely survived the first brunch of 2020.
We were five women, ranging in age from mid-thirties to early sixties, all progressive, all politically active and self-aware. Well-educated, with a mix of racial and sexual identities.
Right in Warren’s wheelhouse, in other words.
And yet.
We spent that Sunday afternoon dancing around the subject of Warren’s electability, her earnestness.
We hesitated to say she wasn’t likeable because we all knew that was a standard that no women could ever meet.
Difficult as that conversation was, there was only one moment that genuinely shocked me.
Ella, one of the most committed, most politically active of us, spoke after her third glass of cava.
“I hate myself, but I hope we end up with Joe. He reminds me of my dad. After all these years of Trump, it’s time daddy came home.”
Now that Warren has withdrawn from the US Presidential race after a poor performance on Super Tuesday it seems that Ella will get more than her wish.
