We are not going back

To the real president: Madam President 2024.

[Even though I wrote this book with the intention to never mention that pig -DJT-  today is an exception. My heart bleeds for Madam Vice president Harris and every woman- person who fought so hard for freedom. Today is a dark day in history and I am sorry. I'm so sorry. My heart bleeds with everyone effected by this outcome. All I want to say is: Fuck Donald Trump. Fuck Trump supporters. Fuck anyone who voted against decency. Fuck those who voted against their own gender, race and history. And if you voted for Donald Trump then fuck you too.]

The applause roared like a wave, relentless and carrying with it an energy so fierce, I felt it rise from the very earth beneath me. I stepped to the podium, hands gripping its edges, the wood cool against my skin, grounding me. The weight of the nation’s gaze rested on me, expectant, hopeful, wary.

The lights above felt blinding, but I held my chin high, my heart steadying itself. A deep breath expanded my chest, and I could feel the echoes of those I had fought for and fought beside. For so many women- no, for all Americans who believed in justice, in choice, in the freedom to control their own lives.

"Tonight," I began, my voice strong, carrying over the noise that had already begun to quiet as the audience leaned in. "Tonight, we made history together."

Another wave of applause -louder, fiercer- burst out. I let it wash over me for a moment, let them celebrate, let them feel the enormity of what we’d accomplished. And then, when the noise started to soften, I lifted my hand, calling for stillness.

"We did not win this election for ourselves alone. We won this for every person who has felt powerless, silenced, dismissed. We won this for every young woman who has ever been told she could not make decisions for herself, for her own body. For every mother, sister, daughter who has ever feared that her voice would be lost. We won this for freedom."

My voice broke on the last word, but I didn't stop. I saw faces in the crowd, tears shimmering in eyes, nodding, hands over mouths, as if holding in a flood of emotions. I swallowed hard, steadying myself, pulling up memories, struggles, triumphs.

"A long time ago," I said, my voice softer now, "my mother, a woman who came here from India, taught me that we can only be truly free when we own our choices, our bodies, our futures. She taught me that courage was not loud, but persistent. She taught me to fight for justice, even when it wasn’t easy."

I felt a tear slip down my cheek, and I didn’t bother to brush it away. I wanted them to see it, to see my humanity, my resolve.

"Tonight," I continued, my voice thick with emotion, "I think of her. I think of all the women who came before me, who stood up when it was hard, when it was terrifying, who sacrificed, so I could stand here tonight. I know how close we were to losing everything we fought for -our rights, our freedoms, our voices. And I know we’re still fighting. We’ll always be fighting.”

A murmur swept through the crowd, low but strong. The energy was fierce and raw, a tide pulling us all together, binding us in shared purpose.

"This victory is a promise," I said, my hands gripping the edges of the podium as if I could root myself in the words. "A promise that we will protect your rights. A promise that we will not allow anyone, not any person or party, to dictate what happens to your body, your future. No woman should ever have to look into her child’s eyes and tell her that she cannot choose the life she wants. No man, no government, has that right."

I felt my voice rising, carrying over the crowd, and as I spoke, it felt like my heart was in every word, my mother’s spirit beside me, her hand steady on my shoulder.

"We are America," I said, nearly whispering the words now, but the microphone carried them into the silence that had overtaken the crowd. "We are stronger together. And we will continue to protect each other, to defend each other, to love each other."

I took a long, deep breath, looking out over the sea of faces. So many different faces. They looked back at me, hope in their eyes, fire in their hearts.

"Tonight, we begin again. Tonight, we reclaim our future."

The crowd was electric, and I could feel the weight of our shared dreams in the air -each person, every family, all the voices that had cried out over these long months. I felt their weariness, their strength. I heard their mothers’ whispered hopes, their fathers’ silent prayers. I was holding all of it in my hands, letting it steady me, letting it fuel me.

"Our fight is far from over," I continued, my voice trembling, but unyielding. "We have walked a long, hard road together, and there have been times when the path ahead felt impossible. But tonight, we proved to ourselves and to the world that hope is not just a word. Hope is action. Hope is showing up, even when it feels like you’re alone. Hope is the belief that change is possible, that justice is real, and that freedom belongs to each and every one of us."

The crowd surged with applause, a wave of emotion that swelled and fell in a heartbeat. My eyes scanned the sea of faces- mothers holding children close, young women clasping hands, fathers standing tall, tears running down the faces of the strong and the fierce. They had all sacrificed. They had all waited, wondered, fought.

"And let me be clear," I continued, pausing to let my words sink in. "There will be those who still wish to turn back the clock, to bring us to a time when only some voices were heard, only some bodies mattered. But I am standing here tonight to tell you- I will not allow it. This administration will not allow it. And we, as a people, will not allow it.”

More applause, fierce and full of relief. I felt my throat tightening, but I held firm, letting myself pause, letting the weight of the moment rest on all of us.

"We have a duty, not just to each other, but to the generations that will come after us. We must be their stewards, their defenders, their protectors. They deserve a world where they can walk down the street with their heads held high, where they can live without fear of losing the most fundamental rights we have fought so hard to protect."

I looked down for a moment, remembering all those who had stood in this place before me, who had carried this torch when the world seemed dark and the future uncertain. I could feel their presence here tonight- those who fought for civil rights, who marched, who were beaten, who never saw the dream realized.

This victory was theirs as much as ours.

I lifted my head, meeting the eyes of as many people as I could, each one a spark of faith, each one a testament to resilience.

"Together, we are a force to be reckoned with," I said, my voice steady, carrying out over the crowd, over the airwaves, to every living room and gathering place across this country. "We are here to fight for freedom, to stand for justice, to protect the rights of all Americans. And I promise you- we are not done."

The applause swelled, some crying, others chanting, voices becoming one, hands reaching toward me, reaching toward each other.

"To every American watching, every family, every young person who wonders what tomorrow holds- know this: our work is only beginning. But tonight, we stand together, stronger than ever, with more love, more courage, and more hope."

I felt the words settle in my heart, felt them anchor me, anchor all of us in a unity that no force could break. I took a final breath, feeling the power of every person who had come together to make this moment possible.

"We are not going back," I said, my voice fierce and unwavering. "God bless you all. And God bless America, a nation reborn."

The crowd erupted, voices lifting into the night, carrying our promise, our resilience, our hope, echoing into the future that lay ahead.