The Magnificent Martyrdom Of Hillary Clinton

Now she can smile whenever she goddamn pleases.
 “Behold the field where I grow my fucks. Lay thine eyes upon it and thou shalt see that it is barren.”
“Behold the field where I grow my fucks. Lay thine eyes upon it and thou shalt see that it is barren.”

When Hillary Clinton stepped to the podium on November 9 and declared that “we have still not shattered that highest and hardest glass ceiling, but someday, someone will,” we were witnessing a political death, live on television. And it was glorious; Joan of Arc in a gray and purple suit of armor. She held her head high while the political system to which she’d given her heart and soul tied her to a stake and burnt her alive. Unruffled and unbowed, she was gracious, yet unyielding, proclaiming, as the flames licked her feet, that: “to all the little girls who are watching this, never doubt that you are valuable and powerful and deserving of every chance and opportunity in the world to pursue and to achieve your own dreams.”

It was horrible and beautiful, gory and inspiring  —  all the things that you’d expect from a great warrior queen.

And now begins her magnificent martyrdom.

 And lo, she rose draped in cloth of gold and crowned in glory.
And lo, she rose draped in cloth of gold and crowned in glory.
It was horrible and beautiful, gory and inspiring  —  all the things that you’d expect from a great warrior queen.

If she had become president, Hillary would have been unrelentingly attacked, harassed, lied about, and investigated from a hostile Congress and a rabid right-wing media. She, and her entire administration, would have spent the next four years responding to Congressional hearings. It wasn’t a matter of whether they would try to impeach her, we’d be placing bets right now on when. It goes without saying that I would have preferred all of that to a Trump presidency in a heartbeat, but it would have been hard-going. We would soon be discussing “the embattled presidency of Hillary Clinton” before she was sworn in, never mind before the midterms.

In the wake of last week’s election, none of that alternate future will ever happen. Like an artist who dies at 27, we can now forever canonize the Administration That Could Have Been. Everything about the imaginary Hillary Administration will always be bright, shiny, and scented with pumpkin spice. Her administration sits, an unopened vintage toy on a shelf   — full of possibility and joy, the perfect future that never was.

The difference between a political martyrdom and an actual one is that she’s around to enjoy it. Hillary is off the leash. Can you imagine what a badass like HRC can accomplish when she has no presidency or campaign to tie her down?

She can champion the rights of women and children worldwide without being tied to the bureaucracy of the State Department or the objections of Congress. If she wants to go to Afghanistan and build 1,000 schools for girls, she could do that. If she wants to hobnob with Angela Merkel, raise funds for Syrian refugees, and personally negotiate corporate climate change plans, she can. Try and stop her. 

She could never smile in public again. Or she can smile all the goddamn time. 

 

Can you imagine what HRC can accomplish when she has no presidency or campaign to tie her down?

 

She can call out injustices in our own country without having to consider the political ramifications. She could go to a Black Lives Matter rally, march at the very front, and shout, “Our government needs to do more!” at the top of her lungs.

She can take our politicians  —  of either party  —  to task, publicly and loudly. She doesn’t need their endorsements or their votes for anything. If Republicans are parroting Trump’s hateful anti-immigrant, or anti-LGBTQ, or anti-anything rhetoric, she can tweet: “What a total bunch of a-holes.” She doesn’t have to watch her language anymore. If Democrats try to jump on that bandwagon and claim that they are just “representing their district,” she can swat them down and rub their cowardly little noses in that dog shit while saying “BAD. NO.” At least metaphorically. I think.

She can tattoo “STRONGER” on her bicep. Or on her neck, for that matter.

She can get that motorcycle that she’s been eyeing for years. And no, not some namby pamby Harley Davidson road couch. Hillary rides a black Triumph.

She can ride that motorcycle right into the lobby of her building and just leave it there. Because who’s gonna stop her?

She can walk into the conference room, drop her motorcycle helmet on the table with a bang and say, “Alright folks, who are we gonna set right today?” and then crack her knuckles.

Hillary Clinton has been through the cleansing fire. Let’s all prepare ourselves to behold the phoenix that emerges.

She can accept any donation to the Clinton Foundation that she wants and put that money towards helping every Syrian refugee find a home in the United States.

She can be as loud and as shrill as she goddamn pleases.

Hillary Clinton has been through the cleansing fire. Let’s all prepare ourselves to behold the phoenix that emerges.

 “I behold the world anew, the veil lifted from my eyes. For now, I give zero fucks.”
“I behold the world anew, the veil lifted from my eyes. For now, I give zero fucks.”
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