What can I say…?

Introduction

I was in Havana, Cuba when it happened…

That was the over dramatic line I had jokingly running around my head for if Trump won the election. Then it turned out I needed it.

I was going to write a funny upbeat blog post about watching the elections in Cuba.

I was going to do a lot of things. I was going to be home by 11:30 with the firm knowledge that Hillary Clinton would be my new president. I was going to retain my iffy attitude towards democracy in general and America as a whole but hold my head high at the end of the day.

I was not going to use words I’ve never used in my life and start to drink alcohol. I was not going to feel my hands shaking from adrenaline, hear my heart pounding in my ears and wonder if I would ever be able to stand again. I wasn’t going to do any of that. But I did.

And so here is the blog post that I wasn’t going to write but found my fingers typing anyway at 1:00 in the morning as the clock ticked on and the realization of what was happening began to sink in. Here are the words which 19 months of campaigning never prepared me to say. Here is how Donald Trump won the presidency.

…

In a tiny apartment in Havana, Cuba:

“I wonder if we can get election coverage on our TV…”

Trump: 24 Hillary: 3

“Well crap.”

It only got worse from there.

In case you didn’t know, the world has some very strong opinions on our particular governmental system and they aren’t afraid to say them

The state television coverage kept repeating over and over that no matter who was elected it would not reflect the popular vote.

One of the many poster sellers in the Plaza de Armas pointed to an Obama poster hanging off the end of his table and said something along the lines of “He’s a pretty great guy, why not just keep him as your dictator?”

The French kids I tutor asked me today, “Do you want to win Trump or Hillary?” I said, “Oh, very much Hillary.” They said “We do not know anything about Trump other than that all the kids at school say to us he is crazy.”

Their mother was able to say more emphatically “How can you even be doing this? Trump is a mad man. Hillary is the only possible choice but even she is… Well she’s the wife of a former president, and we know where that leads…”

As we walked to the Havana Libre to watch the coverage, my friend Robin made jokes about armed police storming the hotel to forcibly deport all Americans if Trump won. We laughed, but then made sure all the exits were clear just in case.

Around midnight I moved to the back with one of my fellow American students and we shifted back and forth on our feet, anxiously covering our faces and wondering if we weren’t going to need the subjunctive or conditional verb tenses to talk about the end of the world.

Some German tourists came up to the hotel bar and asked us in heavy English, “Is Clinton ahead?” We hung our heads over our three empty beer bottles and said “No, Trump is winning.” “Shit.” Muttered the Germans.

The energy in the room slowly waned.

We lost the ability to cheer when the occasional measly state flashed blue.

The only two Trump supporters in all of Cuba began to look up.

And then that was it. In a growing agony we realized that no matter how we twisted and ran the numbers on the backs of paper napkins, Hillary Clinton wasn’t going to be our first woman president. And all we could do was order three giant plates of French fries (our first in Cuba) and eat them in disgrace as she called to concede the election.

I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. I wanted to understand what was happening, but I couldn’t. I wanted to kick and scream and overthrow the government in one night, but I couldn’t. All I could do was sit on a chair 90 miles off the coast of Florida and watch the only home I have ever known be delivered into the hands of a mad man.