After four years of watching America become Belarus, we are no longer hostages to Trump’s dictatorial machinations. But Trumpism is hard to shake. Four years ago, on a cold November Wednesday, I went into my daughter’s butterfly-wallpapered bedroom and woke her to tell her that the guy with all the sexual-assault allegations was going to be president. Perhaps she wasn’t old enough to know what the next four years would bring, and perhaps I wasn’t either, but we both knew the election of Trump was a loss for women everywhere—and, even more than that, it was a loss for decency. The memory of telling my then eight-year-old daughter about Trump’s election is seared into my brain, indelible. Even now, with 2016 firmly in the rearview mirror, it’s hard to forget how painful Hillary Clinton’s defeat by Trump was.
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