Hillary Clinton Glows
On Tuesday, my friend Trent pushed off the Canary Islands in a 31-ft.-long rowing boat with his two brothers and cousin to participate in the World’s Toughest Row. For the next six weeks or so, they’ll be rowing 3,000 miles across the Atlantic Ocean to Antigua. Two of them at a time will row for two hours. Then they’ll eat, sleep for about 90 minutes, and take back the oars.
When I first met Trent, I thought of him as Captain America. He’s a Naval officer and an attorney, one of the most brilliant people you’ll ever meet, so kind and so classically handsome that it’s easy to wonder, “Is this guy for real?” Over a period of years, I got to know Steve Rogers. Trent does glow everywhere and all the time. But when I met him a few weeks ago for breakfast, he ordered his eggs over-hard (just like I do) and started mining my life with questions. He always goes right to the depths: what are the hardest and most important things to you? How are they powering you right now? After getting to know him, I would move heaven and earth for Trent. I admire him. I am loyal to him. I’m lighting a candle every morning, asking the ocean to be gentle with him.
When he told me that he was going to row a boat across the whole ocean, I both understood and wished he wouldn’t. This is dangerous. In the absolute best scenario, this will be grueling. “Couldn’t you just take up golf, Trent?” But golf wouldn’t do. Trent is not wired that way.
On Tuesday, we talked with former Secretary, Senator, and First Lady Hillary Clinton. During our call, I realized that I have probably seen Secretary Clinton as a real-life Captain Marvel. She’s stunningly powerful, meticulously prepared, and almost alarmingly competent. She has endured what comic books imagine for heroes. Sometimes, she’s beloved, venerated, and celebrated. Sometimes, she’s loathed, maligned, defamed. All the while, she does what she’s always done, what she was born to do. In different roles, she puts her extraordinary mind to work to solve big problems. At a distance, it’s easy to wonder, “Is this woman for real?”
During the 2008 campaign, Sarah got close enough to know Carol Danvers while doing advance work. Yes, Hillary Clinton glows. She asks about what’s most important. She listens for personal details. We were on Zoom with her for three minutes when she took down the names of a chef and restaurant from Sarah’s hometown--just because. I have valued and tried to celebrate and honor Sarah’s love for Hillary Clinton for years now. I know she admires her, is loyal to her, and would move heaven and earth for her. It was fun to be in the room with that relationship, feel its warmth, and understand it on a new level.
I wonder how often the people who love Hillary Clinton best think a version of “Couldn’t you just take up golf?” Her work is dangerous. It is grueling under the best of circumstances. And she’s been in the public service ocean for so long. In these years when she could enjoy a well-deserved retirement, she remains in the choppiest waves: podcasting, teaching, writing, advocating in so many ways for things that matter, speaking with clarity on the most difficult topics, enduring relentless attacks. A source told NBC News about her importance as a Biden surrogate: “Some elected [officials] and former elected [officials] are, ‘Send us a list, and we’ll do two out of the 20 events. She’ll do 18 of the 20.” I felt that work ethic and momentum around big ideas through the screen of our call. Of course, golf wouldn’t do. Secretary Clinton is not wired that way.
I’m grateful to have gotten a glimpse of Secretary Clinton up close. She was gracious and encouraging. She listened carefully. She leaned in when something one of us said piqued her interest. She greeted me as warmly as she greeted Sarah; it could easily have been otherwise. I learned that Carol Danvers is real. As I light my candle each morning for Trent, I’ll also think of Secretary Clinton. I sense that neither she nor Trent would like being praised this way. That’s not what motivates them. They don’t expect or need the ocean to be gentle with them. It never has been, and they keep showing up anyway.
Our listener Kristen shared this essay with us on what it feels like to be poor in America. Our team was moved by her desire to advocate for her family and others on the financial edge. So many of you wrote in after Sarah and Beth talked about the disconnect between people’s lived reality and the way we measure the economic well-being of our country.
We are grateful to Kristen for putting this to words and honestly sharing what this looks like in her life.
BEING POOR IN AMERICA
Here is what it can be like to be poor in America.
You have a serious, chronic illness that doesn't allow you to work. You are too sick to cook the healthy foods your body needs and can't afford to pay for help. You are applying for disability, but it takes a long time and a lot of energy. The government doesn't seem interested in helping people who need help. It's hard to navigate this without a lawyer, which seems wrong.
Your partner could cook and help you, but they are working two jobs to make ends meet, and they are rarely home, and when they are, they are exhausted from all the burdens they carry. Burdens that include you, your children, care of the house, and everything in it.
You also have a chronically ill child who needs special medical treatment in a city four hours away. She has had 13 surgeries and has been admitted to the hospital somewhere around 70 times. Your whole family has lived with the fear that she will die multiple times. Because you are an RN, you give her an infusion of IgG at home that Medicaid pays for. It's painful, and she feels awful the next few days. She wishes she could have take-out those times she feels so sick. But you can't afford that. And even though you hate stabbing your daughter with five needles every other week, you try to be thankful that at least she's getting what she needs to stay alive. And still, you cringe any time she gets sick. By now, the ER staff knows her by name and knows her 17-year-old veins are already shot, and they call for the vascular access team as soon as her name appears on the board.
There are supplements and supplies that would help you both, but those aren't covered by Medicaid or any insurance, probably. So when the specialists and doctors recommend these things, you smile and say, "Thanks." And you read and hear how they make a difference for people with your diagnosis and with hers.
You have money in your bank account but can't access it. You can't access it because it's a Walmart Bank Card - the only kind of debit card you could get years ago when things were even worse. Because all your financial and bill juggling resulted in your actual bank account being closed due to overdrafts that kept compounding. This placed your name in Chex Systems, which banks check before they let you open a real bank account to screen out people like you - whose accounts were closed. And your Walmart debit card was hacked, so you canceled it and requested another one two weeks ago, and they are taking a very long time to send it to you. Because they can. And because it's Walmart and not a real bank, there is literally no other way to access your money.
So even though you have the money to pay the bill in the account you can't access, your phones will be turned off tomorrow because you can't pay them. Because you can't access your money. You can't go grocery shopping with the little cash you have because you're too ill today, and you can't order some easy-to-make groceries for delivery because you only have cash.
Also, you get food stamps, but they were extra difficult to renew this time because they wanted proof that your family had no other health insurance besides Medicaid. Why did they think to ask that? How do you prove a negative? You spend over 15 hours on phone calls and emails trying to get your benefits renewed. Sometimes, it feels like they make it hard on purpose. You finally succeeded in proving what they wanted. Still, it took too long, and now you don't get benefits until December 6.
Meanwhile, it's nearly noon, and you haven't eaten today because your body is so reactive you can only eat certain things, and you have no way to get the food you need. Or the supplements that might help.
Also, did you know Christmas is coming up? And believe it when I tell you that your girls have gone through it this year, and you want them to have the moon. Or at least some really good presents. Your youngest is still like a little kid about Christmas - probably because she has lost so much through her health issues and so much time in the hospital.
The point is that being poor means no soft landing place, plan B, or backup. You're never steady enough to make those things happen. And so you get hungry. And you can't afford the extra treatments (no wonder wealthy and white people have better health outcomes). There is so much more, but I'm tired.
And I will say it again, as I always do when I write about poverty and our broken systems. Even with all I have shared, we are lucky. Our electricity and gas were due to be shut off, and the Pension Fund paid them in full. They paid our rent. Together Rising got us through a tough time and helped us afford what Lilac needed last spring. There are people who love us, and we have a roof over our heads. My kids are warm at night.
I'm not complaining or whining at all. But I am in a position where I can make it clear what it's like for people who are struggling because of our healthcare system, our national safety net system, and so much more. It is broken. We are the wealthiest nation in the f---ing world. I have a voice, but there are countless numbers of people who are too ground down to speak. I speak for them. I advocate for them.
We must change.
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