This year, I ran for a seat on Illinois’ Cook County Board of Commissioners in the second largest county in the U.S., which includes the city of Chicago. It’s a district that is larger than 28 states. I made national headlines in this era of a record number of first-time female candidates: At 20, I was the youngest and first Pakistani Muslim person to ever run for this seat, and I campaigned against the male incumbent who has held the position for 16 years. I wanted to change the status quo, shake up the system, and challenge some of the preconceived notions of what a “politician” looks like. My policy ideas included increasing the minimum wage, heightening awareness of county programs, and decriminalizing marijuana.
Before running I interned for a Republican senator’s reelection campaign. When someone on that campaign asked me to run for office, my initial reaction was: no way. I didn’t think I was old enough; I didn’t think I could manage a campaign while going to college; and I certainly didn’t think I was qualified—I’d never seen a Muslim woman in elected office. But I remember while I was interning for that senator, I asked voters survey questions, and one of them was: On a scale from one to ten, how fearsome are you of an Islamic terror attack on U.S soil? The answer, almost unanimously, was 10. I talked to people who not only didn’t agree with my politics (I’m a Democrat), but were scared of me. I found out many of them responded that way because I was the first Muslim person they’d ever met.
I took a step back and recognized that I was old enough to run, and that a lot of the things that go into campaigning (like going to events and talking to people) were things I was already doing as a community organizer.
I lost my election in March, but I still made history: I registered more than 2,000 people to vote, and 30 percent of my votes came from people who voted for the first time. I realized that when people are informed, they want to use their voice. Some other things I learned from my experience as a first-time office-seeker:
People were obsessed with my Muslim identity as a political candidate.
Growing up post 9/11 as a Muslim woman who wears the hijab, I’m hyper-aware of my identity. While I was running, the first thing most people wanted to talk about was how I wore the hijab. Most of the time, the questions were fueled by innocent curiosity, but it distracted the message of my campaign. People were excited to see a Muslim woman running for office and focused on that—more than they did my policy ideas.
PHOTO: Courtesy of Bushra Amiwala
Amiwala at a campaign event.
Almost every article written about my campaign mentioned that I was Muslim. In one article that debriefed a debate between my two male opponents, it noted: “Amiwala wore a stylish, light pink hijab.” No one mentioned what the two men were wearing.
Everyone doubted me, even people from my own community.
Within a week of filing my paperwork to run, I got a call from a man active in area politics to come meet at his office. I was so excited, and was looking forward to what he’d say when we met.
“Almost every article written about my campaign mentioned that I was Muslim. In one article that debriefed a debate between my two male opponents, it noted: “Amiwala wore a stylish, light pink hijab.” No one mentioned what the two men were wearing.”
“Don’t run for this position. I say you drop out,” he told me in our meeting. I was stunned; it was the last thing I expected to hear.
I was broken in the moment, but his doubt ended up serving as the fuel that ignited the fire in my campaign. But I faced more hurdles: When I reached out to the local mosque, most of the men there had no idea what to do with me running for office, and didn’t know how to support me. Many of them didn’t take what I was saying seriously.
Other women and first-time voters are essential to grassroots campaigns.
From the beginning of my campaign, I sought the support of the marginalized: mobilizing hundreds of first-time voters—young people, people of color and people from immigrant communities.
“Why bother engaging groups of people who do not matter?” political experts said to me. “Those people will not vote for you, and they won’t vote against you—they won’t donate a single dollar to your campaign.”
Well guess what? They did show up. Over 400 of “those people” came out to my second fundraising dinner where I was able to out-fundraise the incumbent by three times the amount.
PHOTO: Courtesy of Bushra Amiwala
Amiwala with some of her campaign volunteers.
I personally registered thousands of “those people” to vote for the first time. I spoke to every high school in my district and oftentimes left with hundreds of email addresses from young people eager to register. I led a voter registration drive at our mosque, and hosted an event specifically for people in the South Asian community. At that event, we looked up attendees’ polling locations, and made sure every single one of them were registered to cast their ballot.
Running against a man who was already part of the establishment was one of the most difficult political challenges that I could have taken on. But as a first-time candidate, I learned that other women were my most important allies.
Early on, I reached out to one woman at the mosque who I didn’t know very well; I texted her that I was running for office, and she called me about 10 minutes later. She mentioned how she normally stays away from politics, but that she had an abundance of materials and resources to share with me. She helped me with every aspect of my campaign from assisting me financially to introducing me to people in her network who later became invaluable. I am so appreciative of that sisterhood that I tapped into. As we enter a crazy midterms season with many women running, my story is proof that women can and do lift other women up.
Before Black Panther celebrated the all-female freedom fighters of Wakanda, real-life black women formed their own type of special-forces unit in Alabama. When a whopping 98 percent of African American women voters united behind Doug Jones, they were able to elect him as the first Democrat to represent Alabama in the U.S. Senate in more than 20 years. They didn’t just defeat Roy Moore; they rocked the political status quo.
They have no intention of stopping there.
An unprecedented groundswell of at least 70 black women have launched electoral campaigns across Alabama for local, state, and national offices in 2018, according to the nonprofit Emerge America, which trains women to run for office. While this echoes a national trend (the Black Women in Politics database lists 590 black female candidates across the country, 97 of them for federal seats), experts say the numbers in Alabama are particularly striking. From first-time hopefuls to seasoned veterans, twenty-somethings to sixty-somethings, women are lining up to disrupt the mostly white, mostly Republican old boys’ club in the state. (Only two black women are running as Republicans in Alabama this year, both for local seats, according to the state’s GOP office.) “African Americans are a quarter of the population here, yet they aren’t seeing their issues front and center,” says Rhonda Briggins, a cofounder of VoteRunLead and an Alabama native, “so they’ve decided to run themselves.”
Representative Terri Sewell, 53, who’s up for reelection this year, was the first black woman to represent Alabama in Congress when she was elected in 2011. “As a congressional intern during the late eighties, I remember walking the halls of the Capitol and not seeing many black women in any role, let alone as elected officials,” she says. “When I was first elected, making my voice heard as a black woman surrounded by older white men was a challenge. This year we’re proving the strength of our voice at the ballot box.”
Stoking a Flame
Ironically, it was the election of a white guy—thanks to the record-breaking mobilization of black women—that motivated many of these candidates to jump into the race. “After so many black women carried Doug Jones over the threshold, I think more women across the state began to see our political power,” says Ashley Smith, 34, a Montgomery native running for district judge in Lowndes County.
Wendy Smooth, Ph.D., a political scientist at Ohio State University, agrees the high voter turnout in last December’s special election inspired black women candidates to tap into the political momentum. “There was this robust energy, and once energy like that has been released, it doesn’t go away,” she says. “And once women learn [how to] get a candidate elected into office, a lightbulb comes on and they say, ‘This isn’t that hard after all. I too can do this.’ ” But, she’s quick to point out, the uptick of black candidates in Alabama and beyond is not just reactionary. These candidates are building on a tradition of activism among black women that’s resulted in major social progress. They’ve done the work, using their coalition-based organizing methods, to fight voter suppression, help Barack Obama win the presidency, and change the game in the special elections. Running for political office is a key part of their strategy.
Briggins emphasizes that these women are making deliberate next steps in a larger blueprint for change, in both their communities and the country, noting how past seeds laid the groundwork for growth. “Women are primarily the workers behind the Alabama New South Coalition and Alabama Democratic Conference, organizations that, since the civil rights movement, have become the foundation of black political power in Alabama,” she says.
All that boots-on-the ground work has also given women invaluable experience. “We know we can do these jobs because we’ve been behind the scenes, whether it is assisting someone in doing the job, or doing it and not getting the recognition,” says Marshell Jackson Hatcher, 51, a lawyer running for Jefferson County circuit court judge. “This time we wanted to put ourselves out there for elected positions.” Briggins agrees: “Black women are moving from winning elections for others to winning elections for themselves.”
These rising stars recognize they are following in the footsteps of their trailblazing black Alabama sisters, women like Rosa Parks, Angela Davis, Coretta Scott King, Condoleezza Rice—and their own mothers and grandmothers. State House candidate Arlene Easley, 54, was a child in the Jim Crow era. She recalls asking her mother why her family had to sit at the back of city buses and remembers being harassed by white parents during the integration of her elementary school. Those experiences bring vital perspective to today’s policy making, she says. “While we don’t have Jim Crow, the question is, Are there things that are legislated that are Jim Crow–esque? Those are things I, as a woman of color and longtime resident of Mobile, can compare and contrast. And I can take that with me to Montgomery to ensure that we as a state are not moving backward.”
Facing Down Challenges
The question is not whether these candidates have what it takes to lead the state into a more just future; it’s whether they will receive equal access to the resources, institutional support, and megaphones needed to win. “Yes, black women are coming in as amazing insurgent candidates,” says Smooth. “But pay attention to how many of them are formally endorsed, [which is a sign of] their parties’ support and belief that these candidates are viable.” In surveys women of color report that when they first ran for office, they received less party support than they’d hoped, or were even discouraged from running. (The Alabama Democratic party says it won’t make any endorsements before the primary election, which this year falls on June 5.) Studies also show that female candidates receive less media coverage and are more likely to have their messages misrepresented.
These women aren’t waiting for state and national parties to climb on board. Many pointed to Shirley Chisholm, the first black woman elected to the U.S. Congress (representing New York) 50 years ago, as a role model who inspired their campaigns, and they subscribe to her strategy: “If they don’t give you a seat at the table, bring a folding chair.” They are pooling their resources in other ways, getting help from organizations like Emerge, VoteRunLead, and Higher Heights for America—and one another. From 28-year-old Chuantae Brown, who is running for district judge in Jefferson County, to 62-year-old Army reservist Audri Scott Williams, a Democrat running for Congress against an outspoken NRA-supporting incumbent, these candidates agree that working together shows the public that more diverse leadership benefits everyone. “We realize it, and now the public is realizing it. We have the tools to be elected,” Brown says. “I want it to be normal for a black woman to run for Congress, for president, for anything, just like it’s normal for a white man.”
When asked what change they will ignite if they win, they talk of criminal justice reform, improved access to education, student debt relief, and more inclusive government. And they quickly show how they will reframe the debate. As Jefferson County Commissioner Sandra Little Brown, 62, who’s running for reelection said, “Not if, when I win.”
Jamia Wilson, a writer and activist, is the executive director and publisher of the Feminist Press.
Meet the Candidates
Candidate profiles by Samantha Leach and Marina Khidekel
Representative Terri Sewell, Running for Re-election to the U.S. House District 7
In 2011, Representative Sewell, 53—who was a Glamour college woman of the year in her youth—became the first black woman elected to Congress from Alabama—and she’s been in office ever since. This year she’s running for reelection in the midst of what people are calling the year of the black woman. “We are running for office in record numbers and leading movements against sexual harassment and police violence,” she says. “After decades of activism and advocacy, black women are finally getting the recognition they deserve.”
Ashley Smith, Running for District Judge in Lowndes County
Smith, 34, a Montgomery native, wants women to realize that, “we are just as qualified as men to run for these positions,” she says. “My hope for women in 2018 is that we will realize our political power. I hope women will run without fear, run zealously, and advocate for our constituents.”
Jayla McElrath, Running for Board of Education, Place 4
A current senior in high school, McElrath, 18, has been moving through the school system as students around the country have been murdered in classrooms just like hers. She doesn’t think our schools are safe. And instead of running for student council, she has decided to run for the state Board of Education to fight for change. On her campaign’s Facebook page, McElrath (who is one of just two female Republican candidates in the state, as of press time), writes about the danger of all of the different types of violence affecting students today. “Violence goes deeper than gun violence,” she writes. “It is what’s going on in a student’s life in and outside of school… Are they bullied by others? Are they abused at home? These are questions that need to be asked and taken seriously.”
To curtail violence, she has proposed strategies like setting up security systems and implementing peace officers in schools who can both protect the students but also get to know them—so they can talk students who might be a potential threat away from committing violent acts.
Miranda Joseph, Running for State Auditor
Joseph, 33, is a board certified internal auditor whose training and education has all taken place in her home state. Her goal? “To take our family values to Montgomery to ensure we have an open and honest government,” she says. “Just as we sit at our kitchen tables to save and watch our pennies, our government should do the same with her tax dollars.”
“Our country needs us. We are the ones who can forge through this bipartisan craziness that is going on and build the bridges, partnerships, and coalitions that will get America back on track.” —Audri Scott Williams
Audri Scott Williams, Running for US House of Representatives, Alabama District 2
Scott Williams, 62, is running for Congress in Alabama’s second district to promote peace. As a former Army Reservist and internationally renowned speaker who has fought against the religious persecution of Christians, Muslims, and Jews, and was given the “Service to Humanity” award by President Clinton—peace building has been her life’s mission. Outside of her work she’s a mother of three sons, a grandmother of fourteen, and has been in a loving relationship with her life partner, Karen, for 15 years. When asked why she’s chosen this year to run for office for the first time, Scott Williams explains, “this is a time that is so important for women, and women of color to show up,” she says. “Our country needs us. We are the ones who can forge through this bipartisan craziness that is going on and build the bridges, partnerships, and coalitions that will get America back on track.” Talk about making America great again.
Vivian Davis Figures, Running for Re-election for Alabama State Senator, District 33
Figures, 61, was first sworn into the Alabama Senate in 1997 after her husband Michael A. Figures, passed away and a special election was held to fill his seat. When the press joked that she had “big shoes to fill,” Figures retorted that she wore a size seven—a clear signal that she would be focusing on her own shoes. She’s held the seat ever since.
When Figures began her term, there were very few women in the senate, and “Women were not even allowed to wear pants on the senate floor,” she recalls. A rule that baffled her. “One day, I wore a navy blue pinstripe suit and all of the clerks came over and said, ‘Senator Figures, you can’t wear that on the floor!’ So I said, ‘I’d like to see them pull me off the floor in my pantsuit.’ I went up to the Secretary of the Senate and said, ‘Mr. Lee, how do you think I look in my pantsuit today?’ And he said, ‘Senator Figures, as usual you look great.’ And I told him, ‘You know, Mr. Lee, it’s proper business attire in this day and age for women to wear suits.’ He took me straight to the supervisor of the clerks and we changed the rule that day. It was the first thing I did for women when I went to the senate.”
Figures remains a champion for women. As one of the few current sitting politicians at Glamour’s Birmingham photo shoot, and by far the longest ranking one on set, Figures led the rest of the candidates in a prayer circle, channeling the devotion to faith that most of the candidates spoke of in their interviews. The women prayed that each of their campaigns would be blessed with a win in the June 5th Alabama primaries. But regardless of wins, she said, “we know we are a force to be reckoned with.”
From left to right: Suzanna Coleman, State Senator Linda Coleman Madison, Cara McClure, Chuantae Brown, Jefferson County Commissioner Sandra Little Brown, and Audri Scott Williams
From left to right: Miranda Joseph and U.S. Congresswoman Terri Sewell
Jameria Moore, Running for Jefferson County Probate Court Judge
Born and raised in Birmingham, Moore’s father was a coal-miner and her mother was a bakery manager. Both instilled in her the values—hard work, trustworthiness, respect for others—that have shaped her life and career as an attorney. After the Doug Jones win, Moore, 49, saw an opportunity to step up and make change on a larger scale. “I am running because I understand from personal and professional experiences the lasting impact this court has on families. I understand that it requires someone who will listen, someone who will have the patience to attend to details, and someone who will be compassionate to help those who are oftentimes dealing with life-altering and emotional issues,” she says.
Veronica R. Johnson, Running for State House, District 51
Johnson, 38, a probation officer and educator, is entering the realm of politics “because I hope to be the change that I want to see in my community,” she says. She points to her deep knowledge and understanding about her community and her drive to enhance the lives of local youth. As for all the other women running this year? “We are the difference-makers.”
From left to right: Jameria Moore, Arlene Easley, Veronica R. Johnson, Clotele Brantley, and Marshell Jackson Hatcher
Marshell Jackson Hatcher, Running for Circuit Court Judge in Jefferson County
Hatcher, 51, is a longtime attorney who has handled hundreds of cases throughout her career. Now, she’s seeking the circuit court judgeship because “I believe that improving the quality of justice is critical to the community,” she says. “My service would be fair, my service would be impartial, and my decisions would be based on the evidence that comes before me.”
Linda Coleman-Madison, Running for Re-election for State Senate, District 20
State Senator Coleman-Madison started off her political career as the first ever black woman elected to the Birmingham City Council in 1985. Now, 23 years later, she’s running for her fourth term as State Senator. Right before she ran for the first time, her grandmother passed away, but she continues to be inspired by their bond. “Even though my grandmother was not educated, and came up during the era where she could not vote, she always encouraged me to be all that I could be,” she says.
Suzanna Coleman, Running for Alabama House of Representatives, District 15
Growing up in Alabama, Coleman, 46, learned about hard work from her father, a decorated WWII veteran and a mechanic, as well as her mother, who worked as a food warehouse clerk. After graduating from University of Alabama, Coleman earned her JD from Birmingham School of Law all while holding down a full-time job. A mother of two, Coleman serves in the ministry at her local church and runs her law firm. She decided to run for office after going through a rough patch in 2016. “I fell apart a little bit—and I realized that it was going to take more than just a Facebook post or social media to help me, help my children and other girls and young women know they can make a difference, and that they matter,” she says.
Chauntae Brown, Running for Judge in Jefferson County
Brown knows a thing or two about firsts. Not only is she the first person in her family to attend college, she’s also the first to attend law school—and now, to run for office. Brown, a 28-year-old lawyer, says she’s running to be a criminal district judge so she can represent the people who populate the criminal justice system in Jefferson county—people who have low incomes, lack an adequate education or job, and those with drug addictions, she says.
If elected, she plans to honor the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, who said that “It’s alright to tell a man to lift himself by his own bootstraps, but it is a cruel jest to say to a bootless man that he ought to lift himself by his own bootstraps.” Brown intends to embody this saying by giving people not just a ruling, but a lifeline. “As judge, I have the authority to order defendants to get a G.E.D., be admitted into an in-patient treatment facility to address drug addiction, and ordered to get certified in a trade,” she says. “It is vital that this community not only has a judge that holds people accountable, but will focus on the roots of the problem to try to decrease the chances of that person reoffending.”
Arlene Easley, Running for State House of House, District 104
Easley, 54, grew up in the Jim Crow era, and living through those racist policies has fueled her quest for a more just state. While she has always volunteered, she never expected to run for office until she found herself on a bus traveling from Mobile to Washington DC to participate in the 2017 Women’s March on Washington. “On that trip, I realized that we each have to be the change we want to see,” she says. Easley believes Alabama’s current Republican-led House has failed to deliver on things that are important to her community, like a strong economy, competitive wages, and educational resources for our schools. “We need leaders in Montgomery who work for the people…not special interest groups,” she says, hoping to become one of those leaders herself. “We deserve representatives in Montgomery who understand what it’s like to struggle, what it’s like to raise a family while going to school at night.”
Clotele Brantley, Running for District Judge in the Family Court, Jefferson County
Brantley, 59, has worked extensively with substance abusers in the criminal justice system, providing rehabilitative services and coordinating re-entry for incarcerated young women. As a district judge, she hopes to “work with our youth, families, and the DA’s office to curtail the gun violence that’s happening and make our community a better and safer place for children and families.” Women this year, she says, are “coming out in full force so that we can make a difference.”
Sandra Little Brown, Running for Re-election to the Jefferson County Commission, District 2
Commissioner Brown, 62, a breast cancer survivor, is serving her second term as the first black woman ever elected president of the Jefferson County Commission. Known to many as a fighter in her community, she says she’s heartened by all the women becoming involved in the political world this year. If she were to give her 10-year-old self advice, Little Brown says, she’d tell her younger self: “Things are going to get better.”
Cara McClure, Running for Public Service Commissioner
When George Zimmerman was acquitted for the murder of Trayvon Martin in 2013, McClure, 48, knew she could no longer stand idly by. Shortly after, she founded the Birmingham chapter of the Black Lives Matter Global Network, and then went on to help launch the organization Showing Up for Racial Justice Birmingham. Just last year McClure spearheaded a campaign on Mother’s Day to bail black mothers out of jail and reunite them with their families.
For McClure, her activism is personal—at one point she and her son were briefly homeless. And now she’s taking her work to the next level, by running for the public service commission. If elected, she would become the first African American—male or female—to serve on the commission in Alabama. Her hope is to represent the people she’s been fighting for throughout her life: “the marginalized and poor black and brown communities that are underrepresented on the commision,” she says. “Those who don’t have a voice or seat at the table.”
Deidra Willis, Running for State Senate, District 7
A former principal, Willis, 51, is committed to ensuring quality education and much-deserved raises for area teachers, as well as supporting small-business development. “It’s time for a change,” she says. “We need equity within our district.”
Jessica Fortune Barker, Running for State Board of Education, District 8
Barker, 33, has lived in the District she’s running in for most of her life, and has witnessed “both the disparities and unity that this community has encountered.” Right now, she says, the educational system is in “a state of emergency.” Due to factors such as a lack of funding, low teacher wages, lack of access to required coursework, and removal of humanities and vocational programs from the curriculum (“to name a few”), Alabama’s kids are put at an educational disadvantage when compared to other states, says Barker, a mother of four. “We need someone to come in who has a vested interest. I am that woman who can answer that call.”
A snippet of video on Twitter suggests Liuba Grechen Shirley’s kids had a pretty good time at Thursday’s Federal Election Commission hearing.
Their mom, though, may just have had a better one: In a groundbreaking unanimous decision, the commissioners of the FEC ruled Grechen Shirley can use campaign funds to defray the costs of child care as she pursues her run for a New York congressional seat.
“The ruling came in just in time for Mother’s Day, which is pretty incredible,” the Long Island Democrat told reporters on a conference call following the hearing.
“I will now be the first woman to ever spend federal campaign dollars that I am raising on a babysitter. And I’m hoping that I’ll be just the first,” she added. “I’m hoping that this decision inspires thousands of women — and fathers, parents of young children — to run.”
Grechen Shirley, a community activist, is the 36-year-old mother of two — Nicholas, 2, and Mila, 3. She says she now pays a sitter $22 an hour to watch the children during an approximately 20-hour work week.
If she wins, she’ll become part a very small group of congresswomen who balance their public office with being moms to very young children. First, of course, the consultant would have to defeat both a Democratic primary opponent, DuWayne Gregory — who has objected to her FEC request — and incumbent Republican Rep. Peter King.
Grechen Shirley says she thought hard about undertaking the race at all considering how young her kids are, but in the end, she had some A-list support for her push to use campaign cash to underwrite her childcare.
In April, Hillary Clinton’s lawyers wrote a letter arguing in the candidate’s favor. They noted that the childcare expenses existed specifically as a result of the Long Islander’s run for office; she had looked after them herself before launching a “rigorous campaign schedule.”
And in May, 24 members of Congress — women and men — signed a letter backing Grechen Shirley’s FEC request.
“Women and working parents face many barriers in running for public office, including meeting childcare obligations during campaigns that require frequent travel and evening and weekend events,” the lawmakers wrote. “As we work to build a political environment that is fair to candidates of all backgrounds, the Commission has a role to play in fairly enforcing and administering federal campaign finance laws.”
In addition, the campaign said more than 2,300 people nationwide signed a petition on Grechen Shirley’s behalf.
“It’s a groundbreaking decision that will remove a major financial obstacle for working families and mothers at a time when women are increasingly considering elected office,” Grechen Shirley said on the call.
The candidate said she hoped the ruling, which applies to political hopefuls who specifically incur babysitting costs as a result of embarking on a campaign, would foster more socioeconomic diversity among the ranks of future candidates.
Right now, she said, women candidates — who traditionally take a lot of convincing to get into the fray — are often inclined to put off a bid for office until their children are out of school: “We desperately need working women in Congress who understand firsthand what it’s like to balance a checkbook while raising children,” she said.
“We’re missing that critical voice.”
FEC Commissioner Ellen Weintraub echoed those sentiments, tweeting that she was glad to be part of the decision and predicted it would “expand – and diversify – the pool of people who will be able to run for federal office.”
Even as she savored the FEC victory, Grechen Shirley allowed that running for the House as the mom of toddlers is definitely no game of pattycake, even with help.
“It is definitely a struggle. It’s a juggling act every day,” she said.
“I take conference calls while nursing my son, while my daughter is running around and playing,” she said.
“I was there this morning to testify in front of the FEC with both of them, and they were running around and, you know, being chased by monsters,” she said of her two young charges. “Running for Congress with two small children, it’s become a family affair.”
Ever since Oprah’s Cecil B. DeMille Award acceptance speech at the 2018 Golden Globes, the rallying cry from the masses has been one insisting that she take her powerful rhetoric to the campaign trail and run for President of the United States in the next election. Throughout the speech, Oprah mentioned her support of the Time’s Up and #MeToo movements, resonating with the actresses in the audience and the viewers at home. The acceptance speech was not just a simple, humble pep talk—it was naturally very poised and did feel somewhat presidential, and left many in tears as they stood to congratulate her for the award.
“Oprah 2020” has become a slogan hoisted upon Oprah, with friends like Meryl Streep endorsing a presidential run from the queen of all media. In a cover interview with InStyle, Oprah has finally addressed the subject of “Oprah 2020,” insisting that she is by no means interested in running for President of the United States. “I’ve always felt very secure and confident with myself in knowing what I could do and what I could not. And so it’s not something that interests me. I don’t have the DNA for it,” she said. Even Gayle has sided with Oprah, telling her best friend, “I know, I know, I know! It wouldn’t be good for you—it would be good for everyone else.”
“That’s not for me,” Oprah told InStyle, after revealing that someone had offered to help start her campaign. Even if there was a chance that having Oprah in office could be even mildly medicinal for all of us, we have to trust that Oprah knows herself better than anyone else. And she already has enough on her plate: Oprah is scheduled to return to 60 Minutes on CBS, getting back to her roots as a journalist on assignment, and she recently volunteered her time and efforts towards cleaning up in the Santa Barbara fires and Montecito mudslides.
The #Gamergate cyberattack against Brianna Wu, in which an Internet mob terrorized the software engineer after she spoke out against sexism and misogyny in the gaming industry, was tactically elegant in its launch and spectacularly cruel in its delivery. At its height in 2014, she saw her home address and personal information scrawled across the Web, and received more than 180 death threats across her social media accounts. Among the most vile were promises to rape her with military-grade weapons. Wu knows that threats like these led some women to quit the business and likely discouraged many others from entering altogether. But she continued to speak out.
Now the 40-year-old video game developer is launching herself into a different kind of firestorm: She’s running for Congress in Massachusetts’ Eighth District on a platform crafted, in part, from her experience facing off against white-supremacist groups, which, she notes, have been against not only women gamers but also public policies that benefit anyone not white, heterosexual, and male. Her goal: economic and political parity for women, LGBTQ Americans, people of color, and the working poor. “All these forces are tied together,” Wu told Glamour from her headquarters in Walpole. “The system is not working for any of them.”
The idea that the system is broken has motivated thousands of women to launch political campaigns; 11,000 have told She Should Run, a nonpartisan group that offers resources to women interested in seeking office, that they are actively planning to run. Founder and CEO Erin Loos Cutraro says this new crop of talent is “sick of not having their voices and perspectives represented” and recognizes “the impact they can make at all levels of government.”
Wu, a self-taught engineer who started programming at age eight and took university classes at 14, is planning a campaign that’s social-media-savvy and based in door-to-door canvassing. She’ll need every tool in her arsenal to pull off a Democratic primary win against incumbent Stephen Lynch, who’s heavily backed by the state’s party. (“I see a Democratic party that’s not standing up for us,” she says.) If elected, she pledges, “my first mission is to make investments in the economy to help people just be able to live.” Also on the docket: cybersecurity legislation to protect online privacy.
Wu’s liberal convictions may be surprising given her roots in Hattiesburg, Mississippi, where she grew up in a conservative household with a steady diet of Fox News and, she says, regularly heard conversations disparaging people of color and Jews. She got her first political experience interning for former U.S. Senator Trent Lott (R–Miss.), but in the aftermath of the September 11 attacks, when the Bush administration declared war on Iraq, she felt she was on the wrong side.
“I haven’t talked to my family since I went home with a ‘John Kerry for President’ bumper sticker on my car,” Wu says. “It hurts me every single day.” But she refuses to keep her mouth shut and her head down, especially after seeing white supremacists marching in Charlottesville, Virginia, and Boston in August. The rallies, she says, “just made me double down.”
Wu knows that stepping into politics could make her a target again. “Of course there’s fear,” she says. “But ultimately, I am an American, and I love this country. I can live with knowing that running for office puts my life in danger. What I can’t live with is doing nothing.”
Know a woman who’d be a great leader? Or want to run yourself? Go to emilyslist.org, sheshouldrun.org, or maggieslist.org.
This article originally appeared in the November 2017 issue.
Kinya Claiborne, the founder and editor-in-chief of STYLE & SOCIETY magazine thought that the Route 91 Harvest festival would be the perfect way to celebrate her thirty-seventh birthday—complete with close friends and her favorite country music artists. Instead, it turned into an unthinkable nightmare. On Sunday night, 64-year-old Stephen Paddock opened fire on concertgoers, killing at least 58 people and wounding over 500. Claiborne survived the worst mass shooting in modern U.S. history, but the events have forever altered her life. Here, she shares her story. As told to Maggie Mallon.
Warning: This story contains graphic descriptions of the shooting that occurred in Las Vegas on October 1.
I had been to Route 91 Harvest once before—it falls every year on my birthday weekend. I gathered a few friends to attend the festival because I’m a country music lover and this year one of my favorite artists, Jason Aldean, was a headliner.
I missed Friday’s performers because I was traveling for work but on Saturday—which was actually my birthday—we saw the show. We stood right up front by the stage and had a great time.
Our hotel room overlooked part of the strip and the runway of the airport—basically facing the festival. On Sunday morning before we left, I gazed out over our view and thought to myself, You know what? I’m surprised there’s never been any kind of terrorist attack in Las Vegas. You have the airport, you have these tall buildings, you have these festivals. With everything that’s been going on I’m surprised that nothing has ever happened here.
I even said it out loud to my friends. But we didn’t think anything of it.
We got to the festival around 4:30. We walked around. We watched the acts. We got a bite to eat. As the night went on we ended up in the Malibu Rum section, an elevated platform that was to the left of the stage. There were about 15 people up there, included me and my two friends.
For most concerts, I like to be in the front row, especially for artists that I love. But that night I didn’t feel comfortable doing that. I didn’t want to feel claustrophobic in a sea of people. I wanted to stay on the platform, and we ended up watching Jason Aldean from up there.
We were dancing. We were having a great time when halfway through his act we heard this loud sound: BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
PHOTO: David Becker/Getty
Concertgoers flee the Route 91 Harvest festival on Sunday night
I thought it was a helicopter right above us, but there was nothing there. Maybe someone had illegal firecrackers, but I didn’t see any sparks. Then I thought it might be part of the show because Jason was still performing.
The sound happened again. Jason ran off stage. The music stopped. The lights went off. Something was wrong.
It continued. We realized they were gunshots. It sounded like someone in the venue had a handgun, and they were executing people.
On Saturday my friends and I had stopped by the U.S. Army recruiting booth to take part in a boot camp and basic training setup they had. Nobody was over there—it was completely empty—so we decided to check it out. Little did we know that what the drill sergeant taught us the day before would be the skills we needed to survive the very next night.
On that platform, we heard was a man saying, “Get down!” We dropped to the floor. The shooting continued. We covered our heads. I thought, Oh my God, we’re going to die.
The guy shouted, “Get up! Run!” just like a drill sergeant. We got up and ran. It was pure chaos. My friends and I were separated immediately. People ran in different directions. We didn’t know how many gunmen there were or where shots were coming from. It was dark. It was just survival at this point.
I ran through a parking lot. It sounded like the gunman was chasing me. The shots seemed to get louder even though I was running further away. I felt like I was being hunted.
The machine gun was firing—BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! As soon as it would stop and I’d think it was over, it would start again. This went on for 20 minutes.
I ran through the parking lot until I got to a dead end: a fence with barbed wire on it. On the other side of it was the airport runway. Everybody was going in that direction. We were trapped.
I jumped into a dumpster in the parking lot. I peeked out and saw people were crying, distraught, and trying to find a place to hide. The gunshots continued. A pickup truck rammed into the fence to create a small opening.
All of us that had been trapped darted through the opening and onto the runway. People scattered and tried to hide anywhere they could. I opened the door to a small storage facility on the runway and found other people already in there: people who’d been running; people who had just landed from a private plane or a helicopter; people who were just about to take off in a private plane or helicopter. They had no idea what was going on. There was also a woman in there who had been shot twice.
I texted my friends to see where they were. One had jumped in someone’s car and they were picking up people who’d been shot or wounded to take them to the hospital. My other friend ran into a Hooters. She was one of the first people to get there, and everyone looked her like she was crazy. Within minutes a flood of people came in.
While I was in that storage room, I sent a Facebook message out to let my loved ones know that I might not make it. It was all I could do. I didn’t feel safe being in there. The airport didn’t even know that the fence was exposed. If the gunman came in, we’d be hostages. So little by little, we started to leave.
Two men carried the girl who had been shot to try and get help. I’m not sure if she made it. They kept saying, “Don’t look! Don’t look.” But I glanced over at her and saw that her skin was purple.
We moved to another building and people were already there, crying and trying to contact loved ones. Time passed. We got word that the killer had been shot. More time passed. I left the building. It was 3:00 A.M. I had to get to my hotel and check on my friends. I found a bus that was still running and told the driver to take me wherever he was going. I was dropped off at the Town Square shopping center. People were there stranded, trying to contact family.
PHOTO: Drew Angerer/Getty Images
A memorial for the victims of Sunday night’s mass shooting stands at an intersection on the north end of the Las Vegas Strip
I called an Uber to go back to the hotel, but every road was blocked. I went back to Town Square. Locals had brought blankets for people. Restaurant employees turned on heat lamps and gave people water and soda. I was able to contact my brother who lives in Vegas. He picked me up, and I got back to the hotel and reunited with my friends.
We were so nervous flying back home to Los Angeles on Monday. Every bump, every sound, we were shaking. I didn’t feel safe until we landed.
The past few days have been eerie. I feel emotionally, spiritually, physically, and mentally dead. I feel numb. I feel sick. I feel like I’m in a nightmare. The sounds of gunshots still ring through my head. I can’t describe how I felt the moment I realized I was being shot at. Imagine running for your life and thinking, I may not make it.
It’s hard to get back to reality. All I can think about is that it could’ve been me—I could’ve died; I could’ve lost one of my friends. It’s going to take some time before, mentally, I’m all there. But this will never erase. It’s a permanent imprint on my heart and in my brain. It’s going to stay with me forever. I can never forget what happened.
Nothing will ever bring the perished back, but what may bring comfort and clarity to the victims and their families is to have some answers to what happened. There are still so many unanswered questions. Why did it sound like it was more than one shooter? Why did the shooting get louder as we moved away from it? Why did he have so many guns? How did he even get access to these types of weapons? At country music festivals people are just there to have a good time. Why was it targeted? Was it just a senseless act or something deeper?
I hope that people will open their eyes and do something. I hope there will be stricter rules for owning a gun and gun control across the board. And I would hope that from this situation policies will go into place to prevent this from happening again.
What was supposed to be my birthday celebration turned into a nightmare. But I’m not going to let this deter me from enjoying my life and trying to live it to the fullest.
If you’d like to help victims of the Las Vegas shooting, you can donate money to the Las Vegas Victims’ Fund to provide relief and financial support or donate blood through the Red Cross (visit redcrossblood.org or call 800-733-2767 to arrange a donation).
