Remember, Remember the 5th of November 🇺🇸

Disclaimer: This is a political post. If you can’t handle that right now, skip this one. If you disagree with me, I disagree with you. That’s part of being human.

Like many Americans abroad, I stayed up all night to watch the election returns. And, like most Americans abroad, I had a certain female candidate on my ballot and on my mind, and – most importantly – in my heart. 

When it became clear that America hadn’t yet learned its lesson, and chose another 4 years of chaos and tyranny, most blue-leaning Americans went to sleep defeated.

But for us on Greenwich Mean Time, it was time for the school run. 

Walking the bustling streets of London was surreal, holding the tiny hand of my son, while all hope slipped from my grasp. One stranger smiled, but the rest breezed by. I wanted to scream, because I wanted to know that someone – anyone – felt how I was feeling. 

Living abroad often feels like this. There is an isolation that cannot be soothed with text messages and FaceTime. We need other humans, right in front of us, to identify with. But there’s no one in sight, so we continue walking the streets alone. 

Back home on this November 6th, I would have exchanged knowing glances with passersby. I would have walked my child into school, hugged my fellow parents, my children’s teachers, and cried over coffee with like-minded optimists whose spirits had been crushed. 

But back home, I would also have the nagging dread that I would never see my child again. Every school run threatens to be the last for the parents and children of America, and I’d trade that existential dread for loneliness any day. 

Living abroad is a trade-off, and it’s an exchange we grapple with and question daily. No country is perfect, but some are safer than others. I miss America everyday, but I don’t miss the fear of living in an American world. 

I was reminded of this fear, and all that we have to lose, on election night. 

November 5th is election day for Americans, but Bonfire Night for Brits, the city booming with fireworks, celebrating the attempted coup made by Guy Fawkes and his compatriots in 1605. This attempted Catholic uprising was quashed, and Parliament never exploded. 

Today, much smaller explosions ring out across the country on the anniversary, though it’s unclear if it’s to celebrate the attempted coup, or celebrate its prevention. Most Brits use it as an excuse to get rip-roaring drunk and light things on fire, akin to our American 4th of July. 

Just after dark, as I was prepping dinner, booms and pops began sounding out. The American in me panicked. I had been living in America in my head all day, doom scrolling election content and checking on my friends. For a moment, my body forgot it lived in a country without easy access to guns. 

After the initial panic died, I let myself feel a moment of calm, basking in the relative safety outside my door. We walked to a park that sits atop the highest point in the city, with a panoramic view of the capital. 

Teenagers shot bottle rockets from their bare hands, toddlers played with sparklers, and most adults had more than their fair share of ale. Sparkling bursts of blue and green and gold lit up the towers, the stadiums, and the Thames. 

The mood was light, though the fog that had settled over London gave it an ominous tone. Even the bright flames couldn’t break through the gray, masking the detonations with a haze that looked like smoke.

I didn’t know that that fog was an omen of what was to come across the pond. Just 15 years after Guy Fawkes tried to overthrow the government, The Mayflower left London to the new world, setting off a chain of events that leads us to where we are today. 

The writers of the Constitution couldn’t have known how their carefully chosen words would be used against their intent. In trying to buck off Crown rule, they established their new country with freedom in mind. But now, that freedom has circled all the way back around to tyranny like an ouroboros.

I find it deeply ironic that families like mine are choosing to go back to the motherland from which our “ancestors” ran away from so long ago. I choose to live here, in a more antiquated society full of rules and regulations, because the freedom that was so desperately craved in America has run amok. 

As it turns out, government intervention isn’t always a bad thing. In the UK, and in many other European nations, nationalized healthcare is a right. Parental leave is a right. School from age 4 is a right, and a requirement. There are subsidies for childcare and a massive housing assistance program. 

Is there poverty? Yes. Mental illness? Yes. Violence? Yes. But there are also comprehensive programs to help prevent and assist victims of these circumstances. 

I find one of the largest differences in attitudes between Americans and Brits is in how they come together as a community. America feels like “we’re all in this together.” Communities rally around one another. Neighbors help neighbors.

But in England – especially in London – it’s more like every man for himself. Why? Because the British government has always looked after every citizen. 

Do they do it perfectly? No. Is it a tricky system that’s nearly impossible to navigate as an immigrant? Yes. But you’ll hardly ever see a Go Fund Me for chemotherapy, job loss or trauma therapy. There is a safety net, and the safety net lies under every citizen and resident.

Brits (in my opinion and observation) don’t so much rally around one another, because they never had to, except in the dire straits of war. 

But this community spirit is – quite honestly – what I miss most about America. There was a camaraderie that just doesn’t exist here (at least where I live, in frigid London). Americans work together, and fight together, and band together, when circumstances require it. 

When did we start fighting against each other? When did political beliefs become moral foundations? I wish I knew the answer to that. But I do know that if we all had equal access to higher education, healthcare, housing and food, the division would not be as large as it is today. 

I am extremely privileged, as an educated white woman, to walk in my shoes. I’m extremely privileged to be able to leave my home country and live where I can keep my children safe. I’m beyond privileged to even have children by choice, and raise them in a society where they don’t have to fear walking into the classroom. 

Most Americans are not that privileged. Many Americans will now want to leave, and understandably so. Hate, misogyny and racism has become so pervasive in American society that the electorate would rather see a rapist convict in office than a black woman. 

I had a dream that my home country would slowly repair itself over the next four years. Now that hope is dashed, and I know that America will never be the same again. Now I know, for sure, that I will likely not come back, maybe ever, or at least until my children are grown and independent. 

But as I watched the fireworks that night, loud pops and booms surrounding me on all sides, I was able to breathe. And that small blessing, of not living in fight-or-flight, is worth every day of loneliness. 

If I were religious, I would pray for America. But since I’m not, I can only say this: if you have the means to get out, get out.

If you don’t have the means to get out, now is the time to band together with your allies and form stronger coalitions than you ever have before. Now, you only have each other. And I know that that spirit – that fight – will continue for as long as you’re able. 

The government is not looking out for you, so you have to look after each other. History has shown us how this ends, and the end is disaster for humankind. 

I hope that one day, America will have its equivalent of Bonfire Night – a national holiday celebrating the gunpowder plot that was foiled. I hope that all the ammunition the right has stored up – deportations, defunding, dehumanization – will be discovered before they explode and cause catastrophic, permanent damage. 

I hope that one day, we’ll look back at this moment in history and see where it all went wrong, to prevent it from ever happening again. But as it stands, we’re not very good at learning from our predecessors. 

It took a war for the colonies to shake off Crown rule. And it may take another to reclaim our nation once again. But this time, the enemy isn’t across the Atlantic. He’s right here, and he was put into power by the people.

But make no mistake: he was never, ever put there for the people.