Big Thoughts on the Big Thing | #4 Rosemary Mac Cabe

er, me

In light of the recent presidential election, and the imminent inauguration of Donald Trump as the 47th President of the United States, I asked a selection of women to write a piece for Anchor Baby that in some way illustrated their feelings about, reaction to, or relationship with the results. This is the fourth installment in that series, in which I share my own thoughts and immediate reaction to the news. (Read parts 1, 2 and 3 here.)

I’d like to acknowledge, up top, that though I am a woman, and an immigrant – making me the kind of individual whose very personhood Trump seems particularly determined to deny – I live in the US with an immense amount of privilege due not only to my race, but to my social status, education, and a level of financial security that means I know I can fall back on family if ever I find myself in dire straits.

And yet, I feel very, very afraid. I can only imagine how those who live in this country without those in-built privileges – people of colour; immigrants who are fleeing persecution, war, or worse; LGBTQIA+ individuals, trans kids… the list goes on – feel.

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On Wednesday, November 8, 2016, I had an early morning weightlifting session with my then-boyfriend. We left the house at 6am to cycle the 10 minutes to Smithfield, where we worked out together once or twice a week with Niamh at Lift Training Studios, the weightlifting gym where I would discover how great it was to lift weights and, later, get a job as a personal trainer. The past, to quote the author LP Hartley, is a foreign country.

It was not a morning I would ordinarily remember; at the time, I was working out up to seven days a week, waking as early as 4am to meet Niamh at her gym for a lifting session, or at the 24-hour gym down the road to do some “fasted cardio”. Afterwards, I would cycle home and get back into bed, sweaty and shivering, where I’d get another few hours’ sleep before getting up to work. (If the Rosemary of 2016 could see me now…)

That morning, though, was significant because, upon waking and checking our phones, we were reading headlines that seemed borderline incomprehensible; it was looking increasingly likely, as the votes were being counted in the US election, that reality TV star and professional rich guy Donald J Trump was on track to win the US presidency.

I remember, mere months before that, laughing at the news that he was even considering running — now, as we watched the results trickle in, as state after state fell to the lure of making America great again, things seemed distinctly less amusing.

But still, I’ll admit that our literal distance — Dublin, Ireland, 4,500-odd miles from America — made it all a little easier to stomach. It was giving Americans are mad, Ted! vibes, but it’s easy to feel removed from news in another country when you’re, you know, in another country.

This time around, a mere eight years later… this time was different.