I am burning with fury and grief over Elizabeth Warren. And I am not alone.

I am burning with fury and grief over Elizabeth Warren. And I am not alone.
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[Ed. – She isn’t alone. Who wasn’t at least mildly curious to see which 9-year-old transgender child Warren was going to call upon to help her fill cabinet posts?]

Consider every moment, since the dawn of woman, when a female aspired but to no avail. She asked to attend school but was denied. She raised her hand but wasn’t called on. … She created but wasn’t credited. She ran but wasn’t elected.

Imagine the sadness and frustration of every such instance as a spark, their combined energy the size of many suns. That is the measure of grief and fury I felt rise inside me as I watched Elizabeth Warren’s bid for the Democratic nomination wane.

When Hillary Clinton lost in 2016, it hurt in similar ways but didn’t surprise me. Out here in the red hinterlands, it was plain to some of us that centrist ideas did not excite in times of historic inequality. This election, though, I thought Senator Elizabeth Warren — a class revolutionary to match the moment — might go to the White House.

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