The Accidental Activist

“Neville, is it true you are a Democrat?” I demanded when Neville answered her phone that day in 2018.  

 

Neville hesitated and then whispered, “Yes, Nancy … but don’t tell anyone.”

 

Two years had passed since the morning of November 12, 2016, when I awoke to learn that Hillary Clinton had lost the election. I had never imagined that Donald J. Trump, he of the golden toilet in Trump Tower, would become president. My disbelief turned to despair when my husband and I went to a party in our neighborhood of Sherwood Forest that weekend and found our friends of more than thirty years jubilantly celebrating their candidate’s election. Until that moment, we had no idea that our entire social group was comprised of Trump supporters.

 

After hearing about the first post-Trump Women’s March planned for the day after his inauguration, I dusted off my 1960s Vietnam War protest credentials and organized a group of our “Florida friends” to march together at our winter home in Sarasota, Florida. In the many decades since my last college protest, I’d attended law school, married, practiced law, raised four children, and led a hectic life in Chevy Chase, Maryland. Along the way, we purchased a cottage in Sherwood Forest on the outskirts of Annapolis and summered there for more than thirty years. We never realized that our tiny enclave of 341 homes was a Republican stronghold. 

 

I grew up in the blue state of Rhode Island, where my father was active in local Democratic politics. I voted mostly for Democrats but registered as an Independent. While I never missed voting in a presidential election, I didn’t keep up with local or state politics. I simply had no time.

 

I hoped our Sherwood Forest friends would come to their senses when they saw how woefully unprepared Trump was to govern. When he banned Muslims from entering our country. When he separated families at the border and locked children in cages. But no matter what outrageous action Trump and the Republicans took, our friends reacted positively. When they realized we didn’t share their enthusiasm, they stopped talking politics with us. 

 

In the fall of 2018, I snapped. By then, we had sold our home in Chevy Chase, rebuilt our Sherwood cottage into our retirement dream home, and were living there full time. I felt so isolated. When my husband arrived home from work, I proposed to him that we find a place to rent in “blue” downtown Annapolis to wait out Trump’s term.

 

The next day, I took my usual walk to our small post office, one that Trump was trying to eliminate. I ran into my friend Libby. Libby was the one and only Democrat I knew who lived in Sherwood. 

 

“Libby, how are you standing it here? Gus and I are thinking to rent a place in Annapolis. We can’t talk to anyone at parties here anymore.” Libby turned to me with raised eyebrows as she fussed with the antiquated post office box lock. “Nancy, you don’t have to move out! There are other Democrats here to talk to. Neville is a Democrat.”

 

“Neville? You must be kidding! Her husband likes conspiracy theories and all her siblings voted for Trump.” 

 

“But she is a Democrat, Nancy.”

 

After I recovered from my shock and returned home, I called Neville. “Neville, Gus and I are ready to move out. We’ve had it with all the Trump lovers here.”

 

“Nancy, no! Don’t do that. Listen, I have an idea. Let’s have a party and invite all the women we think are Democrats or who hate Trump as much as we do.”

 

And so we did. We made a list of twenty-five friends and invited them to join us in ranting about Trump on the night of November 6, 2018. The invitation had three options for reply: Yes, I’ll be there! No, I can’t make it that night, but keep me on this list. Or Please take me off this list.

 

Two friends wanted to be taken off the list, so I prepared to receive twenty-three Sherwood women that night. Instead, thirty-seven gals walked in. There was much joy and relief expressed around my kitchen island as neighbors discovered they were not alone. Two sisters-in-law were surprised to see each other because their husbands were diehard Republicans. 

 

The group quickly decided they wanted to gather regularly, and we decided to meet every month or two to discuss current events. The first topic we decided to discuss was immigration, and we chose a future date. Many attending were registered Republicans or Independents, but we were unified in our views about Trump, so we christened our group Like Minded Women. Word spread and our second meeting attracted about fifty women, a few from outside of Sherwood Forest. 

 

With time, our mission has expanded to supporting and promoting progressive female candidates for local, state, and federal office. More and more women have continued to become members and we now count many men as members as well. 

 

The men and women who marched with me in Sarasota for the years of the Trump administration also asked to become Like Minded Women even though they come from all over the country. They want to receive the newsletter I write to highlight some of the more outrageous injustices that are underreported by the corporate media. Since Biden took office, I have highlighted his many accomplishments that have also been routinely overlooked. And now we are celebrating the nomination of Kamala Harris for the presidency. 

 

Neville resigned when Biden won the election, but the group has continued on.  

 

During the run-up to the 2022 midterm elections, we organized our local members to meet for postcarding nights, which proved to be a simple but effective way to get out the vote for mostly minority female candidates in critical states like Virginia and Florida. Through the newsletter, I routinely alert our members to actions they can take to help other important races around the country, like donating money, texting, and calling voters. We are currently canvassing for a local senatorial candidate and are organizing a canvassing weekend in Pennsylvania for the fall. 

 

In the past six years, I’ve learned how vital grassroots organizations like ours are to protecting and upholding our democracy. Candidates appreciate our donations and especially our showing up at rallies and canvassing events. They ask to come and speak to us. 

 

At a party celebrating our fiftieth wedding anniversary last summer, our fourteen-year-old grandson toasted me as an activist. His words surprised me and made me realize that my political work is of value within my family, too. I am offering our ten grandchildren an example of turning outrage into action. With Like Minded Women, we don’t agonize, we organize. 

 

I’m finally grateful to Trump for something: for making me the activist I’ve become.