Cat Olson

On Sunday, January 9, Oprah Winfrey accepted the Cecil B. DeMille Award at the 75th Golden Globes. In her acceptance speech she reminisced back to when Sidney Poitier won best actor at the Academy Awards in 1964. She said, “I had never seen a black man being celebrated like that. I tried many, many, times to explain what a moment like that means to a little girl, a kid watching from the cheap seats as my mom came through the door bone tired from cleaning other people’s houses.”

Winfrey’s speech resonated for a number of reasons but, for me, this part stuck out the most. It emphasized the influence equal representation can have on a person’s life. As a poor little girl, Winfrey watched a black man win. And she might’ve never found the words to convey how much it meant but–there’s no denying–it made all the difference.

On the eve of Election Day I cast my ballot for who I hoped would become the first female president of the United States. Though this wasn’t the sole reason for my decision, I can’t deny being excited by the prospect of having a leader who looked like me. (I know this is not something I’m supposed to admit.)

Later that night I scrolled through a number of FaceBook statuses, posted by women and stating, more or less, “Don’t vote for Hillary Clinton just because she’s a woman.”

I understood what they were trying to say: Don’t choose someone for a reason as superficial as her gender. And still, why any woman would take the time to make that point was lost on me.

I couldn’t understand why for the obvious reason, that they were (I felt) advocating against their own interests. (Bodily autonomy with the right to choose and keep pregnancy between oneself and her doctor, welfare programs, which have aided struggling single mothers, and the solace of knowing your president isn’t a sexual offender.) But, on a very base level, I couldn’t understand why they would advocate against their own image. Why, it seemed, only a perfect and completely ideal female candidate could earn the excitement of American women, when so many less than ideal, and imperfect, men have already represented us.

I guess I was operating from the opposite perspective: Don’t rule someone out for a reason as superficial as her gender.

When Donald Trump won the election, I felt heartbroken in a way I hadn’t anticipated. Not because of personal views against him, or some belief that Hillary Clinton was the absolute best candidate, but because it was a painful reminder that women make up more than 50% of this country and, still, one has yet to be president.

I contemplated how, more often than not, in casual conversation, I felt discouraged from expressing how I hoped for a female president. Out of fear that my hopes would be simplified and shut down by misogynistic advice, like, “Don’t support someone just because she’s a woman.”

I questioned what this kind of response might indicate, in this day and age.

But, more than anything else, I understood that I’d tasted the feeling Oprah Winfrey described in her speech; the one she couldn’t explain but knew was life changing for her, as a young girl. How watching a black man being celebrated for his art and talent, in a society that had yet to do so, opened up a world of possibility that became the catalyst to all her success.

This is why equal representation is pivotal to a successful and, ultimately, compassionate society. Merely watching someone who looks like you, succeed, is life changing–especially for a child.

This is why, as a young woman, I hope for a female president in the near future.

Not “just because” (whoever she may be) “is a woman”, but because I believe women have not always been judged fairly, especially when they pushed the boundaries and were given unprecedented power. Because, I know, women are just as capable as the men who have already led us. And because little girls deserve to see that this position of respect, in America, is within their reach.