USA TODAY International Edition
My journey from GOP to championing women
The Republican Party abandoned my family
On Sept. 27, 2018, I was volunteering in my daughter’s second grade classroom. My phone buzzed with updates of Christine Blasey Ford’s testimony during Brett Kavanaugh’s confirmation hearing. After I finished, I sat in my car and listened to a recording of her opening statement.
I believed her, and yet my deep skepticism of the media, my belief in our “system” and my conservative political identity left me searching for reasons to discount her testimony. Maybe she misremembered who had attacked her or the severity of the attack? I could not get her out of my mind. She had displayed such bravery and grace. So began my journey away from the Republican Party.
The following month I read Max Boot’s “The Corrosion of Conservatism,” which I couldn’t get out of my head for months. The Trump administration continued to erode my faith in the strength of our democracy.
As a foreign policy expert, my husband did not follow domestic policies and politics like I did, so we didn’t discuss it much; he knew how I felt about President Donald Trump, but he had a job to do and he has never been one to care about “palace intrigue.”
The following January I attended a Women’s March for the first time. I felt like a fraud; Alex and I drove to Washington, D. C., together, and he went to work in the White House while I attended the march.
My husband’s turn to testify
Then, a mere 13 months after Ford’s testimony, it was my family in the eye of the storm, weathering ugly and vile attacks and withering criticism from the president and some lawmakers as my husband, Lt. Col. Alexander Vindman, testified during Trump’s first impeachment. As I sat awake in the early hours of Oct. 29, 2019, I realized something. I didn’t leave the Republican Party. It left me.
The first days and months after Alex’s testimonies were acutely uncertain and scary. It reminded me of my mother’s cancer diagnosis or my very high- risk pregnancy with our surviving daughter; at first your head spins as you process the news, then you learn to live in the storm.
This period lasted for almost a year. Only in looking back at it now can I see how awful it was; we were going through the stages of grief and we could only speak to very close family and advisers. A few weeks into my husband’s retirement I heard about another journalist – one I have followed for a long time – whose life and family were being threatened. That was my moment. I remember where I was when I heard the story and I made the decision right there: I would no longer be silent.
It was time to fight back, publicly and in a way that honored and reflected what my family and those close to me had endured. So I proudly joined a movement of women who were using their voices and talents to fight for the things that mattered most to them. I began to engage and found more ways to promote democracy, amplify women’s voices, and ensure my voice is heard in my local community as well as on a national level.
‘ The Suburban Women Problem’
Every week on my podcast “The Suburban Women Problem,” we speak to every day women who are making a difference in their communities, and every week I am inspired.
For me, a huge part of telling their stories is talking about the good and the bad: what motivates us and how we came to this work while also discussing the difficult parts. Like so many others, I have guilt over adding more responsibilities and activities to my already full calendar – if you’re reading this and you’re waiting on me for a response to an email or something else I owe you, know you are not alone.
I have lost friends due to my activism. There are even those who supported us during the impeachment saga but have since distanced themselves because they do not understand why I refuse to return to my “regular” life. To them I simply say this is the most authentic version of Rachel Vindman for this season of my life. I don’t know how long this moment will last, but I am committed to doing all I can do now.
More than two decades ago I was hiking near the Sea of Galilee. The main part of the hike was through a river bed that was filled with softball- size rocks that were impossible to stand on, so my companions and I were forced to constantly move forward or we would lose our balance and fall. I tried to stop once, and I fell. I still have the scar as a reminder that I must keep moving forward. The scenery and companions change throughout the years, but our goal should remain the same.
Keep moving forward.