![]() ![]() Three weeks later I found myself sitting on the couch in her congressional office, beneath a wallful of framed photos and across from the small bed where her French bulldog, Deco, hangs out when he spends the day at work with Ocasio-Cortez. The best and possibly last-depending on how quickly some combination of fascism, religious fundamentalism, and climate change comes for us all-chance a source of hope that things can get better in their lifetimes. The clear heir to an ascendant progressive movement. To many foot soldiers of the fractured, contradictory coalition that is the progressive left, she represents something singular: the future. The right wing’s night terror in the flesh. Constitutionally opposed to sitting down, shutting up, and conforming to the patriotic play-theater of Washington. Arguably more famous than any other person in American politics without the last name Obama or Trump beloved and loathed at competing ends of the political spectrum. “I’m so scared.”įor a fleeting moment in front of the Supreme Court, it was possible to see the full, complicated public totality of the woman we’ve come to know as “AOC”: a 32-year-old second-term congresswoman representing one of the country’s most diverse districts. Within minutes, a sobbing young woman found the congresswoman and threw herself into her arms. “Into the streets!” Ocasio-Cortez shouted, pumping a clenched fist in the air. Soon, she was speaking into a borrowed megaphone, helping to lead the call-and-response. ![]() I’d arrived at the Supreme Court a few minutes before Ocasio-Cortez to interview protesters, and watched as she maneuvered in her plaid pink pantsuit past a small circle of antiabortion demonstrators and then waded into the sea of women and men who’d gathered to mourn. ![]()
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