Nada Elmikashfi (above in red shirt) speaks at a Black Lives Matter rally in June at the state Capitol.
About a year ago, the right wheel of our car hit an ice patch while we were driving down the highway from Milwaukee to Madison. Our car spun and careened towards the median. I was sitting shotgun, one second thinking about how light the snow was falling around us and the next about how bright the lights of the trucks on the opposite side of the highway looked as they headed right for me. I was silent as I waited for impact. I wasn’t panicking, I was looking straight ahead.
It’s not true what they say, that in those last few moments your life flashes in front of your eyes. At least for me, that didn’t happen — I was too busy negotiating with God.
I need to stay longer, I need to find purpose for these few years I’ve lived, I remember thinking. Why was I ever here if I was to leave so soon?
The conversation was very much one way; but our car missed the concrete median by centimeters, defied physics, landed wheels down, and came to a full, safe stop. In those seconds of shock, I felt a response rather than heard it: live.
If you’d asked me before that moment what my biggest fear was, it wasn’t regret. It wasn’t being frozen with the realization that you haven’t been grateful for every moment you’ve been given. It was something inconsequential like heights, or small spaces.
But now, the measurement of life has become the intensity with which I live it — how I love and fight for those around me. I am loath to spend the extra time on anything other than gratefulness.
Given my brush with death, I’ve viewed the events of this past year — my campaign for state Senate, this global pandemic, the presidential election — through rose-colored glasses. Not ones that encourage naivety, but ones that define and accentuate the negative as much as the positive; ones that highlight goodness not by blurring the bad, but by putting them side by side and letting the good outshine.
Those rose-colored glasses have shown me a city much brighter than any I ever knew before.
Madison is a tremendous place. In the midst of trauma, we’ve found it in ourselves to stand up for our proud progressive tradition and our fellow Wisconsinites. COVID-19 has shown us many truths, but not one as profound as the comradeship of our working class.
Here in Madison, we know what is right. And I’m so grateful for that goodness and for what I have learned from our little, powerful electorate.
I’ve grown a lot this past year, both politically and personally. I’ve met people who have shown me support and love enough to fill decades, who have advocated for me and humbled me. I’ve met the bestest of friends: a Republican who teaches me, a revolutionary who inspires me, and a pragmatist who challenges me.
My deepest gratitude to the Black and Native women who fought for my voice to be represented, for the city and county clerks who have risked their lives to protect our right to vote, for the public health officials — the doctors and the nurses — and all the other essential workers who have served us during such a scary time.
There is not a week that goes by where I do not remember that December 2019 night and remind myself how precious our lives are. In a way, this pandemic was also a reminder that we are all fragile. But what Madison has taught me is that what is fragile can also be resilient — and for that lesson I will always be grateful.
Nada Elmikashfi recently ran for state Senate and is chief of staff to state Rep. Francesca Hong.
