At the turn of the 20th century, floods, fires, and waste plagued the United States. Industries burned through resources and blew toxins into the air, with few restrictions. States and federal governments were only beginning to approach questions of the environment and did so in piecemeal ways.

In 1907, responding to the need to improve transportation, President Theodore Roosevelt tasked the Inland Waterways Commission with studying how to better manage rivers. The commissioners recognized a need for interstate coordination in this effort. Two in particular—Gifford Pinchot and William John “WJ” McGee—went further. They asked Roosevelt to invite all the country’s governors to Washington to discuss the pressing issues of water and natural resources.

Roosevelt complied, inviting the governors of all the states and territories, along with representatives from hundreds of civic, economic, and media organizations, to the White House. The resulting Conference of Governors, beginning on May 13, 1908, and lasting three days, offered a glimpse of political and economic collaboration that extended beyond normal boundaries of party, state, industry, and even time. The conference represents a not-so-distant precedent for today’s need to extend our political thinking beyond narrow parameters.

According to the New York Times, the Conference of Governors’ unprecedented composition and purpose promised “history-making possibilities.” The paper reported 44 governors attending, though the published proceedings identified 36. Alongside them, four at-large members were invited to “represent the public,” which appears to have meant ensuring the discussion integrated economic concerns: steel tycoon Andrew Carnegie, railroad executive James J. Hill, labor leader John Mitchell, and Democratic mainstay William Jennings Bryan. Finally, 500-some representatives from myriad organizations—trade associations, unions, publications, and the like—joined as observers.

At the opening dinner, the attendees dined with Supreme Court Justices, members of the Cabinet and Congress, and other prominent officials in the White House’s state dining room while the United States Marine Band played.

Despite the night’s pomp, the tone of the following day’s conference was serious, even somber. According to Roosevelt’s opening address, “Conservation as a National Duty,” nothing less than the “continuance of the Nation” was at stake. During the 50-minute speech, interrupted by frequent nonpartisan applause, the president asserted the importance of cooperative planning and for elevating community rights over individuals’ pursuit of riches. “In the past we have admitted the right of the individual to injure the future of the Republic for his own present profit,” Roosevelt said. “The time has come for a change.”

Others shared this view. The following day, railroad executive James J. Hill spoke on “The Natural Wealth of the Land and Its Conservation.” Hill spent most of his allotted time offering chilling statistics of shrinking forests, diminishing ores, and declining soil fertility. He argued that these statistics represented not only a bleak economic future but also a potentially violent political one, borne out of desperation and poverty.

Hill believed that if industry leaders understood the dire resource situation, they would manage resources more carefully. Espousing a key element of Progressive conservation doctrine—that of applying sound business principles to resource management—he compared the nation to a corporation and the leaders gathered as a board of directors. The “board” needed to consider the resource wealth available and marshal it responsibly, he suggested, looking toward long-term investments over near-term profits, or they would ruin “a national patrimony that can never be restored.”

As the conference concluded, the governors approved a slate of resolutions and presented them to President Roosevelt. The declaration reiterated the themes of resources as foundational wealth, the importance of planning, and the need to cooperate. Its final line announced the governors’ intent plainly: “Let us conserve the foundations of our prosperity.”

By the end of the three days, the governors were also eager to discuss collaborating on other matters, such as extradition laws and divorce standards. They resolved to meet regularly thereafter. That commitment eventually turned into the National Governors Association, which now meets twice a year.

Another effect of the summit was that Roosevelt appointed the National Conservation Commission, which would inventory the nation’s resources. The commission produced a three-volume report that appeared in February 1909 and featured a detailed accounting of the nation’s dwindling stocks of various resources, including estimated dates for when they would be exhausted.

These achievements were all the more striking because the Progressive Era was no harmonious nonpartisan moment. Progressives saw themselves in a battle between good and evil on behalf of “the people” versus “the interests.” Muckraking journalists took down corruption from city halls to corporate boardrooms. Roosevelt used the power of government to tame big business. One of the biggest victims was James J. Hill himself: Roosevelt ordered the investigation that led to the 1904 Northern Securities Co. v. United States case that broke up Hill’s holding company. Roosevelt also invited his political rival Bryan to the conference.

Still, the participants overcame these differences and set their eyes on the nation’s shared future. As Secretary of State Elihu Root urged in his address to the group, they performed their duties not only for their parochial interests but also for “the common good.” Pinchot later wrote that the Conference of Governors “a conception of the land they lived in that was brand new,” and suggested history might remember the conference as one of history’s turning points. More measured historians have called it one of the “climactic moments” of Roosevelt’s presidency.

Today, Roosevelt’s concerns about the risks to the “continuance of the Nation” have transformed into warnings about global catastrophes. Twenty-first-century environmental concerns extend past accounting stocks of national resources. Now, researchers aim to identify thresholds of global ecological viability. Researchers at the Stockholm Resilience Centre, for instance, have investigated planetary boundaries to determine the requirements for sustaining life. Our worries encompass the globe and question whether the planet can maintain its resilient capabilities.

Meanwhile, the “common good” is more elusive than ever. While pulses of reform have appeared—the rise of regional planning in the interwar period, the emergence of land-use planning for conservation and urban development in the 1960s and 1970s—coming together over future shared interests feels like a faraway ambition. Imagine a similar conference today, in which Joe Biden invited Gretchen Whitmer, Ron DeSantis, and Elon Musk to share a stage. Commitments to base politics and baser instincts would produce only vitriol and communicate only enmity.

In our hyper-partisan moment, looking beyond short-term advantage has become a dwindling resource. The 1908 Conference of Governors may not have been the grand historical turning point Pinchot imagined, but it can be a touchstone. A common focus and commitment beyond party, nation, personal interest, and the present has been possible and must be again for the good of the planet and all its people. As the stakes have risen beyond a nation’s supply of resources, so must the solutions and the seriousness with which policymakers, industrial leaders, and civic organizations approach the future.

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Harris herself called attention to this in her acceptance speech. “When [my mother] came here from India at the age of 19, maybe she didn’t quite imagine this moment,” said Harris, clad in suffragist white that historic night in Wilmington, Delaware. “So, I’m thinking about her and about the generations of women—Black women, Asian, white, Latina, and Native American women, throughout our nation’s history, who have paved the way for this moment tonight.”

The momentum that brings Harris to the White House has been building globally for over a decade; it just hasn’t been spotlighted. Moreover, the success of what I call the “Feminism ReBoot”—a new approach to feminism rooted in collaboration and supported by new forms of digital connections—has both been inspired by and inspired successes around the world. Like the roots of a powerful tree of change, local feminist networks have been reaching out to sister movements across the globe to create robust transnational feminist networks that build on the momentum of one another. We can trace the roots and branches of #MeToo in the U.S. to feminist movements such as #BringBackOurGirls in Nigeria, #MyStealthyFreedom in Iran, and #NudeBloggersofEgypt.

Notably, women’s movements in Guatemala and Chile have seen major milestones in the last two years alone, as feminist groups have come together to propel change and enact legislation in order to provide more rights to survivors of sexual violence. In February 2016, a Guatemalan court prosecuted two former members of the military for harrowing acts of sexual violence committed decades ago. In a historic ruling for rape survivors in Guatemala, two male suspects were found guilty of crimes against humanity for sexually abusing 15 Indigenous women and sentenced to a combined 360 years in prison. This victory encouraged more women to come forward and denounce their abusers.

Today, numerous women’s groups across Latin America are also working on changing restrictive abortion laws. In August 2017, a Chilean women’s movement known as Mujeres en Marcha Chile advocated for the passage of a new law that legalizes abortion under certain circumstances. This law was a major victory for women who have been pushing for abortion rights for decades, and it signaled that the door was now open for further reform. This month, Argentina followed suit with official approval to legalize abortion—a battle that a group of intergenerational and intersectional feminists has been waging for decades. Pumping fists clad in green handkerchiefs, activists took to the streets demanding reproductive choice, having organized through social media and underground networks.

Transnational feminist networks across the globe passed along strategies of success from Latin America to Asia. In India, a number of concerted movements and organizations fighting everyday sexual harassment and laws that target women’s morality came to a head in 2012, when the violent gang rape of Jyoti Singh on a bus resulted in her death. The outrage over this incident brought Indian women together to strategize for larger change. They began by organizing to bring down politicians who had been involved in sexual harassment. Over the next five years, the climate of India’s Supreme Court changed significantly, in no small part thanks to these efforts.

On September 6, 2018, the Supreme Court voted unanimously to repeal Section #377, a colonial-era law that criminalized homosexuality. The decision was met with absolute jubilation in India and served as inspiration to many activists around the world suffering from battlefield fatigue in the push for sexual and gender rights.

In South Korea over the past five years, women’s movements have been slowly gaining strength. #MeToo infused these movements with a new energy, and they have served as catalysts for large-scale reforms. The 2016 murder of a Korean woman exiting the bathroom at the Gangnam metro station inspired women to take to the streets in protest of sexual violence and assault. While these protests invited significant backlash, resulting in numerous women losing their jobs and being ostracized from their communities, they also inspired many more women to speak out and join in ongoing protests.  

Notably, in January 2018, Seo Ji-Hyeon, a well-known prosecutor, went public with the accusation that a former Ministry of Justice official groped her at a funeral in 2010. It became a watershed moment––between January and April 2018, hundreds of other women came forward with their stories. In March 2018, presidential candidate and Governor Ahn Hee-Jung resigned after he was accused of raping his secretary. Later that month, thousands came out for a marathon protest during which 193 women spoke for 2,018 minutes straight about their experiences with sexual assault. The event was significant in its magnitude as well as its location; it took place in the same area where, in 2017, thousands gathered for a mass candlelight demonstration against the now ousted president. South Koreans know the power of protest. And in April 2018, Korean President Moon-Jae addressed the #MeToo movement by publicly calling for a societal shift, specifically within corporate culture.

In the Middle East and North Africa, countries where women’s rights are thought to be limited, feminist organizing, and the transnational feminist networks, have had significant successes. Consider Nigeria. After the extremist group Boko Haram kidnapped more than 200 schoolgirls in April 2014, Nigerian activists took to social media, launching the #BringBackOurGirls campaign to bring worldwide attention to the plight of these girls and advocate for their release. The campaign was so successful in raising awareness that people across the globe, including Michelle Obama and the Pope, spoke out against the kidnappings. Through transnational collaborations, more than half of the girls have been returned, and Boko Haram, which could have been a major threat throughout the continent, has been contained.

In Tunisia, many women experienced physical and sexual assault, arrest, and even exile because of their prominent role in the Arab Spring. Nonetheless, they persisted and opened a new dialogue on women’s rights while also working toward regime change. Tunisian activists’ success has inspired a domino effect throughout the region. And while the changes feminists have been pushing for in part via social media and transnational collaboration have been incremental, the climate is shifting.

While we do not yet know the longer-term results of these movements, what all of them have in common is their fierce commitment to inclusive collaboration and to embracing and harnessing the power of intersectionality. Success inspires success, and their strategies and unrelenting activism have without a doubt moved the needle. In our globally networked world, women can quickly and easily hear about the victories of other women both at home and in faraway countries. Inspiration goes viral—the momentum of one movement leads to another.

Here in the U.S., these transnational women’s movements also inspired—and were inspired by—the Women’s March, which began as an American response to the election of Trump but quickly became global. In January 2017, millions of women marched in major cities on every continent. The anniversary marches have drawn millions, from Paris and Delhi to Nairobi, Cape Town, and Tbilisi, as organizers called on marchers to bring their #PowertothePolls. These marches—led by women of color—involved women who previously had not felt willing or able to engage with political processes, and increased the visibility of women’s political action.

The tidal waves of feminist activism, drawn from around the world, helped President-elect Joe Biden understand the power of choosing not just a woman, but a woman of color as his running mate. The election of Harris, a Black, Brown woman who is the daughter of immigrants, is a victory for the global struggle for a new, more inclusive and intersectional feminism.

While today we are witnessing the rise of autocracy and patriarchy around the world, looking closer, we can also see resistance to these forces growing and apathy decreasing. There was higher voter turnout in the U.S. this year than ever before, and a significant inspiration was Harris herself. And while we have to acknowledge the failures and slippage of resistance, we can also celebrate the power of the momentum that is pushing back, and how networked this power becomes across oceans and divides.

As the roots of Harris’s victory are important to acknowledge, so too are the branches that her win has already sprouted around the world. While Harris drew strength from global movements, her win has also inspired weary activists around the world to keep calling for progress. Their successes will only be amplified by social media—and will lay the groundwork for further reform for women around the world, and for generations to come.

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I hadn’t thought much about that moment until February 2018, when I saw all three cable channels go “live” with “breaking news” from the same spot outside the White House. As I looked at the coverage of a scene that should have seemed familiar, all I could think about was how much has changed.

In today’s tableau, the White House grounds and the streets around them were swarming with Secret Service agents, in and out of uniform, bolstered by D.C. police. What seemed like dozens of official vehicles were either on the move or parked to block any incoming traffic. A fire engine had to be stopped at a gate with an armed guard gate until a bomb-sniffing dog could clear it to go through. With President Trump and the Prime Minister of Australia inside, the White House itself was locked down.

It soon became clear that the real story was not what caused all the action but the action itself. A “female driver,” familiar to law enforcement as “mentally challenged,” had been “apprehended immediately” after her vehicle struck a concrete barrier at 17th and E Streets, on the very outside of the anti-terrorism perimeter. The threat itself was no big deal. What the anchors and experts on cable news sets were talking about was the massive security infrastructure that had been deployed against the unlikely possibility that the threat turned out to be real.

Gerry and I encountered no such obstacles on that night long ago. We were students at Sidwell Friends, the elite prep school where the Obamas would send their children in a much different era. When we went there, Sidwell was segregated, and for us white kids visiting “Negro nightclubs” in downtown D.C. was an adventure. The minimum age to drink beer in the District was 18, and we looked old enough to get served. We didn’t spend much money, but owners and patrons indulged us for reasons of their own, and we were flattered.

On that fateful evening, Gerry and I went to the Rocket Room, where the band played rhythm and blues, the comedian told dirty jokes, and the stripper was almost maternal. We had a few brews, and then walked out onto New York Avenue.

Traffic was light, it was balmy and the air smelled good. For no particular reason, we began to walk toward the White House. We probably talked about school friends, sports, and national politics, which were inescapable at Sidwell Friends. I’m sure we did not talk about our fathers. Mine was Assistant Attorney General in charge of the Criminal Division of the United States Department of Justice. Gerry’s was Legal Advisor to the President.

It didn’t take long before those few beers asserted themselves on our bladders, and we needed a place to pee. Pennsylvania Avenue was still open to traffic in those days, and we crossed where it intersects both New York Avenue and 15th Street, creating the corner of the White House grounds. An occasional car rolled by. We were getting uncomfortable, as we proceeded down 15th and then through an open gate and on to the White House grounds. It was dark under the trees as we approached the fence that surrounded the South Lawn.

The need was urgent, and there was no point in delay. We approached the fence, unzipped, and leaned against the bars so that our streams of urine landed inside. There were no sirens, horns, or buzzers. No blazing lights or barking dogs. No shouts from uniformed guards or Secret Service agents. We walked back to the street and continued on our way.

I don’t think we were being truly rebellious. No doubt our parents would have been angry, as much about the beers and the Rocket Room as about our disrespect for presidential surroundings. Had we been stopped and identified, we probably weren’t significant enough to make The Washington Post. But the moment of teenage assertiveness was worth the risk and, after all, we needed to pee.

When we reached the sidewalk, Gerry said, “now you can tell your grandchildren you pissed on the White House lawn.” Of course, he was making a joke about false bravado in 1954. But, considering the scene played out on the cable news channels in 2018, it will take massive changes in both politics and society before anybody can ever do what we did again.

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