A Fighting Chance

Yes, change is hard, but it is possible—and that’s the part that fires me up.

I’ve heard a lot of talk about what can’t be done. People said the new consumer agency was a pipe dream. But now it’s the law of the land, and in July 2013 I presided over the US Senate as Rich Cordray finally became its first full-fledged, real-deal director. That agency is here to stay. After Rich’s confirmation, one headline read: ELIZABETH WARREN SMILES BIG AFTER RICH CORDRAY CONFIRMATION. Got that right!

There are other ways to make change happen. Committee hearings are usually pretty dull affairs, the stuff that fills the 3:00 A.M. slot on CSPAN. But those hearings offer a chance to make some progress. At my first Banking Committee hearing, I pushed regulators to name the last time they took a big bank all the way to trial. They stumbled and fumbled, and a video of the exchange shot around the Internet and was viewed by more than a million people. Maybe, just maybe, more government officials will think twice before deciding that some bank executive is too big to jail.

And student loans? No, I didn’t get the Bank on Students Act passed. But at least the final deal on student loan interest rates was better than where it started: $15 billion better for students over the next ten years. And, in the end, I wasn’t alone. More than a dozen senators from around the country stood up with me to say no to any deal in which the government makes a profit off the backs of our students. That’s not a bad place to begin the next round in this battle—and, believe me, we will come back to this issue again.

Of course, student loans are just a start. There are many more fights ahead, and more work to be done—and I worry that we’re running out of time. For a generation now, America’s middle class has been squeezed, chipped away, and hammered so hard that the foundations of our economic security are beginning to crumble.

Every day I think about the people I’ve met who are part of this battle. The woman in New Bedford who walked two miles so she could talk to someone who would fight for her. The father who worried that basic fairness would be denied to his transgender child. The woman who brought her tall, good-looking husband to a rally and talked with me about his slide into the darkness of Alzheimer’s. The big guy at the construction site who went nine months without work last year. I remember their faces, their fears, their determination.

Every one of them worries about our future. Every one of them has anxious days and sleepless nights. But every one of them is tough and resourceful. And every one of them—every single one of them—has a deep core of optimism that says we can do better.

I believe that it’s this optimism about the future that sets us apart as a people, this optimism that makes America an exceptional nation. We built this country by striking out on new adventures and propelling ourselves forward on a path we named progress. Along the way, we learned that when we invest in one another, when we build schools and roads and research labs, we build a better future—a better future for ourselves and our children and our grandchildren.

Equality. Opportunity. The pursuit of happiness. An America that builds something better for the next kid and the kid after that and the kid after that.

No one is asking for a handout. All we want is a country where everyone pays a fair share, a country where we build opportunities for all of us; a country where everyone plays by the same rules and everyone is held accountable. And we have begun to fight for it.

I believe in us. I believe in what we can do together, in what we will do together. All we need is a fighting chance.





My grandmother wrote “Wetumka, Okla” on the back of this picture, which dates from around the time my mother and father were born. During World War II, my parents left Wetumka and moved with my three older brothers to Muskogee, where Daddy was a flight instructor and Mother ran the house. Daddy loved to fly, and these were good years for them.





By the time I was born, my parents had taken some hard knocks. In the 1950s, we lived in the last row of houses in Norman, Oklahoma. Daddy built me this sandbox in our backyard. Aunt Bee often looked after me. Every year, she bought me a dress for the first day of school. I always wore the newest one for the school picture, including this third grade shot.





There were lots of strong women in my mother’s family, and they loved nothing better than family reunions. Here I am with my Aunt Bee, my mother, my grandmother, my Aunt Bert and my Great Aunt Laura.





I was crazy about my middle brother, John, and very happy when he was home for Christmas just before he was sent to Africa.





Debate was the one thing I could do well—fight smart, fight hard. My partner and I won the Oklahoma state championship, and I got a scholarship to college.





College was a dream come true, and I loved attending George Washington University. I made nearly all my clothes, including this blue velvet number.