There'll be endless talk of politics tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.

About winners and losers and how Doug Jones did it. Some will be obsessed with what he means for the Senate, and tax reform, and the Supreme Court, and abortion rights, and the state of politics in Alabama. And the state of Alabamians.

Important stuff, I know.

But that's not really what I care about today. It's not the message I hear today.

Because for the last four weeks I've talked to women who bared their souls to me, who see this #metoo moment in America as a catalyst for change, who seized this awakening to talk of things they've long held close.

Not the Roy Moore accusers. Not them. But women who say they were abused by fathers and brothers and wanted nothing more than for someone to know. Because opening up was like a relief valve that kept them from bursting.

Some talked of being wooed by men in authority when they were but girls, and how they came to regret relationships that shamed them and scarred them and affected how they would forever regard the opposite gender. Others spoke of pawing and groping and a few told of out-and-out rape.

Rape.

They looked on this moment in America and Alabama as a time when they could open themselves up, when they could muster strength to show their weakness. When they could finally be believed. Most, by the way, were not interested in naming names of those who did them wrong. They were not obsessed with vengeance or retribution or notoriety.

They just wanted to stop hurting.

They wanted to believe the world they live in had changed. They wanted to think that finally, we've come to a place in society where sexual abuse is condemned, where the line of harassment is drawn and the consequence is real, where there's power for the powerless, hope for those who dared have none, a genuine climate of safety.

That's what's important here. That's the message, more than divisions or disputes between Republicans and Democrats.

It was a powerful statement about the way Jones supporters worked, and a powerful statement about the trepidation Alabamians have about Moore. It was a David and Goliath shot, but even that is not the real message here.

On this day Alabama stood for victims. It stood for women. It stood for compassion.

Because the way Alabama treated the women who accused Roy Moore of improprieties could have been a message to all who have been abused, to all who someday will be.

Roy Moore and his supporters called them liars and whiners. And some Alabamians joined in the disdain, calling them sluts and worse, insisting that it was once the Alabama way to find mates too young to drive, and that once upon a time, groping was an acceptable act.

But Alabama, against the odds and conventional wisdom, stood and rejected that behavior.

It did not condone the silence. It did not excuse the sin.

It made a political decision that many found hard, a decision that put decency over party, character over tribe. It stood for its mothers and sisters and daughter and fellow human beings.

When nobody thought it would.

That's the message Alabama sent yesterday. Not just about politics, or fear, or loathing, or habit, or even Donald Trump.

It sent a message to women: This has not been a safe place. But it can be. It can.

This is a start.

John Archibald's column appears in The Birmingham News, the Huntsville Times, the Mobile Register and AL.com. Write him at jarchibald@al.com.