Category Archives: Politics

Peace Amongst an Insurrection

I was in class while violent white supremacists stormed our Capitol. In class with eleven other women, learning how to hold space and examine painful thoughts, while aggrieved men desecrated one of the most sacred places in our government. Once I was out of class and realized what was happening, I could not stop thinking about the juxtaposition between the space I just occupied and the chaos unfolding halfway across the country.

I did not have an illusions that 2021 would be magically different from 2020. After 2019 nearly tore me in half, with the death of my father and my dog less than three months apart, and a spectacularly shitty couple of years before that, I deeply understand that the universe owes me nothing. So when the calendar turned on Friday, January 1, I cast a skeptical eye towards what might come. The universe wasted no time in getting to work. On January 1st, my community endured a severe ice storm with .3-.4 in. of ice piling up over the course of the day. It would take ten days for the ice to melt and it would be twelve days before we’d see the sun again. I was in Prompt Care on Sunday morning, January 3 with a case of shingles. Violent white supremacists terrorized our Capitol on Wednesday, January 6. Jack and Lola were at the vet on Saturday morning, January 9 where Lola had some “maintenance” on her anal glands and Jack was diagnosed with a thyroid problem. Lola was back at the vet the next Saturday, yesterday, with an ear infection. 2021, coming in hot.

And yet, the last few weeks have been some of the most peaceful weeks I’ve experienced in quite a few years. And not just because I spent the first ten days of the year sick and mostly stuck on the couch. Today (Sunday, January 17) is my 17th day with out social media. I planned on taking a break from just Facebook and Instagram, but haven’t felt the urge to login to Twitter, so my FB/IG break turned into a social media break. Of course, I had no idea that my hiatus would coincide with an insurrection, but my timing couldn’t have been better. It was fascinating to experience such a cataclysmic event without the noise of social media. It was SIGNIFICANTLY less stressful. Significantly.

Without this pause, I wouldn’t have known how affected I am by the swarm of input from my social media feeds, which is exponentially amplified during significant events. I was able to follow the news about the violence, without the extra chatter. It was just the facts. Because of that, I felt some space from what was happening. As terrible as it was, I wasn’t anxious, I didn’t spin out about what would happen next. I didn’t feel compelled to form my own opinions about it. I talked with a few friends about what was happening, and M listened to many more of my ramblings than he cares to, I’m sure. I eventually wrote my Representative. But it all felt very civilized, unemotional…in a good way. A healthy way.

Beyond the tremendous decrease in anxiety related to political events, I’m reading way more. Since the start of the year, I’ve read The Witches are Coming by Lindy West and Wintering by Katherine May (I highly recommend both books). I’m just finishing up A Liberated Mind by Stephen C. Hayes for my coach training. Never mind how I will be able to use the tools outlined in the book in my work with clients, but I have a dramatically different perspective on the chatter and anxiety that has always resided in my head. One of my top priorities for this week is to start practicing some of the techniques outlined in the book. Thank you sweet tiny baby Jesus for brilliant researchers who can write coherent books for regular folks. I’m also reading Running Home by Katie Arnold (a gift from a dear friend, thank you Kristy!) and Mediocre by Ijeoma Oluo. Reading Mediocre, who’s subtitle is “The Dangerous Legacy of White Male America” on the heels of the insurrection on January 6 is particularly rich. I have always been prone to reading two-to-three books at once and these last few weeks have been no exception. I’ve even managed to watch two(!!) movies, which probably only happened due to being sick. But still, it counts. If you haven’t seen Just Mercy, please watch it. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Even though it’s barely halfway through the month, I’m already thinking ahead to what happens when February arrives. I realize that this is my experiment and that I make the rules. Meaning I don’t have to come back to social media if I’m not ready. But I do miss my friends, even as I’ve been zooming, emailing, texting, and chatting on the phone with some (seriously, I’d love to do more of all of this, let’s chat!). I’m certain I don’t want to leave these platforms. However, I don’t want to go back to my old habits. I want to retain the hard-earned peace I’ve found these last few weeks. I’ve thought about how I might create an online environment that feels more friendly and less antagonistic. Honestly, I think (hope) the inauguration in just a few days will go a long way in creating that. Trump is a cancer that’s infected all of us. With him out of the White House, I hope we might start the long process of healing the damage of the last five years. A Biden administration will bring down the temperature, even for Republicans. While they might not agree with his politics, he will lead the government in a way we are accustomed, with seriousness and grace. His staff and administration are comprised of people who are deeply familiar with government and know how to do the people’s work. Government was never meant to be a business and should not be treated as such.

Mostly, I’m getting better at not abandoning myself and I want to hang on to that. Learning to stay with myself is partly why I’m taking a break from alcohol. I don’t drink much, and I don’t drink often, but I want to be far more careful about how, when, and why I escape. Taking a pause from social media and not drinking for a while are two “easy” ways to do that. Now when my brain needs a break, rather than scrolling mindlessly on my phone, I read a book, work on a crossword from the New York Times (which are really hard, BTW), or watch a favorite episode of The Office. If I have a thought that’s hooked me, I use one of the tools from my coach training to take a look at it. Peace has been the overriding theme of the year so far, even with an ice storm, shingles, an insurrection, and two sick dogs, all with an escalating pandemic as the backdrop. And for that, I am deeply grateful.

To the Religious

As an agnostic, a secular person, someone who finds inspiration, grace, comfort, and reassurance in nature, I watch as you wield your religion as a sword. I see how rather than using your religion’s tenets to guide your own life and decisions, how you use it as a weapon against others. How you use your faith to demonize people who make different choices than you, live their lives differently from you. How you stand in false morality shouting about the unborn, but look away in silence while children are ripped from the arms of their families at the border. Look away in silence from the black mothers who die in childbirth at much higher rates than their white counterparts. Look away in silence at the children who go unfed and unhoused right here in our own country. How you rail against the Affordable Care Act and the birth control it provides, how you rail against other public health interventions that reduce the number of unplanned pregnancies, how you shame women for the very human act of sex.

I watch while you turn your noses at LGBTQ folks for their “lifestyle”. If you didn’t make a conscious choice to be cis-het, how did they make a conscious choice to be gay or lesbian, to be trans? But even if that were a choice, what business is it of yours? How is two women or two men getting married any of your concern? How is the baker refusing to make a cake for the gay couple any different from the soda fountains of the 1950s not serving black people? Are you not called to love everyone? Didn’t god make us all in his image?

I grew up going to church in my tiny midwestern town. I attended Sunday School most every week, and my family attended services most but not all weekends, usually arriving a few minutes late when we did much to my eternal horror. My parents weren’t content to slide quietly into a back pew, we had to march our tall, noisy selves to the front of the sanctuary which made me want to melt into the floor every single time. My heart races just thinking about it. As a high schooler, I watched the young kids during the service, escaping to the basement after the youth sermon. We were active in our little church, my parents serving in leadership roles and us kids volunteering to help at church events on a regular basis. I enjoyed it. Later, my mom would say that she wanted us to attend church as kids in the hopes that it would make us less likely to join a cult as adults. She was probably half joking, but perhaps not. We belonged to the Congregational Church, which became a point of pride many years later, long after I stopped attending services, when they were one of the first denominations to actively invite and welcome LGBTQ folks to worship.

Eventually, when I was in college I believe, there was a falling out of sorts and my parents left their leadership positions. The pastor was updating the organizational chart and budget of the church. My dad thought god should be at the top, the paster felt he himself should be at the top. The pastor also wanted more money. Our church was tiny and had very little money. I don’t know details beyond that, but it ended with my parents walking away. They left their leadership roles and never attended services regularly after that, although I believe my dad remained a deeply faithful person until he passed last year.

One of my sisters takes after my dad in that respect. She took religion seriously, even as a younger child. She and her first husband were very active in their church, most of her friends were from their congregation. When she left the marriage, a decision she did not make lightly or without every attempt to save the marriage, she lost many of those friends. I watched my sister lose her support system in the time she needed it the most. When I think back to the teachings of my youth, what I remember most comes down to “love thy neighbor”. Not “love thy neighbor unless they want an abortion”. Not “love thy neighbor unless they are gay or trans”. Not “love thy neighbor unless they get a divorce”. Not “love thy neighbor unless, unless, unless…”.

Earlier this year when the pandemic hit, Governor Pritzker here in Illinois was one of the first to issue shut down orders. These orders included any place where people gather, including churches. Many local churches pivoted quickly to online or call-in services, as good internet continues to be a huge challenge in rural areas (side note – this would be a wonderful actual problem for government officials to focus on). Several churches even did drive-in services, where folks stayed in their cars but tuned into the service through a radio station and still worshipped together, which I thought was brilliant. It didn’t take long for some people to claim that the shut down infringed upon their first amendment rights, even as the governor never asked people to stop worshipping. He asked them to stop worshiping in person, a request a great many churches complied with as they recognized the dangers that congregating together posed to their parishioners. People in my timeline made all sorts of ridiculous statements about their rights and their freedoms.

Those same folks in many cases raged against the mask orders. Public health folks universally recommend masks to help stop the spread of the coronavirus. Masks, social distancing, and regular hand washing are our best defense against this virus. And yet these same folks, including many in public office, persistently stomp their feet about their rights and their freedoms, to not only gather together, but to not wear masks when they do. I cannot reconcile how this same group of people shouts about the sanctity of life when it comes to the decisions women make about their own bodies, decisions that affect no one but the women herself, but persistently and vocally shun all public health measures when it comes to combatting a deadly and highly contagious virus, decisions that affect great many people not just themselves. The intersection of freedom and responsibility is not something we discuss, particularly as relates to religion. People shout “I HAVE FREEDOM. I HAVE RIGHTS.” and the conversation ends.

When it comes to the hand-wringing about abortion and gay marriage, including a significant number of letters to the editor in our local paper and what I see from people online, it is all based in personal religious beliefs. I have yet to see one argument against either of these that isn’t based in someone’s religion. I also have yet to hear an argument of how or why it is appropriate to apply those religious beliefs to the whole of the country. How is that not the establishment of a religion? What about my religious beliefs? What about the religious beliefs of the woman getting the abortion? The couple getting married?

With white religious folks supporting Donald Trump in large numbers, especially white protestants and evangelicals (black people are generally the most religious folks in the country and they overwhelmingly support democrats on the whole), those of us who sit on the sidelines of formal religion see stunning hypocrisy. Trump is a man who goes against everything I learned as a kid when I attended church. He is a bully, a white supremacist, a man who treats women with great disrespect, who behaves as though rules and laws do not apply to him. He is not a man of faith. I don’t think a president’s religious beliefs – or lack of belief – matters at all when electing who will lead our country. But if a group of people seeks to apply their version of morality to an entire country, but throws their energetic support behind the most immoral of men, it reveals the whole mess of it to be a house of cards. White christians revealed deep tolerance for white supremacy and misogyny, a deep tolerance for a man who lies with abandon. They are not the moral compass for the nation.

There are many people of faith who do not share these sentiments, of course. “Not all religious people” applies here. And yet. A vocal and powerful subset of that group do and currently they drive the narrative. Many of us agnostic, atheist, and folks of other religions are held hostage by this minority. Rather than talking about public health measures that can reduce unplanned pregnancies, therefore making the question of abortion a rare occurrence, we debate whether or not women have the right to bodily autonomy. Rather than ensuring everyone has equal rights under the law, in many states LGBTQ folks can still be denied employment and/or housing, we debate whether or not they have the right to exist and to marry. This isn’t freedom of religion. We need to have a conversation about what is “moral” and why it matters. When it comes to public policy, morality as defined by religion – any religion – doesn’t matter at all. Even so, attending church every Sunday doesn’t make you moral. Praying every night doesn’t make you moral. Telling others how to live their lives doesn’t make you moral. Ignoring public health guidelines, thereby endangering the health and lives of others, in a pandemic is not moral.

A great number of religious folks need to realize the difference between my business, your business, and everybody’s business. They are awfully concerned about what amounts to my business. I’d prefer they spend their time minding their own store. I don’t need their input on how I live my life. My friends don’t need their input on who they should marry. I do need them to wear a mask, however. That’s everybody’s business.

Confessions of a Campaign Staff Newb

The noise was deafening. I don’t know how many people they anticipated at the party, but the room was packed. I have no idea what this crowd was doing on Election Day two years ago, but I was at home with my husband watching early returns through horrified eyes. I went to bed extremely early that night, unable to watch the train wreck that was taking place. Upon waking Wednesday morning, November 9, 2016, I immediately checked Twitter to see my worst fears confirmed. Our country elected a foul-mouthed, misogynistic bigot as president. I honestly don’t remember much about the other races on the ballot that year, beyond my senator Tammy Duckworth (Tammy Duckworth!!), mostly because of how unbelievable the race for president became.

For me, that election was a reckoning.  Hillary Rodham Clinton’s candidacy laid bare once and for all how far women still had to go in order to break through that final glass ceiling. Much would come to light thanks to #metoo about how terrible men in media shaped our national dialogue about her candidacy, her viability as a candidate. Men such as Matt Lauer, Charlie Rose, Mark Halperin. But the deed was done as they say, and no measure of consequence could set back the clock a decade or two (or three) to change the conversation about the woman who was bold enough, ambitious enough, to want more.

But her candidacy and ultimate failure lit a lot of us on fire. I’m guessing there was no shortage of people, particularly women, in that big hotel lounge on Tuesday night who were there in large part due to Hillary Rodham Clinton. Women like my dear friend Jill, who the morning after in 2016 said “what next?” and immediately got to work connecting with other people who felt the same. I’ve known Jill for ten years, since we worked together as administrators at the local community college. We became good friends after we moved back from Colorado several years ago, and the conversations she, myself and our friend Julie have about politics at our regular dinners are always a highlight of my month. These women are thoughtful, articulate, well-read, but most of all gracious and kind. I’ve learned so much from them in their willingness to talk about Hard Things.

Several months went by, and we’d get regular updates from Jill regarding the local meetings she attended. Soon enough, she floated the idea of running for office. Deliberately and intentionally, she set her sights on her state house race, as the current representative had been in office for nearly 20 years and ran unopposed for the last decade. This was summer 2017, and I couldn’t have imagined in my wildest dreams that just a few months later I’d be joining her campaign staff. But there we were at a dinner that September, with Jill mentioning her difficulty at finding a campaign treasurer, and me just a few months into my sabbatical to finally address my persistent and debilitating health issues. Knowing nothing of political campaigns, but with an affinity for numbers and mundane details, I thought I could help. So before I could talk myself out of it, I jumped in. We were nearly a year into the Trump presidency and in many ways, he proved as terrible as we feared. Voting wasn’t enough at this point, I needed to DO something.

So that’s how I found myself at a watch party Tuesday night, an event coordinated by the McLean County Democrats. Being an introverted introvert means I didn’t attend many events during Jill’s campaign, preferring to work anonymously in the background, but I recognized a lot of faces that night. I felt part of something bigger than myself, part of something even bigger than Jill’s campaign. This was the start of a movement, regardless of who won or lost.

As the night wore on, the energy in the room got more intense. Returns on the east coast started coming in, the crowd cheering or booing with every result. I took refuge in the war room for a time, sitting with Alanna, Jill’s campaign manager, while she watched for returns. Even though I rarely stay up past 10p, I wanted to be there as our local races were announced. Lizzy, Jill’s volunteer coordinator and a candidate for county board in my district, rode the roller coaster of thinking she’d lost but then learning she’d won. Two more county board candidates won their races, as did the dem candidates for state-wide offices. Jill would lose her race, despite running an incredible campaign, as would the other dem candidates for state and US house.

Even though the results were a mixed bag for local candidates, Tuesday night felt like a tremendous win. Not only did local residents have more ballot choices than they’ve had in decades, but local democrats were energized and mobilized like never before. All residents benefit from an engaged and participatory electorate, and the increased organization by local democrats is no exception. Voter turnout in my county increased from 49.2% in the 2014 midterms to 61% this year. Because so many races were contested, elected officials participated in debates and answered questionnaires…or didn’t answer them, which was feedback in-and-of itself. Many of these same elected officials hadn’t been held to account for their votes in years. So even though a number of our candidates lost, they forced increased engagement from those who did get elected, a win for all constituents. The fire that started on November 9, 2016 is in many ways still just a spark. It will take time for democrats to build the visibility and infrastructure to win more elections locally, and this year was an important next step.

For me personally, getting involved with Jill’s campaign provided an outlet for the seemingly endless frustration and despair that accompanied the news reports each morning. I still can’t reconcile that we are a country that imprisons children, that sends the military to the border to confront asylum seekers, that put another sexual assaulter on the Supreme Court. But writing checks, keeping spreadsheets, making deposits provided an unlikely outlet for that frustration. Knowing that I was doing something to get good people elected provided tremendous peace-of-mind.

For my friends who are similarly discouraged, regardless of political affiliation, I encourage you to connect with local politics. There is no shortage of campaigns that need good, dedicated volunteers. While there will always be a need for canvassers and phone banking, there many other things that don’t require knocking doors or making calls. I couldn’t have imagined two years ago that a good friend of mine would be running for office, or that I would be volunteering with her campaign. But I am so encouraged knowing that people like her are stepping up and stepping in, and many of those candidates got elected Tuesday night. And many more people like me were pulled in with them. Together, I believe we are laying the foundation for transformative change in this country.

And I’m going to try to get myself to more meetings now that this campaign is wrapping up (there are still checks to write and data entry to do, even after the election). I want to stay engaged with this movement, to get more connected. There are municipal elections next spring, and then it’ll be time to start looking to 2020. But not until next month. During this month’s meeting I’ll be at the spa.

I Am A Democrat

I’m embarrassed to admit that until five years ago or so, I considered myself rather apolitical. I voted, tried to stay informed of issues in my community, but I didn’t feel a connection or passion for our government, good or bad. I wasn’t raised in an overly political family, I remember my parents voting when I was younger, but we didn’t discuss politics around the dinner table. Nor did we have cable, so while they regularly watched the nightly news, it wasn’t something we watched as a family. While they were actively involved with the local PTA during a teacher strike including hosting gatherings at our home, that’s about the only overtly political act I recall from my childhood. As an adult, I expect that the apathy or disconnect is rooted in privilege, as I am white, middle-class, married to a dude, and have always had access to the healthcare I need. Sure my family didn’t have a lot of money growing up, and M and I were quite poor early in our marriage, but I’ve had the means with which to make stuff happen for myself, which is also a form of privilege. So let me say that up front…I’ve been inordinately lucky in a multitude of ways and I haven’t been as active and engaged in our political processes as I should have been. But in 2013, that all changed.

We lived in Colorado and I worked for the local hospital. I led a public health program, supervising three different coalitions focused on reducing the incidence of chronic disease through healthy eating and active living. None of these coalitions focused on educating the public, all three were focused on environmental, policy and systems change, which meant that rather than tell people to eat more fruits and vegetables for example, we worked with the city government and community partners to ensure that all residents, but most especially those that were disadvantaged, had access to fresh, affordable, healthy foods. One of those three coalitions worked specifically in eight low-income neighborhoods in Fort Collins, neighborhoods that were primarily mobile home parks inhabited by Hispanic residents who were undocumented. It was my first time working hands-on with this community and even though they spoke very little English and I spoke even less Spanish, they taught me more about what’s wrong with our immigration system than any class I could’ve taken. I’ll never forget working with my colleague who coordinated this coalition to help a family who’s home became uninhabitable after the floods in Sept. 2013. The family had just brought home a newborn, and the weather significantly damaged their house. The family was afraid to ask for help, as being undocumented left them extremely vulnerable. E, my colleague, was determined to help. He worked his connections, I helped him behind the scenes. Through Colorado State University, he was able to secure someone who helped repair the family’s home, fixing the roof and windows, making it safe for the family to reside there once again. The family had nowhere else to go, they would have lived in that dangerous and inadequate shelter if we hadn’t stepped in. It put a human face on the immigration debate, and the esoteric conversations in the news suddenly had a face. All of the residents I met through my work with that particular coalition were kind, generous, hard-working folks who just wanted to provide a safe, stable home for their families. Something we all want. Most left incredibly dangerous situations to come here, and I genuinely believe that our community was better for having them be a part of it.

As part of that work with those three coalitions, I also was engaged with affordable housing initiatives, as over-priced rent/mortgages was a key challenge in Fort Collins. I learned about urban renewal and redlining, how our government effectively stole the homes of our African-American neighbors under the guise of “development” or “progress”. As these neighborhoods were cleared to make room for interstates or arenas, those residents often couldn’t purchase homes in other parts of town, most of the time because white residents didn’t want them there. Many of those folks went from being homeowners, living in what we now would call a mixed-use neighborhood with residents of multiple income levels, shops, churches, and other small businesses, to living in projects where their families stayed for decades. Learning how our government had harmed these communities, harmed these residents, was transformative. Especially when you consider how much homeownership can be a mechanism for building wealth. And how many residents were cut out of this mechanism deliberately by their own government. Racist lending policies by banks only contributed to this problem. This article from Roanoke, VA is a good starting point if urban renewal is an unfamiliar concept.  Deepening my understanding of how our government actively harmed and dismantled entire neighborhoods, and how racist community development policies wiped out the wealth of African-Americans gave me a much different perspective on the “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” mentality I hear so often from Republicans. It’s hard to pull yourself up when your government took your boots.

Also while working with these coalitions, I got acquainted with the concept of health equity, or rather health inequity, as when considering how low income residents are disadvantaged by the lack of adequate health insurance for example. Even though I spent considerable time working in health care, and had even sat across from patients who were making hard decisions about which medications to take and how to put food on the table, it was in stepping back from the issue that I better understood how our current medical/healthcare system actually harms people. This was also in the early days of the Affordable Care Act and many people in public health and healthcare were energized by some of the provisions included within it. Getting more people insured benefited everyone, as not only would the newly insured benefit from increased access to care, but this would also reduce the amount of uncompensated care provided by hospitals. The birth control mandate meant that every woman, no matter where she worked, would have access to the prescriptions she needed. Community benefit meant that hospitals would be responsible for the health of the entire community, not just the patients that walked through their doors. “Prevention” became more than a buzzword, as many more organizations had an investment in keeping people healthy versus profiting from illness. For the first time, we had real, tangible tools with which to address health inequities and the collectively we really started moving the needle. The Affordable Care Act and my work with disadvantaged communities also forced me to think through my own personal thoughts about access to healthcare. I realized that my personal belief is that healthcare is a right that should be afforded to everyone. No person living in this country should go bankrupt because of a diagnosis, or not be able to take medications prescribed to them by their physician because they can’t afford them. People should be able to walk through the doors of any hospital and receive treatment, the same treatment regardless of their station in life. Currently, we have tremendous disparities in health, particularly along racial and income lines. Disparities such as residents living on the same road ten miles apart having life expectancies that differ by 15 years. Disparities such as African-American women having low-birth-weight babies at exponentially higher rates than white women, even when controlled for education and income. I personally believe the government has a responsibility to actively resolve these disparities.

The health equity rabbit hole led to an environmental one, as many lower income folks live in areas with poor air and water quality, they are the ones who live next to toxic waste sites. For example, living in an area with chronically poor air quality leads to higher incidences of respiratory infections and chronic lung conditions such as asthma. I do think the government has a responsibility to understand environmental risks and to protect residents from harm. When residents live next to polluting factories, and the government loosens regulations on those factories, the government is contributing to the harm of its citizens. And this is setting aside how these same residents being uninsured or underinsured when it comes to healthcare further exacerbates any of these conditions. In addition, I think public lands are vitally important, as is protecting sacred Native American sites and other areas of cultural significance. Considering the great harm white settlers inflicted on Native Americans, the lands that were stolen from them, the genocide that occured, the very least we can do now is honor and protect the sacred lands. I don’t think a company’s desire to mine resources from public lands supersedes the public’s interest in those lands. The earth is not a renewable resource. There is plenty of research that tells us climate change is real, that we are headed towards a point-of-no-return when it comes to the health of our planet. Republican legislators, including those governing states that stand to be directly harmed by rising seas, ban the use of the term “climate change”, prevent research, dismantle committees. Only one political party takes this threat seriously and is willing to take any steps to address it.

More recently, I’ve learned that in certain states it’s still within the law to fire someone from their job if they are gay. The Civil Rights Act of 1964 has never been amended to include gender identity and sexual orientation, despite many years of efforts. The Justice Department under the Trump Administration has rolled back previous more inclusive rulings by the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, stating that they were legally meritless. At the state level, protections vary widely from some states like mine (Illinois) outright prohibiting discrimination based on sexual orientation or gender identity, to two states going so far as to prevent local governments from establishing such nondiscrimination laws (Arkansas and Tennessee). Instituting protections at the federal level would ensure that all LGBT citizens are protected from employment discrimination, no matter where they reside.

Relatedly, I learned about how the Reagan administration not only didn’t assist with the AIDS epidemic as soon as it was clear that something was happening, but by actively not getting involved, thousands and thousands more people died. We were four years into the epidemic before the president even said the word aloud in public. Recently, I watched as a baker in Colorado went to court, repeatedly, to get permission and approval to discriminate against his customers. No, I genuinely don’t care what anyone’s religious beliefs say about gay marriage. Either a baker bakes wedding cakes or they don’t. This is no different than the soda fountains in the fifties that wouldn’t serve black people. Many of those business owners also tried to hide behind religion while they discriminated against their neighbors. A business either serves everyone soda or they serve no one soda. That many republicans went to bat for this baker is horrifying. This is not a government that is of, for, and by the people. More seriously than a baker not baking cakes, there are tremendous health disparities that accompany being transgender in particular. People who are trans are routinely denied healthcare, are discriminated against when receiving care, and most crushingly, commit suicide at much higher rates than the rest of the population. A government that mocks this community by making outrageous “bathroom laws” contributes to the pain endured.

With regards to gun violence, only one political party is even willing to discuss or consider policy solutions to this uniquely American problem. Republican politicians have allowed themselves to be held hostage by the NRA and republican citizens have not applied enough pressure to change this. Most Americans are in favor of public policy changes to address gun violence, but because of republican legislators, the CDC can’t even study it. So any policy changes we discuss aren’t rooted in research or best practice. Although at this point, I’m personally in favor of doing something, anything to prevent more kiddos from dying at school or more women being shot by their romantic partners. But I would love to see the CDC be able to address this as they do most any other public health problem, with research and the identification of best practices.

Lastly, abortion. To start, no one is pro-abortion. Literally no one. I saw a headline this morning in a St. Louis paper that mentioned “Abortion Activists”. This term is false. Abortion activists do not exist. Pro-choice activists do, and the language is important. Fundamentally, I believe a woman should have full and complete autonomy over her body, and this includes when and if to have a family. But particularly in this country, in this moment in time, this is even more critical. Presently, fatherhood in our society is optional. A man can get a women pregnant tomorrow and walk out the door, never to be seen again. The legal mechanisms for women to get child support are often beyond the means of low-income women, and that’s even if the father would or could pay. The state of our health care system is such that a woman may not be able afford to have a child, or to raise the child. She might have a job where she can’t get the time off to go to doctor appointments or for the delivery of the baby. She might not have maternity leave. In many communities, affordable childcare for infants and toddlers simply doesn’t exist. Programs such as SNAP, programs that help ensure families have enough food to eat, are constantly under attack from Republicans. How we can’t all agree that everyone has a right to food on the table is beyond me. But the social supports that women of all income levels need to raise a family in this country don’t exist, so for many single women, and even some married women, having a family is financially ruinous, if not impossible. As for anyone’s personal religious beliefs about abortion, those have no place in public policy. And if someone opposes abortion on religious grounds, and is also opposed to Planned Parenthood and the Affordable Care Act, then in addition to being anti-abortion, they are also anti-women. Both Planned Parenthood and the ACA provide women with low-cost, effective birth control, which are vital in reducing unplanned pregnancies. Research proves that providing low-income women with free, reliable birth control (such as an IUD) dramatically reduces the incidence of unplanned pregnancies, for very little money. Republican legislators routinely defund these programs, while actively working to limit access to abortion services. And I won’t even get started about the ridiculousness of a company such as Hobby Lobby having “religious beliefs” they can use to deny women healthcare. The abortion debate really isn’t about abortion, it’s about family planning. When women have access to the health care they need, unplanned pregnancies go way down. We can reduce abortions without making it illegal. But when I see people railing against abortion, and railing against Planned Parenthood, I know their concern isn’t for women. And genuinely, I can’t express how frustrating it is to have large groups of old white men in our government making these decisions. Men who will never be impacted by these policies. Men who use their religion to hide their racism, misogyny and bigotry. I genuinely believe that when we have a government that more fully reflects our country, that same government will become more compassionate and just.

There are a lot of other reasons, but these are the big ones, on why I now call myself a democrat. I’m invested in electing more legislators who believe that healthcare is a right; who want to create a more just and compassionate immigration system – including a pathway for those residents who are here now and are good citizens to stay; who understand our government’s racist past and are willing to work to rectify the damage that’s been done; who understand that climate change is real and will advocate for policies that reduce the human impact on the planet; who believe that being lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender is being part of a protected class – meaning that you can’t be fired from your job due to these things or denied healthcare, and believe that marriage is for everyone; who support researching gun violence and support developing policy solutions to address it; who support a woman’s right to choose and who acknowledge that the government has no place in a woman’s healthcare or family planning beyond ensuring access to equitable care. I’ve spent the last year volunteering with my girlfriend’s campaign for the state house and have three yard signs in my front lawn for the very first time. I expect that this is the start of deeper engagement with the political system. In the midst of a year that’s been very challenging for a lot of reasons, knowing that I’m actively helping to get more democrats, and especially women who are democrats, elected, has provided much peace of mind. I’m no longer sitting on the sidelines of this democratic republic. I am late to the party, but I’m finally here.

Taking the “Care” Out of Healthcare

I can’t stop thinking about this week’s news  that the Trump Administration created a new division within the Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) to be focused on “conscience and religious freedom”. Even more ironically, the work of the division will fall under the Office of Civil Rights. This new division is thought to pave the way for healthcare workers to refuse to perform certain types of care such as prescribing/dispensing birth control or performing/assisting with abortions. Also, it’s thought to create space for healthcare workers to refuse to treat certain groups of people based on their religious or conscience objections, which while not saying it outright, is a direct threat to individuals who are LGBTQI.

As someone who spent a considerable portion of my career working in healthcare, both in patient care and as an administrator, I can’t process that our government is providing legal protections for healthcare workers to discriminate against their patients. Understandably, when considering the impact of this new division in HHS, many people focus on the “procedures” component, worried how this might impact a woman’s right to access abortion services. But for all of the job opportunities in healthcare, for providers at every level, I feel confident that most people who have moral objections to abortion have already sought out positions where they are not confronted with the procedure. Those RNs already work somewhere other than the local Planned Parenthood clinic.

I’m more concerned about the providers who won’t treat certain groups of people and pharmacists that won’t fill certain prescriptions. For individuals living in rural areas, there may only be one hospital in the region, one pharmacy. What are your options when the local physician decides they will not treat gay people? When your local pharmacy won’t fill your transition-related prescriptions because the pharmacist refuses to treat patients who are transgender? When your local OBGYN won’t prescribe birth control?

Who’s rights are most important? For me this is quite simple. When I went into exercise physiology because I wanted to work in cardiac rehabilitation, where I would be taking care of heart patients, it never occurred to me that I might choose which patients for which I would care. I would work with the “good” patients, who made every lifestyle change I recommended, and the “bad” ones…even the one who tried-and sometimes succeeded-to sexually assault the staff every time he came to class. I can’t comprehend a situation where I would have denied care to a patient. I went into that profession because I cared deeply about people and wanted to make a difference. I think that same motivation drives many nurses, doctors, and other allied health professionals. But they don’t teach us to only take care of the patients we “agree” with, our job isn’t to pass judgement on who is worthy of care. But that is the new world we are living in, as the oaths that healthcare professionals take now come with a government-sanctioned caveat. As one friend eloquently pointed out (shout-out to Mary!), are you really a healthcare provider if you don’t provide healthcare for all?

And what does it say about us as a society when our government is in the business of sanctioning discrimination? That some of our congresspeople view “freedom” as discrimination against others? (House Majority Leader Kevin McCarthy, R-California, stated regarding the Obama administration’s Office of Civil Rights: “In the past this office sent the message, now is not the time for freedom, it is time for you to conform. What a different one year makes.”) If “conforming” means that all people are treated equally, then I’m all for it.

Every single human should be able to show up to an emergency room and know they’ll be treated with care and dignity. Every single human should be able to get their scrips filled at their local pharmacy, no questions asked. Every single human should have a relationship with their provider that is free from judgement and discrimination. If this is not freedom, then I think we need to reconsider our definition of the term. If a nurse doesn’t want to care for patients, she should not work in a hospital. If a pharmacist does not want to fill scripts, they shouldn’t work in a pharmacy.

And while I haven’t attended church in quite a long time, I regularly attended services while growing up. None of this aligns with the lessons of our little Protestant church.  We were taught not to judge one another, to love each other, and to treat others as we wished to be treated. We learned to care for people who were different from us, to help those in need. Nowhere in our Sunday School lessons did we talk about only certain types of people being worthy of our care. There wasn’t one sermon about discriminating against our fellow humans. While I am deeply suspicious of any religion that denies any human their humanity, I respect an individual’s right to worship what they choose. But to consider that our government is providing such religions power over our access to healthcare is terrifying. A government that stands for the rights of ALL citizens would be ensuring and protecting that very access, not compromising it.

Individuals who are LGBTQI already suffer known health disparities.    For example, youth who are lesbian, gay or bisexual seriously contemplate suicide at three times the rate of heterosexual youth. Also, in a national study 40% of transgendered adults reported having attempted suicide, with 92% of those attempts having been before the age of 25. Transgender women are at an unusually high risk of contracting HIV, and transgender individuals receive an HIV diagnosis at three times the national average. (Sources: The Trevor Project and CDC) The health care system is already failing these individuals. The new policies will only exacerbate these disparities.

While there aren’t any quick or easy solutions, it is one more reminder that our democracy is not a spectator sport. It is incumbent upon all of us to vote and engage with our congresspeople. Our elected officials are a reflection of us, and every election matters deeply. And when someone says to you that politics don’t matter, respectfully engage with them about how it does. Because of this administration, a large number of Americans now wonder if they can go to their local emergency department and be treated. Not treated with dignity, or treated with care, but treated period. It says a lot about who we are.


“Nothing is so essential as dignity…Time will reveal who has it and who has it not.” ― Elizabeth Gilbert 

 

Narrative Gatekeepers, Storytelling, and Truth

sto·ry·tell·ing
/ˈstôrē teliNG/
noun
1. 
the activity of telling or writing stories.
     “the power of cinematic storytelling”
adjective
1. 
relating to the telling or writing of stories.
     “the oral storytelling tradition”


You’d have to be living under a rock to miss the news of several high-profile men being accused of workplace sexual harassment and sexual assault over the past 4-6 weeks. Between the “me too” stories that likely flooded your social media feeds and the noise surrounding high-profile men accused of criminal behavior, the focus has rightly been on the pervasive sexual misconduct in our culture. Women have endured mistreatment at the proverbial hands of men since the beginning of time and I hope we can look back at this period as when the tide finally began to turn. But this isn’t about that.

In the event you have been living under a rock (lucky you, can I visit?), here’s a quick rundown, but not an exhaustive list, of powerful media/entertainment industry figures who’ve been accused of sexual misconduct in the workplace fairly recently:

  • Harvey Weinstein – film producer
  • Micheal Oreskes – senior vice president of news, NPR
  • Leon Wieseltier – former editor at The New Republic
  • Mark Halperin – journalist, formerly of ABC News and NBC News/MSNBC
  • Roy Price – Amazon Studios executive
  • Chris Savino – Nickelodeon producer
  • Lockhart Steele – Vox Media editorial director
  • James Toback – filmmaker
  • Terry Richardson – photographer
  • Andy Signore – Defy Media senior vice president of content
  • Bill O’Reilly – former Fox News anchor
  • Knight Landesman – Artform co-publisher
  • Kevin Spacey – actor
  • Roger Ailes (deceased) – former Fox News chairman and CEO

In many cases, these men were in positions of power, they were the gatekeepers regarding what stories got told and how. These are the people who’ve been in charge of telling our political and cultural stories, the people whose lens through which we’ve viewed the world, in some cases for decades. They determined which projects got funded, what pieces were seen, which voices were heard.

Storytelling is an incredibly powerful tool. It can be used to entertain, to educate, to connect, to make money (as in business). Great storytelling is grounded in truth, and relies on the integrity of the storyteller. Effective storytellers must also be vulnerable, creating space for their audience to feel genuine emotion and to connect with them authentically, so that all-storyteller and audience-can arrive at a place of understanding together.

For decades upon decades, the voices that have been the loudest, the tellers of the stories, and the people who are responsible for the tellers of stories, have been in many cases white men. A fair number of these men have demonstrated an extreme lack of respect for women, such that harassment and assault became “regular” workplace behavior. I struggle to pull apart the way these men lived their lives and the lens through which they view the world. Does the way they view women, particularly women with less power, influence the stories they tell and how they tell them? I think emphatically yes.

What do Hillary Clinton and Elizabeth Warren look like through the lens of these narrative gatekeepers? How do they tell the stories of these women? What do the issues of reproductive rights for women and access to healthcare look like through the lenses of these men? How does their tremendously amplified voice influence what the rest of us think about these people, these issues? And how does the bullying behavior of these particular men influence the how the stories are told by the people that work for them? How does that behavior influence WHO works for them?

This is not to say that men can’t tell effective stories, or that they can’t cover female political candidates fairly. That’s not at all what I’m saying. But when the amplified voices are white men, and in a number of cases unethical white men, how does that influence our collective truth?

I wonder about the damage done by a network like Fox News. Setting aside the network’s inclination towards being a propaganda machine, how effectively can a network run by a man who treats women as Roger Ailes did tell the stories of women? How can they connect authentically with people, and how vulnerable can their female employees be in doing their job, considering theirs is a profession that requires a certain level of authenticity? When the most powerful lens at a network is that of a misogynistic predator, how does that influence what the rest of us see?

I don’t know what the answers are. So much damage has been done that it seems like burning down these power structures and rebuilding them would be the most effective path to true change. But that will never happen. We’re left with trying to influence broken systems, but hopefully by developing a deeper understanding into how the systems are broken, we can take back some of the power and have greater influence on our collective truth. Pay attention to who is behind the stories you read, see, hear. Who writes the music, takes the photos? Seek out stories told by diverse groups of people. Hear their truth, listen to their perspective. Who tells the stories matters deeply. Lastly, we can use our own voices, as so many women have been doing of late. Whether that’s speaking our own truth, amplifying the stories of others, or creating space where previously there wasn’t any, we all have a role in shaping the future. One story at a time.


“I will tell you something about stories . . . They aren’t just entertainment. Don’t be fooled. They are all we have, you see, all we have to fight off illness and death.”  ― Leslie Marmon Silko

 

Protests, Athletes, and Developing Understanding

I don’t want to write about this. I’m not “qualified”, I’m not an expert, and I’m not well-versed in the nuance of the issue, all of which leaves me feeling as though my thoughts aren’t valid. I’m a middle-class white woman who doesn’t watch sports. And yet. The noise in my head is so loud, so distracting, that I must write about it, if only selfishly for my own sanity. So here we are.

Even though spectating most professional sports isn’t my jam, I casually followed the Colin Kaepernick story last year. I admired the players who were using their platform to bring attention to inequities and injustices that exist within our society. They are real and they are significant. But after President Trump’s remarks on Friday evening, I’ve spent the last few days thinking deeply about the subject, reading a number of articles of varying opinions, with hopes of gaining a better understanding of my own. What I’ve been unable to do is watch the “rants” posted to social media. I’ll read an article, watch a reasoned conversation, but I am done watching people rage into the camera. My experience is that these only resonate with people who agree with the ranter and do nothing to advance discourse. And they’re exceptionally annoying.

As I’ve followed the dialogue, a number of themes have emerged from those who are critical of the act of kneeling during the national anthem. 1. The players who kneel are unpatriotic. 2. The players who kneel are disrespectful to our military. 3. The players who kneel should stay in their lane – stick to playing football and keep their politics/social justice efforts off the field. 4. The players who are kneeling are ungrateful. (They’re millionaires – what do they have to complain about?)

On Patriotism

According to dictionary.com a patriot is: 1. a person who loves, supports, and defends his or her country and its interests with devotion. 2.a person who regards himself or herself as a defender, especially of individual rights, against presumed interference by the federal government. 3.a U.S. Army antiaircraft missile with a range of 37 miles (60 km) and a 200-pound (90 kg) warhead, launched from a tracked vehicle with radar and computer guidance and fire control. (I’m going to ignore the third definition here, as I hope it’s clear that no one is referring to a antiaircraft missile in this dialogue.) Nowhere in the multiple definitions I read does it discuss HOW one acts as a patriot-how someone “loves, supports or defends” the country. There are no guidelines, no requirements which leaves it up to each of us to craft our own image of how a patriot behaves, what one looks like.

In a country as diverse as ours, it makes sense that there would  be a multitude of ideas about how one acts as a patriot. For some, a patriot is one who stands faithfully for our anthem, someone who dutifully supports the president and his (or her) administration, someone who doesn’t question the authority of the police. For others, myself included, the act of protest is patriotic. Standing up for the rights of others, calling out injustice, clamoring for change are acts that are woven into the fabric of our history. Much of the progress made in our society has advanced in part because of protest – the woman’s right to vote, advances in civil liberties, the end of the Vietnam war. Without individuals willing to put themselves on the line, to agitate and make noise, so much of what we take for granted would not be possible. People in power are often not remotely interested in sharing it. It takes tremendous pressure for meaningful change to take place. Horrendous inequalities still exist within our country, and our past suggests that progress won’t be made without people making noise in the proverbial streets.

Snubbing the Military

As the wife of an Air Force reservist, I find the comments about the athletes taking a knee disrespecting the military particularly agitating. I don’t need anyone to speak on my or my husband’s behalf, to assume what actions disrespect us. I’m far more offended by the government’s attempt to take healthcare away from thousands of people than I am a bunch of athletes making a silent protest. Besides, ideologically, military members are as diverse as our country. I’m sure there are more than a few military members and veterans who are offended by those who kneel for our anthem. I’m also certain there are a great many who are not. Let’s not pretend that the military is some monolithic group who’s feelings need protecting.

Lastly, when people join the service, the oath they take is to protect the constitution, not the flag. This is an important distinction, as I’ve seen multiple references to the military’s defense of our flag which is factually incorrect.

Football Only Please

“Stay in your lane” is a statement used in an attempt to put someone in their place. I see it used in regards to Jimmy Kimmel as he speaks about healthcare-a topic that has deeply impacted his family, and I see it used in an attempt to silence the athletes. At first blush, I understand what people mean. They want entertainers to entertain, not distract with “real world” conversation and politics. But upon further thought, that doesn’t make any sense. None of us live in a vacuum. We can’t separate our lives into neat little boxes. Frankly, I think we should all use whatever platform we have to advance conversations and issues that are important to us. Do some people have bigger platforms, larger audiences? Without a doubt. If those people-actors, athletes, musicians, etc-use their given platform for advocacy, and they have their employer’s support, then as far as I’m concerned the case is closed. They don’t need anyone else’s permission. The consent the rest of us provide is watching their show, watching the game, buying the music. If someone is that bothered by the message and the advocacy, walk away. But to expect that individual’s employer, a NFL team owner in this case, to share one’s belief system or one’s expectations about what a player should or shouldn’t do is unreasonable. If enough people aren’t buying the thing-watching football in this case-the owners then get to re-evaluate, but still might make the same decision. That’s on them.

Trump’s comments on Friday night were a very loud “stay in your lane” remark. By referring to the players as “sons of bitches” and stating they should be fired, he brought the government into the conversation, in a way that feels inappropriate. The first amendment protects our right to speak freely. This amendment does not protect our speech from our employers (it is protection from the government’s abridging that right), meaning the NFL owners could do as some NASCAR team owners did and require their athletes to stand for the anthem at games, but that’s not for the government to determine. It’s also impossible to ignore the realities of a white president calling these athletes, who are predominantly African-American, SOBs. I’ve read multiple places that “this has nothing to do with race” but there’s nothing to prove that it doesn’t. And the responsibility always lies with those in power, which in this case is Trump who is not only president, but a white man. It’s on him to ensure that his language is clear enough for us all to know his true intent.

Lastly, what happened to Michael Bennett of the Seattle Seahawks a few weeks ago confirms that this conversation is very much within the lane of a NFL player. Kaepernick initially began kneeling in response to police brutality against African-Americans and minorities. Bennett’s experience in Las Vegas essentially brings the conversation full-circle.

On Gratitude

I really can’t reconcile this one. The implication that these players, because they are millionaires who play a game for a living, should just shut up and be thankful is maddening. From my perspective, the more privilege we have, whether it’s racial privilege, financial, etc, the greater responsibility we have to use that privilege to advance the well-being of others. These players are using what privilege they do have to highlight inequities and facilitate dialogue. Kaepernick himself has paid a significant price for his advocacy, yet it was a price he was willing to pay. The actions of the players who kneel have nothing to do with lack of gratitude for their station in life. One can be grateful and still highlight social injustice (or any other topic). They aren’t mutually exclusive.


There is more to this topic, to this conversation, but this is as far as I’ve gotten in my own thinking. For more reading on the subject, a good friend shared this article earlier Monday, which addresses it far more completely. (Thanks, Troy!) During such tumultuous times, I’m challenging myself to question my own knee jerk reactions to certain situations, of which there seem to be so many these days, and forcing myself develop a deeper understanding of why I think what I do. This post is essentially a verbal vomit of my own grapplings with this particular one. I acknowledge that my perspective will likely continue to evolve, as none of us should be static in our thinking.

Rumination tends to be eased if we learn to be mindful; if we are able to be aware of, and understand how our own thoughts work. ~ Peter Kinderman