So, I’m a ball of anxiety.

So, I'm a ball of anxiety. This shouldn't be news to anyone. Anyway, Alysha and I happen to have the day off together. Alysha suggested we listen to Joshua McClain during his cello hour. He has started doing this during quarantine; he plays cello for an hour of music and mindfulness. 

Lord knows, I need this. 

Coming into The Age of ‘Rona, I was having weekly panic attacks. It was a super fun time. I was taking on too much and not allowing myself to make mistakes. I wasn’t sleeping because I was replaying every moment of the day before I could rest. I had just settled on making a therapist appointment, then BAM, ‘Rona hit. No one was, obviously, taking new clients. Truthfully, I haven’t done the work in the time given to me. I am now just a less stressed ball of anxiety. So, looking forward to how that will play out when school starts in three weeks. 

March

As cases in Wisconsin started piling up, I was devastated by the senseless loss of human life. In all honesty, at the beginning of this, I was not worried. I thought we would be able to get it under control much more quickly than we did. I thought, for a moment, there was an acceptable loss rate (less than X%; it’s fine). But, as I thought more deeply about it, I was ashamed that I could have, even for a moment, accept any loss. 

April

In April, as people in Wisconsin gathered in the Capitol to overturn Governor Evers’ executive orders, I was so angry. Masks aren’t taking away anyone’s rights. They protect others from a potentially fatal disease. Like, how do I get you to care about humanity? How do you not care that people are dying and having long-term side effects of having their lungs turned into a sieve? How do you not care? 

We started school again in a more scheduled and specific way in April. I was able to see my young people via the internet, and we began to process this global trauma together. How could I expect my kids to turn in work when they are constantly worried about things so far out of their control? I am supposed to be a rock for these kids--an adult from whom they seek advice. I am a pebble, at most. All I could tell them is how much I love them and would rather be with them. But, for their health and mine, we are on opposite sides of the screen. 

Early Summer

Then, in May and June, a neo-Civil Rights Movement waged non-non-violent and peaceful protests and marches across the world. Again, how could anyone stand in support of the police officer who murdered George Floyd and the officers who watched and did nothing. I had to decide that Human Rights are more important than my fear of the virus. I justified to people in my circle that even though schools, businesses, and churches are closed, the marches must happen. There is no online version of Civil Rights. 

These marches have continued. They must continue. There is not equality in this country.  How do I make people care about others? How do I make people see that when they say “All Lives Matter” that includes Black people...specifically, right now?  As a middle school teacher, I (usually) have a deep well of patience. But, my God, I have zero patience for people who do not care about humanity.

Early in the quarantine, a friend posted, “Hey, how are my empaths doing?” The answer is not well. I am not well. I am scared, sad, locked up inside my own head. I am so worried about everything all the time--things so far out of my control. I am a cog in a machine--a machine that is breaking. Our nation is crumbling and I can’t do anything about it. Sure, I can vote, I can make sure others vote, I can march, I can teach kindness, but all of that feels so inconsequential.  

Late Summer

Then, late July and early August rolled around. All of those accolades teachers received in April, May, and June have disappeared. Again, teachers are the villains of the story. Many parents have not been in a classroom for a long, long time. They have this idyllic version of what “school” is like. If we return full in person or hybrid, school will not look like what they want. Parents don’t want their kids to return to “school.” They want their kids to return to normalcy. They want a sliver of their kids’ day to feel like it did. But, I promise you, it will feel almost more alien than virtual learning. 

School has massively changed since we’ve been in school. Desks are rarely in rows. Group projects have become the norm. School is no longer just a place of academic learning. It is a home where children learn how to be humans, where children get fed, where children have an adult that will love them regardless of their behavior. School has become a social safety net because of all of the other societal bullshit (inequitable housing, poverty, unlivable wages). 

Schools have carried this burden, and we do so with very little complaints. I don’t know a single teacher who became a teacher for the pay. We do it because we love children, and we want to give them the stability they need to succeed. If children return to school, their school day will look so different than it was and the in-person schooling because we cannot share pencils, markers,  worksheets, or even space. They are going to do most of their work online anyway.  

Reopening schools comes down to an acceptable death rate. A lot of the memes I see flying around are that only X% of children will contract it. Or, the survival rate is X%. What people fail to realize is that their child could be that X%.  

Parents are working under the assumption that their kid won’t get it, but it’s okay if someone else’s kid gets it. And, that is what sickens me the most. How do I get people to care about human life? How do I get people to care at all? America’s rugged individualism, me-first mentality has gotten us into this mess, and its persistence has kept us here. 

Timeless

This all leads me to my main point. No one is immune to this virus. My “pod” has done everything right. We have worn masks. We have kept distant from one another. We have not gotten together with large groups of friends. And, still, someone in my pod contracted COVID. I had a moment when I envisioned the world without this person in it. I envisioned that someone I love was no longer here. Our pod had just been together. This person worried about whom they may have given it to. Was I safe? Were the others in our pod safe? Were the people with whom they came into contact safe? This person is on the mend and doing well. And, everyone in our pod has all tested negative for COVID. Luckily for us, the emotional toll that a positive diagnosis took was more painful than the physical. However, not everyone is so lucky. 

Think of someone you love deeply and without abandon. Think of the world without them in it. Tell me, is that an acceptable loss to you? Is there any acceptable loss? 

Our world has been in turmoil. I would like to say its only been in turmoil since January, but honestly, it has been in turmoil for much, much longer. It was in turmoil when the Egyptians held Jewish people as slaves.. It was in turmoil as Europe colonized the world. It was in turmoil when millions of African people were kidnapped and sold as property. It was in turmoil when American slavery shifted from cotton fields to prison labor. It was in turmoil when White people patted each other on the back the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Fair Housing Act of 1968 were passed. We ended racism, right?  

In America, we are in turmoil. 

We are witnessing the slow death of democracy as our president is trying to steal the election.

AGAIN. 

Our GDP has dropped 32.9% since March. 

We are in a second wave of Civil Rights movements. 

We are dying from a pandemic because people are equating their opinion with expertise. 

We are trying to keep it together, and we are failing miserably.  

We are a nation in crisis. 

I beg you, please, take a moment and care about humanity.  Because, I, honestly, don’t know what else to do. 

So, a storm's been brewing

I was talking to my mom the other day about how I saw myself in this fight. It is a long road of discovery, and I am still figuring it out. As a writer, I am not going to stop writing. As an educator, I am not going to stop teaching. For each of my poems that I share, I’d like to discuss two poems/ essays/ books by authors of color.  

The first poem I offer you today, dear readers, is an excerpt from “A Wreath for Emmett Till” by Marilyn Nelson. The original poem is 15 sonnets, and is published as an illustrated narrative. In 1955, Emmett Till was a 14 year old boy from Illinois who was visiting his cousins in Mississippi. He didn’t fully understand the difference between the veiled, subtle racism of the north and the raw, visceral racism of the south. He went into a store and spoke to a white, married woman named Carolyn Bryant. She then accused him of making physical and verbal advances at her. In response,  Bryant’s husband, his brother, and others killed Emmett Till, a 14-year-old boy, in a horrific way. They were acquitted. 

In 2008, 53 years after Emmett died, Carolyn Bryant said she fabricated the incident. White supremacy allowed this to happen.. A white woman falsely claims that a Black boy besmirched her honor. Her husband is given carte blanche to do whatever he sees fit. White women continue to use their position as “the weaker sex” to force retaliation against Black men (re: Amy Cooper / Christian Cooper). White people must dig into their deep-seated biases and learn to do better.  Myself, my family, many of my friends, included.  

Some say that Till’s death spurred the next wave in the Civil Rights movement. While wildly important, I am sure some people would have preferred to see his fifteenth birthday. 

Excerpt from “A Wreath for Emmett Till” by Marilyn Nelson

III.
Pierced by the screams of a shortened childhood, 
my heartwood has been scarred for fifty years
by what I heard, with hundreds of green ears. 
That jackal laughter. Two hundred years I stood
listening to the small struggles to find food…
Two hundred years of deaths I understood.
Then slaughter axed one quiet summer night, 
shivering the deep silence of the stars. 
A running boy, five men in close pursuit.
One dark, five pale faces in the moonlight.
Noise, silence, back-slaps. One match, five cigars. 
Emmett Till’s name still catches in my throat. 

XV. 
Rosemary for remembrance, Shakespeare wrote. 
If I could forget, believe me, I would. 
Pierced by the screams of a shortened childhood, 
Emmett Till’s name still catches in my throat. 
Mamie’s one child a body thrown to bloat, 
Mutilated boy martyr. If I could
Erase the memory of Emmett’s victimhood,
The memory of monsters...That bleak thought
Tears through the patchwork drapery of dreams. 
Let me gather spring flowers for a wreath:
Trillium, apple-blossoms, Queen Anne’s lace, 
Indian-pipe, bloodroot, white as moonbeams, 
Like the full moon which smiled calmly on his death, 
Like the gouged eye, which watched boots kick his face. 

This next poem, “Black Girl Magic” by Mahogany L. Browne talks about what a Black girl is supposed to do vs. what a Black girl is. White readers, I want to check what our role is in how we and society make Black girls feel about themselves. “The Bluest Eye” by Toni Morrison follows a Black woman named Pecola who equates her melanin with ugliness and strives toward being beautiful--in her eyes White. 

Think about the movies we are watching. Does it offer Women of Color in lead roles? With complex backstory? Check the books you’re reading to your children. Do they offer racially diverse characters? Think about the aisles of dolls and the pictures on toy boxes. Are they representing diverse representation? Ask yourself, how can you be a part of the change? How do we teach our children to be actively anti-racist?

Please take a watch: Black Girl Magic
Here is an interview from Poetry Foundation of Mahogany L. Browne discussing her poem and experience.


I wrote this poem at 3:00 a.m. I took my dog out to go to the bathroom and felt the heaviness of the air. From there, metaphors jumped synapse to synapse in my half-asleep brain. With some revision and editing, we are here. 

Storm Warning

You know what it feels 
like right before a storm?
The air is leaden. 
         Thick. 
I know there is some 
scientific answer about 
pressure change. 
But science can’t answer 
what I feel in my 
         bones--  
That the air is hot with 
         electricity. 
It is still and 
waiting for a spark.  

This country was hot with 
         electricity. 
And, George Floyd’s final breath 
         sparked
and lit the world on fire. 

There is no scientific reason 
for this change in pressure. 
It has been boiling and rising. 
Four hundred years of 
oppression and rage vacuumed into 
         Eight minutes and 
         forty-six seconds.

It isn’t just about George. 
It isn’t just about Ahmaud. 
It isn’t just about Breonna. 
It isn’t just about _____________.
                                   (say their name) 
  
It is about White men looting Africa taking 
          husbands, fathers, and brothers. 
          wives, mothers, and sisters.
It is about four hundred years of lynchings
while the people who were supposed to protect... 
   ...watched.
   ...cheered. 
   ...participated. 

This country has been violently racist 
          since before it was a country.
It has been raining 
          hate and 
          violence and 
          prejudice 
since its conception. 

We are fighting the same war, 
just a different century. 
Police brutality didn’t begin 
in the last decade; 
we just began filming it. 

These protests are not 
in response to any one death. 
They are in response to 
          ALL the death 
          ALL  the carnage 
we wrecked on our Black brothers and sisters.

By responding with 
          militarized vehicles and 
          escalating peaceful marches, 
the police continue time and again 
to prove that they require 
          submission 
not offer protection. 

They are pointing weapons at our citizens. 
          It doesn’t matter that the 
          bullets are rubber when 
          you’re staring down the 
          barrel of a rifle. 
Tear gas and pepper spray are 
          chemical weapons. 

The air is leaden and thick, my friends. 

We are the storm. 

So, ................

When I tried to write the title for this, I am just staring at a blank cursor. As if words matter. As if anything matters. The only thing that matters right now are Black Lives. 

On of my favorite poets, Mark Doty, wrote, "What can words do / but link what we know / to what we don't / and so form a shape?" I am so deep in the "what we don't" that words are sparse and rage is pervasive. 

Imma tell you right now this is not going to be my usual manicured, well-crafted, or, frankly, edited post. It is going to be a snap shot of a moment in time when words fail and poetry rises. 

"L.A. Prayer" by Francisco X Alarcon was written about the 1992 LA Riots that surrounded the acquittal of the police officers who beat Rodney King causing permanent brain damage*. 1992. The LA Riots happened 28 years ago. 28 years. In 28 years, we have learned nothing. God have Mercy on Minnesota if Derek Chauvin gets acquitted. 

L.A. Prayer by Francisco X Alarcon

April 1992

something
was wrong                  
when buses                
didn't come                

streets                          
were                              
no longer                    
streets                          

how easy                      
hands                          
became                        
weapons                      

blows                            
gunfire                        
rupturing                    
the night                    

the more
we run
the more
we burn

o god
show us
the way
lead us

spare us
from ever
turning into
walking

matches
amidst
so much
gasoline

"Harlem" by Langston Hughes was published in 1951. It is one of the poems I teach my students every year. We talk about what it means. We talk about what each instance might look like (dry up like a raisin in the sun, stink like rotten meat, etc). And, we talk about what it looks like when dream, undoubtedly, explodes. 

Harlem by Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

      Does it dry up
      like a raisin in the sun?
      Or fester like a sore—
      And then run?
      Does it stink like rotten meat?
      Or crust and sugar over—
      like a syrupy sweet?

      Maybe it just sags
      like a heavy load.

      Or does it explode?

The next two poems I wrote in 2016. My heart is on fire that they still carry so much meaning today. We. Must. Do. Better. We have to do better. This is cannot be White and Black. It is Everyone vs. Racists. There is no, "I am not racist." White people have benefitted from systemic oppression and White people must look inside of themselves, look at their ingrained prejudice, and face it. White people have to be a part of the solution. The way to do that? Shut up. Don't talk. Listen. Your voice is not the most important. Educate yourself. Engage in conversations. Shut up. Don't talk. Listen. Your voice is STILL not the most important. 

Yes, I fully understand the irony of me, a White poet, writing this. I fully understand the irony (and arrogance) of my sharing my poetry alongside some of the greatest poetic minds. I share because White people need to step up in a HUGE way. They need to show their BIPOC (Black Indigenous People of Color) brothers and sisters that they are here in whatever capacity needed. 

Step up, White people. People's lives depend on it.   

Deferred Dreams by Kathryn Botsford

My buddy Langston, he told me about 
what happens to a dream when it is deferred. 
And, right now, I just can't sleep.
I close my eyes and see
Black men and women's lives
drying up like raisins in the sun--
juice seeping from them. 

And, that, that is why Black Lives Matter. 
Because senseless violence, perpetuated
by hate, by profiling, by casual racism 
festers like a sore.

Black Lives Matter because they
run and run in an endless cycle of 
self defense, police violence, 
Black retaliation, violence, protests,
violence, death, violence, death, violence.
Death.

White standers by watch, 
They wring their hands unsure of 
whose lives matter, or if they matter at all. 
Their mere observation stinks of rotten meat. 
They participate in that casual racism that prepares
their fellow Americans for slaughter. 
They
        cross the street.
They
        clutch their bag. 
They 
        start sentences with, "I'm not racist, but..."

There is no but. 
There is no reason for these actions.
There is no response to this onslaught of deep-seated
violence and hatred. 

The cries of 
"All Lives Matter" 
         or 
"Blue Lives Matter" 
crust over the experiences of our Black brothers and sisters--
a syrupy sweet concoction meant to pit us versus them.

We are a divided country. 
We see this every day. 

White standers by, pick up the mantle. 
Stop wringing your hands.
Use them to lift up your brothers and sisters
whom—for too long—have sagged under this heavy load. 
Be a part of this movement. 
Stand
         up.
Show 
        up. 
Be upset. 
Be an ally.

Together, we explode.
Our hopes and dreams 
flare and catch, 
spreading a fire that
cannot and will not
be extinguished. 

The next poem is a more direct conversation with those who know there is a problem but do not know what to do about it. It may be enough to just let your friends know that you’re there. It may not. You have to be ready to engage in hard conversations, open those cans of worms, talk about the racial issues that make us uncomfortable. We must build a future worth living in. And right now? This isn't it. 

Post Amble by Kathryn Botsford
We the people
are angry. We are sick.
We are tired.

We are raising our voice
in order to form a more perfect union
with our Black brothers and sisters.

Too many of whom have died at
the hands of those who’re meant to
establish justice, who’re meant to insure domestic tranquility.

We are frustrated at those who
provide the common defense
of “All lives matter.”
But, you see, Black lives, they don’t matter more,
But, Black lives matter.
Too many of us have forgotten.

So, before we forget Alton
Before we forget Philando,
Before we remember to forget whoever is
next and next and next,
we must stand with our brothers and sisters to
promote the general welfare in our country.

Now is the time
to provide a space
in which they feel safe,
in which they feel home.

Now is the time
to help them to safety on an
elevated railroad.
  
Now is the time to
shout and protest and rally
from St. Paul to Ferguson.
We must secure their blessings of liberty.

Now is the time
to share this burden
wherever you are.

We, the people, do ordain and establish this
constitution of fairness, of justice,
of being on the right side of history.

Now is the time to band together.
We are a many-colored revolution
that demands equality.

Now is the time to become the
United States of America.









*Correction via Jennifer Richardson. Thank you for keeping me honest and accountable. 

So, why is it important to "go high?"

In a speech on July 25th, 2016, Michelle Obama spoke about how their family had (and has) responded to criticisms of Barack. She said, “When they go low, we go high.”

In a Time Magazine article, she talks about how “going high” doesn’t mean that you don’t feel the pain or frustration. It means that you work through it to try to better understand someone’s perspective. She, notably, writes, “When I say, ‘go high,’ I’m not trying to win the argument.”  

That’s the part that gets me. I really dislike losing arguments. I really dislike the person I become when I argue because...I rarely lose arguments. However, in winning arguments, I sometimes lose respect for who I want to be as a human being because of the tactics I've used.  More often, I just walk away. 

Here is where I might lose some people, but please hear me out. It drove me bat shit crazy to see the “Not My President” bumper stickers when Obama was president. Like, “Ya dingledoos. It doesn’t matter if you agree with him or not, he is your president.” So….now the shoe is on the other foot. I will say it is a little different because Obama won both the electoral vote and the popular vote, while the current president only won one of the two. However, we can rip into the electoral college in a different post. 

While I disagree with the vast majority of what our Dingledoo in Chief says, does, reflects, represents, etc, he is still my president. I don’t agree that children are still in cages. Yeah, remember that? I don’t agree that there are “very fine people on both sides.” I don’t agree that he owns stock in and keeps pushing hydroxychloroquine as a remedy for Covid-19. I don’t agree that he has off-handedly created a medical environment where the people who need it for actual autoimmune diseases and malaria are having a difficult time getting their prescriptions filled. I don’t agree with his disbelief in science and reality. I don’t agree with his inability to be honest. 

However, he is still my president. He was elected by a minority of people with an electoral college majority. I do not, I repeat, DO NOT want him to be my president for another four years. 

I have found it so, incredibly difficult to “go high” when he is abusing his power, green-lighting disgusting human tragedy, and actively killing our planet. He evaded removal from office because the senate majority leader refused to have a real trial in the senate. He has doubled down on his border wall and has turned suspicion toward Asian Americans. It is so much easier for him to blame those who don’t look like him for his feckless leadership and inability to control...anything. He has revoked the Paris Climate Agreement. Our planet is dying, dude. There will be nothing left for you to rule if we don’t take care of it. 

The President has muddied the waters of trust so fully that any media that goes against what he says is “fake news.” Distrust in the media and pushing propaganda is a huge, giant red flag. His followers very rarely listen to anything that contradicts him. They often spout hate and ignorance and don’t support their opinions with facts based in real life. His followers listened to his pussy-grabbing tape and heard about the multiple sexual misconduct accusations, and said, “Yep, I am all in.” 

It is so difficult to “go high” because we are not even playing the same game right now. Progressives work toward bettering their people and their base. They have a moral obligation to “do the right thing.” Because a victory fought in their trenches of dishonesty, hate, and ignorance is no victory worth winning. The President’s followers are so entrenched in his rhetoric that trying to have conversations with them hasn't gone anywhere. Hasn’t “moved the ball forward.” So, what do we do?

It sucks. We are getting literally and metaphorically slaughtered. If he wins the 2020 election, our nation may be irreparably damaged. If he doesn’t win, our nation may still be irreparably damaged. He watered a chasm between the “Right Side of History” and the “Wrong Side of History.” It is now a canyon. We have to build bridges to allow people to cross.

We have to talk to single issue Republican voters. We have to talk to non-voters. We have to continue talking to Trump voters. We have to get people to give a damn. We have to rally around the common goal of progress. We have to vote like our rights depend on it. However, we  must respectfully engage in conversation with people with whom we disagree. We cannot think we are better than the people with whom we are speaking. We have to go high.

We have no idea what our future holds. We have no idea how our world will be shaped by the actions (and inaction) of our government. We have no idea what will be written in the history books. 

What we do know is how we acted. Were we fearless in standing up for what we believe? Did we do all we can for our homeless brothers and sisters? Have we protected our Black and Brown  brothers and sisters from people who deem themselves judge, jury, and executioner? Have we surrounded our Asian brothers and sisters who are not at all new to discrimination in this country?  Were we compassionate toward our Hispanic and Latinx brothers and sisters who are fleeing war torn countries? Were we kind to our neighbors?

Have we gone high when it is so, so much easier to go low?  

So, the Democratic Party is a Circus

One of the tenants of the Democratic Party has been that everyone can fit under our tent. And, by everybody, I mean everybody. Now, I want to be crystal clear, I am not an exclusionary person. I think there should be healthy, respectful debate and conversations with those with whom you disagree. However, I would like to break down this circus of a “one-tent party” into three parts: shifts in the Overton Window, inequitable “status quo,” and necessary revolution. 

Shifts in the Overton Window 
First, and foremost, the Overton Window frames a range of political conversations that are accepted. For example, when Al Gore was telling us about Climate Change 20 years ago, it was not yet within the Overton Window. However, the OW has shifted so much that science-believing people understand that Climate Change is a huge problem that, if neglected, has been and will be disastrous. “Botsford, how does this possibly relate to what you’re talking about?” you might ask. 

Well, to answer that question, dear reader, come on a quick journey with me. Alysha and I have been watching The Newsroom. It is a show that basically details how news could have (should have?) been covered. Season one takes place in 2010-2011, which showed the rise in the Tea Party. The final episode of season one sums up exactly what I have felt for a long time and gave me the push to write it down instead of keeping it in my head.  

I am a self-proclaimed bleeding heart liberal. I believe in feeding the hungry, caring for the sick, clothing those who need clothes. I recognize my bias. However, I understand the Republican view of smaller government and leaving things up to States. (I don’t agree with it, but I understand it.) In 2010-2011, the Republican Party was taken over by the Tea Party--people like Michelle Bachmann, Mike Lee, Sarah Palin, Rand Paul, and Ron Johnson. People who were part of the Birther Movement, people who deny science, people who value guns more than they value lives (unless those lives are unborn babies), people who are so anti-government that they let it shut down multiple times because they were unwilling to come to the table and compromise. 

This kind of populism, this kind of rhetoric and denial of facts has a direct link to Donald Trump being the 2016 Republican Presidential nominee. He did not run on a platform of Republican policies. He ran on hate. He ran on ignorance. He ran on pitting the most vulnerable people against one another. Donald Trump took whatever shred of dignity the Republican Party had left and lit it on fire. 

 So, where do those Never Trump Republicans go? Where do the Republicans with common sense go? Of...of...of course we can make room for them under our big tent. However, with incorporating so many people, the Democratic Party has kind of lost their way. This is part of the reason we had a bazillion primary candidates; we can’t agree on a true Democratic movement that serves all people. The people “okay” under the Status Quo and the peoplewho came to our tent because theirs got too bananas have shifted the Overton Window to a more moderate view, as opposed to a true progressive movement. Again, I am not saying, “Get out.” I am saying, “Get on board.” 

Inequitable Status Quo 
I am an employed 32 year old with $38,000 in student debt and a mortgage. I do not have children. I am living “comfortably.” My paycheck doesn’t always stretch as far as I want it to. But, I am putting quality food on the table, able to take modest vacations, and can afford to eat at fancy restaurants once in a while. I am doing “okay.” I make a LOT more money than the average income earner. The Status Quo was working “okay” for enough people and was “okay” enough for people to be more afraid of change than of it. 

 The Status Quo is Not Working 
Minimum wage in WI is $7.25. That means that if someone who works a minimum wage job for 40 hours a week, for 52 weeks), they would be making $15,080 a year with zero vacations, zero time to be with a sick family member, zero doctor’s appointments during their shift, ZERO TIME OFF. That is not a living wage. It is not even a subsistence wage. Restaurant workers make even less because tips count toward their wages. 

 Families are in debt thousands of dollars after birthing a child. And, that is WITH insurance. Any unplanned medical expense could bankrupt a family or make them dip into retirements or mortgages. 

 Voting districts are disgustingly gerrymandered. Wisconsin held an in-person primary in a PANDEMIC, in attempts to repress voting in an even more egregious way than their previous voter suppression laws. 

 We have very little in the way of a social safety net, and this pandemic is showing that. We are about to go into my second “once-in-a-lifetime” economic collapse. People are furloughed and unemployed. Many people who were doing “okay” under the Status Quo are now suffering in a big way. My heart breaks for the way we, as a country, are being treated. 

The Status Quo was not a Democracy; it was a Plutocracy. Our government has been bought and sold by the wealthy for decades. Reagan's Trickle Down Economics has not worked. The money pooled at the top, and our government has been fed by that spring for decades. 

Returning to normal is not the answer. It cannot be the answer. If we want to be a true Democracy, we cannot return to normal. We need a revolution. 

Necessary Revolution 
Change can be scary. Political change is terrifying. What if it’s worse than what we already have? Better stick with the devil you know than the devil you don’t right? If you were “okay” under the Status Quo, a political revolution seems reckless. Why rock the boat? However, if you were not doing “okay,” or are not doing “okay” now, there is very little that is worse. We need to provide a better social safety net for our country. We need to protect people who cannot protect themselves. It’s hard to pull yourself up by your bootstraps when you’re not even wearing shoes. 

Individual Thought vs. Communal Thought 
The United States’ “We’re Number 1” mentality does not stop at country pride. The US is an incredibly self-centered society. In the face of this pandemic, we have hoarded toilet paper. We have bought all of the canned goods. We think that we are fighting this pandemic individually, every person for themselves. If my family has eight cans of black beans, we can survive anything. I can live on beans alone!! However, that means another family has zero. But, if I take two cans, which should last me a week, that means that three other families can also have two cans of black beans. That’s how math works. 

 We need to begin thinking communally. We have got to take care of each other. In this example, the pandemic is the framework. However, we need to take care of each other, always. We have to care for our sick, feed the hungry, clothe those who need clothing. And, we need to do it together. 

Medical Costs 
We need universal health care. We need people to be able to access doctors, nurse practitioners, and nurses to get help before it becomes an emergency. There are so many people who go to the ER who have problems that could have been caught and solved had there been early detection. We need people to have access to medications they need to survive. No one should die of a diabetic coma while they were rationing their insulin because they can’t afford it. People should not have to choose between bankrupting their family or getting medical care. We are supposed to be a first world country; we need to start acting like it. 

Minimum Wage 
We are seeing, now more than ever, the need for “essential employees.” People are still working in fast food, restaurants, grocery stores, and essential stores. Minimum wage jobs are not for bored teenagers who need an after school job to stay out of trouble. People of all ages and all backgrounds rely on minimum wage jobs to put food on the table for their families. We need to raise the minimum wage to be a living wage. A living wage is not just the bare minimum to get by; it is a wage that gives people enough. Enough for food, shelter, clothing. Enough to buy Christmas presents. Enough to pay for your kid to play a high school sport. Enough. 

We need a revolution. There are a myriad of other reasons that we need radical social change. We need to focus our concerns on our most vulnerable people. We need to “Dream Big, Fight Hard.” We need to “Persist.” We need to believe in “Not Me, Us.” That is what the Democratic Party is about. Since FDR and his New Deal, the Democratic Party has been about helping people, giving voice to those who are vulnerable, and creating a social safety net that catches everyone when they fall. Our tent is bursting at the seams. We need everyone in it to get on board. This circus train is coming to town.

So, Imma send a letter

Dear Paul,

Can I call you Paul? Okay. Great. I haven’t taken the time to congratulate you on your promotion to Speaker of the House. When I first heard the news, I thought, ‘Well, Paul and I disagree on a lot of fundamental things, but at least he is intelligent and has enough courage to do the right thing in the difficult situation a divided congress often presents.’ You see, Paul, I don’t know you, personally, but I know where you came from. The last time you were home, in fact, my mom saw you in church. She prays for you, Paul. I do, too.

Janesville, Wisconsin is a place that is difficult to describe. I learned about right and wrong from the stories my grandmother would tell over a boiling pot of goulash at 1107 Hamilton Ave. She would also pepper our imaginations with the fairies that lived in the big oak tree and magic that dances in bon fires. The house is gone now, but stories and memories are more difficult to tear down.

My grandfather, however, taught me other lessons. He taught me about hard work. He taught me how to make a living. He taught me how to be proud of the work that I’ve done. He worked at GM for as long as I can remember. And, when it left Wisconsin, there were a lot of people out of work and out of hope.

The people of Janesville have recovered because Wisconsinites have an uncanny way of moving Forward. We take our lumps and make the best of the situation we’re given. We’ve learned right and wrong. We’ve learned hard work. We’ve learned pride in ourselves and our home.

But, Paul, I gotta tell you some things. That health bill you actually rammed through (as opposed to the eight month process the Affordable Care Act underwent), it is not good for many, many people. You had the House vote on it even before the Congressional Budget Office could take a look at it and let the American people know what American Health Care Act would cost.

I’m not talking money, here, Paul. Money can be made, and money can be spent. I am talking about lives. Human lives. The plan you passed would kick a whole slew of folks off of health care—people in your district, people in Rock County, people in Janesville, your home town. I know you have spent the past 13 years in DC; I can imagine it is hard to remember the farmers in Evansville or the people living near Riverside Park. But, we need health care. And, kicking it back to each state to determine who can and cannot get quality, affordable care won’t work out as cleanly as you hope. There are going to be a lot of sick people wearing Make America Great Again hats knocking on your door demanding some answers.

Paul, you sold an idea. A flawed idea, but genius all in the same. Your “health care” plan is a tax cut for wealthy people. Some wealthy people are all for it, obviously.  But, here is the sneaky part. You sold this plan with the American Dream, with the idea that ‘I’m not rich now, but I could be..someday.” And, that is how you got it. The people who believe they will someday be wealthy don’t want the government taking their hard-earned money when they have it, in the future. But, the American Dream is just that, a dream. Rags to Riches isn’t reality. There are systemic poverty and class structures designed to keep people in their places.

We may not have castes, here, but do you know how difficult it is to move up a social class? To move up several social classes? You need good, quality public education. You need parents working at a livable wage. You need public programs to form open and accepting communities. You also need healthcare.

This, of course, is where we differ. It is important to have fiscal conservatives to balance out my plans. But, it is a balance. There is some give, and some take. But, Paul, with this health care bill, you just took. And, when the Freedom Caucus said nah, we’re good, you bent over backwards to appease them. You know who that doesn’t benefit? Your constituents.

Health care is obviously a big deal, a bigly deal, if you will. But, I am much more concerned, Paul, with how you have kowtowed to our new Commander in Chief. Remember in paragraph one, when I thought that we have different ideals, but I appreciate your character? Well, I’ve got to say, I have been unimpressed. You have stood by this man through a lot of hair-raising details of how he chooses to live his life. And, just recently, you stood up for him saying something like, ‘He is new to government. He is new to all of this.’ It is okay to make several gaffs while being new to waiting tables or even mis-shelving books in your new position at a library. But, for goodness sake, he is the leader of our country.

A new rookie comes into the White House every four or eight years. Your excuse of him being new to politics doesn’t hold water. If he wasn’t ready for the job, we have several specific failsafes, all of which, well failed. They all failed because the Republican elite, you and your friends had neither the courage nor the gumption to stand up to him. He has taken your party and made a mockery of it. There is a time and place to be a Republican. But, right now, Paul? Right now, it is time for you to be an American.

Peace,

Katie Botsford