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, My Mom Wrote a Thing

So, my mom is a total boss, and she is an amazing writer. She wrote this beautiful lyric, silly, and wonderful piece. It is, honestly, one of my favorite things she is written. She showed it to me first in paragraphs, and reading it in my head, I knew that this piece of prose was a poem who just needed shape! So, she and I talked, and I asked her real Aladdin style, "Do you trust me?" She said yes and I put in a line break here and an indent there. These are all her words, and images, and moments; I just gave it some shape. With no more pomp and even less circumstance, here is "The River" by Mary Botsford.

The River

Eternal, yet fleeting,

unchanged and ever-changing. 

The waters bounce and bumble over rocks

and stumble and tumble over waterfalls. 

But mostly it serenely flows by over the depths. 

But the thing is,

from one instant to the next,

the river is continually evolving. 

The H₂O particles going by this instant

are not the ones I will see in the

next nano-second,

or the next

or the next. 

The river will never be the same.

This riverbed was created eons ago

(epochs ago? I’m a bit fuzzy on my geological time). 

Created by glaciers or floods or God’s great design.

At least the riverbed,

or the path if you will,

is unchanging. 

Look at any map from a hundred years ago. 

It’s right there! 

My river is right there on the map

and right here at my feet. 

Right where it has always been. 

Ah, but naysayers will say,

Look at the oxbow of some rivers.

That’s where some river either

got pissy at having to drive the same commute every day,

or perhaps the water wanted to frolic and play in the field like Ferdinand the Bull.  But, I digress. 

I’m kind of fuzzy, too,

on why the river didn’t just

pull itself together and get back on track. 

But apparently sometimes it just can’t,

and thus we have oxbows. 

Personally, I think the fish are kinda

jazzed about them, the oxbows, I mean.

They don’t have to just swim

up or down the river…

they can swim a racetrack if they want to. 

What kid did not love crawling around in

crazy circles if they were lucky enough

to grow up in a house with connecting rooms? 

We had such a house when my girls were babies. 

We called it the Circus Maximus, and it was stupid fun. 

Even our dog, Callie, would romp along the C.M.

as we crawled and chased each other. 

Sometimes he, being a Great Dane and all,

would knock over the littlest one, but still. . . 

crazy fun. 

Back to the fish, see why I think they are kinda jazzed about it? 

And just think, Dory

(you know, from Finding Nemo)

 would get back home with every completed swim

around the Circus Maximus. 

Just outside my door, the river is serene,

then tumbling,

then bouncing

and bumbling

all within a very short distance. 

The water flows by constantly,

but it is not a constant. 

Each drop of water is very fleeting,

never to pass this way again. 

Ok, I know the loop thing of

evaporation and clouds and then rain-- 

Nature’s Circus Maximus. 

So maybe that raindrop has been here, after all.

It is both ancient and new. 

A dear friend has a saying, “both-and.” 

It took me years to get it. 

“Both-and” instead of

win-lose,

either-or,

us-them. 

A way of looking at life with all of its contradictions.

Straight ahead or swim the racetrack awhile.

My kids tease me sometimes,

Ok, land the plane. 

Like, get to the point. 

I don’t know the point except

that these words needed to

bumble

and

stumble

their way out. 

Walking along the river, I feel a great need

to express my joy from having

this beautiful river for a

neighbor. 

I feel a tug to ponder it as both

fleeting and timeless. 

To ponder my love for the water as a

constant, but ever-changing. 

Same as the object of my affection.                                                  

Both-and. 

Eternal and fleeting. 

Contradictions and constants. 

The River.                 Life.                Me.

So, I’ve become someone I do not want to be

When I was a child, I would put on my overalls, slide a screwdriver and socket wrench into the right tool pocket, and hitch a hammer into the left side strap. I would go out to my squeaky swing set and “fix it.” I would turn the screws, loosen and tighten the bolts, then hammer things that look like they needed to be hammered. I was much older when I learned about stripped screws, rusty washers, and hammers are for both creation and destruction.

When we put Sam, my childhood dog, down, I held her and cried for an hour, trying to hold onto some semblance of soul I knew that she had. I didn’t look at, talk to, or like dogs for ten years after that. I wanted to “fix her.” I wanted to fix her cancer. I wanted to fix her bones. I wanted her whole.

When I was in high school, I had so much emotion inside of me. I didn’t know what or who I was. I wanted to “fix me.” I drove down a scary path of self-hatred. I wanted to fix my external self in hopes that my internal self would calm the hell down. I wanted to fix how I loved. I wanted to fix the world around me, so I could feel safe in my own skin.

I want to “fix” things. I want to fix how the world treats my Trans* brothers and sisters. I want to fix the healthcare system. I want to fix systemic oppression. I want to fix hatred. I want to fix.

A human being walked into a synagogue and killed eleven people. Eleven. Eleven souls were on Friday morning and were not on Saturday. As Shabbat came to a close, so did the lives—no, the light—of eleven people.

I haven’t read a single article on this. I can’t. There is too much. There have been too many lives lost and too little action on the part of our leaders. This is not to say that I do not grieve for the fallen. This is not to say I do not hold their families in my heart. Because I am a gentile, I cannot sit shiva for these eleven people. But, Lord, I can mourn.

I am so sad. I am mad. I am…apathetic. I am smapathetic. There are CLEAR ways to prevent this kind of thing from happening. The second amendment as it is currently interpreted should not be a right; it is a fucking privilege. You know what is a right? Being able to go into your house of worship and not get shot. You know what is a right? Feeling safe in schools. You know what is a right? Life. I am pro-life, by which I mean pro-living—living for myself, living for others, living for a greater good.

I cannot fix this. I care too deeply. I love too fiercely. I have nothing left with which to mourn. All I can do is try to teach my young people that love is greater than hate. But, I am flagging. When hatred always seems to win, how can I look my young people in the eye and promise them a better world? How can I promise them that “it will get better?” How can I promise them anything, anything at all?

So, I know how to win battles but not wars

On Thursday, November 5^th, 2015, I wrote a blog post called, “So, it has been a year.” This detailed some of the things that lead to my anxiety and some of the things that triggered it. Each year that October 30^th passed, I put a little notch in my brain. Each year marked my ability to control my anxiety.

Battle: Being wholly honest with myself and the people I loved.

Battle: My last year of Korea.

Battle: The most difficult year of my academic life.

Battle: Three and a half years.

Every day a battle—a battle I was determined to win. It felt like I was winning. I was winning. The end of the war with anxiety sat on the horizon. Three and a half years.

However, this January, my sleep progressively worsened. I bit off more than I could chew. I had to give a presentation to my peers—people my age. I spend my life talking to children. Talking to adults is very, very different. I had ten thousand things racing through my mind to prepare.

Alysha and I got back from the store (buying snacks for my meeting the next morning). Alysha went inside while I moved my car from the street to the garage. I cut the angle too tight. My chest tightened. I screamed just to prove that I exist.

How will Alysha love me when I can’t even park a fucking car? How can I take care of a family? How can I be good enough? Why should I deserve happiness? I am not prepared to be a teacher. I am not qualified to teach the brilliant minds inside of my young people. How can I coach this passionate, vibrant team of Forensics kids when I hate feeling “looked at?”

I pulled a Y turn and parked the car in the garage. I stumbled inside and brushed by Alysha as she took out Gaia.

“Babe. Are you—?”

“I just need a minute.”

She walked out the door, respecting my wish.

My ribs closed in and my heart leapt out of the way. I breathed through the pain and remembered what Maizey Cakes used to tell me, her arms tightly binding me, willing me to feel safe. And, I felt calmer. I sent a wish of thanks through the winds. I hope she felt it.

Alysha returned with a quizzical look, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“So, that is what my panic attacks look like. Let me fold laundry while I tell you about it.”

She had known that I used to have anxiety attacks, but I never really divulged more than that. I guess, I was still ashamed and stupidly thought I had won the war.

I began folding the clothes. I still hadn’t fully calmed down, but I needed to do something to distract my mind. I picked up a towel. Now, Alysha and I fold towels differently. To keep things ordered in our linen closet, I have adopted her way. I looked at the towel and held it portrait, then landscape. Folded it in thirds and unfolded it. For the second time in as many minutes, I lost control of my body and mind. Air neither entered nor escaped my lungs. My legs forgot how to work. My arms caught my body before the floor did. I gulped tears and coughed out pride.  I was left with nothing but thoughts of iniquity and dread that I somehow deserved this. I panted, waiting for the world to end, for it to stop hurting, for something to happen, for peace.

Alysha stood up and walked to me. She wrapped her arms tightly around me. She held me. She didn’t tell me to relax. She didn’t tell me that it wasn’t real. She didn’t say anything. She held me and breathed deeply, helping my lungs remember how to inflate.

“It’s not about the towels,” I said.

“I know,” she said. “I’m here.”

I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.

She’s there, arms wrapped tightly ‘round me—

She is a kite string, and I am a kite

who sometimes forgets how to fly.

Stay strong, soldiers. The war is long. But each battle we fight, remember that it’s temporary. If we can live through this one, we’ll be here to fight another day. And every day after. We are an army. I have your back. You have mine. I don’t care if we’ve not spoken in days, months, or years. I will be there to fight for you when you forget how. Take peace, my friend. Take peace.

For another person’s take on anxiety attacks, please listen to Andrea Gibson’s “Ode to the Public Panic Attack.” This poem gave me the courage to share this post that has been on my heart for three months.

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

So, I knew dementors caused this fog

As a teacher, an educator, and a guide, I am called to help children understand the abstract. I am called to show them why 2+2 equals 4. I am called to encourage children to explore root words and etymology. I am called to help children see information in a new way, a way of which they perhaps hadn’t thought before.

I am called to help children understand the intangible, that which cannot be sensed. I am called to show children unyielding love. I am called to offer children freedom and responsibility.

I am also called to show children hope. Hope for their future. Hope for their present. Hope they understand their past.

I am called to be a balloon that can only rise. I am called to be a positive spectator of children’s learning and understanding. I am called to show up for my children when no one else seems to.

And, right now, right now, I am deflated. I have nothing inside of me to give.

There was a moment of hope between 10:00 a.m. and 11:40 a.m. when my friend posted about calling Thom Tillis, a Republican senator from North Carolina, to perhaps sway his undecided vote. Almost everyone in my program called immediately. There was a chorus of “Vote No for Betsy DeVos” and “As a teacher, I implore you to vote no for Betsy DeVos.” There was a lighthearted feeling, a moment of activism in our grueling schedule. It felt like there could be a chance. People called from Vietnam, South Korea, all over Wisconsin showing up for our educators, for our children, and for the Senate Democrats who spoke all night trying to convince one more person to cut ties with their party.

Our children are not Democrats. Our children are not Republicans. Our children are amazing beings who yearn for knowledge, meaningful work, and adaptation into society. It is irresponsible that so many Senate Republicans put party over country. It is deplorable that they put party over children.

By siphoning funding from public schools, the quality of education will drop because they no longer have the already feeble funds to run a school. It will widen the poverty chasm. It will privatize schools. Schools will become businesses that can “let go of” under-performing children to boost their scores to receive more federal funding.

Children have a right to public education. The government has a responsibility to provide the highest quality of education they can for public schools. I am so, so, so tired of people who have never stepped foot in a classroom as an educator making decisions that affect our children so directly. I would love for Betsy DeVos, as our new Secretary of Education, to come to public schools, to hear our needs, and to make a plausible plan that respects educators. But more importantly, she needs to make a plan that respects our children and their vast intellect. They deserve a Secretary of Education who will fight for them not against them. They deserve people who will show up for them. They deserve people who will stand up for them. They deserve people who will do everything they can to give them the best education possible.

Right now, though, I am out of hope. I have none of it left. Please, join me in representing that which is best for our children. Together, maybe, we can make the difference our children deserve. 

So, grassroots politics has a lot of growing to do

I thought that, for all of my blustering about politics, I need to be an active participant in every way that I can. I attended a Town Hall Meeting with Representative Jim Sensenbrenner this afternoon at the Waukesha Public Library. My intention, here, is to write an op. ed. to The Freeman, that Waukesha newspaper. So, edits and thoughts are greatly appreciated. 

To Whom it May Concern, 
I attended the open Town Hall Meeting hosted by Representative Jim Sensenbrenner, State Representative Adam Neylon, and State Senator Chris Kapenga. This was first Town Hall meeting since returning from living abroad. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I did my homework and wrote a first, second, and third tier question if in case others asked similar questions. 

The first several questions focused on Congress' meeting to begin talking about repealing the Affordable Care Act. Rep. Sensenbrenner consistently commented that he does not want to pass anything without knowing what was in it, quoting then-Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi, "You have to pass the bill to find out what is in it" no less than three times, suggesting she passed the bill without knowing what is inside of it. Upon further investigation, she said, "We need to pass the bill, so you can see what is in it away from the fog of controversy." Linguistically, that is a different sentence, but I am not here to quibble over proper pronoun use and cherry-picked quotations.  

In response to a question (I am not sure the specifics), Representative Sensenbrenner began talking about an art project in Washington. He said that a group of art teachers gather student art and display it in the hallway between their offices and the House Chamber. He talked about how the art teachers chose an inappropriate piece of artwork. He further explained that it was a piece of student art that depicted police officers as pigs. Once again, the content of the art isn't the focus. His following sentence was something along the lines of 'there is a divide between teachers and the government. And, here in Wisconsin, all the high school teachers don't like the Republicans.' It was after that quote I began taking more detailed notes, because I knew I needed to write this piece for whomever would listen. 

Representative Sensenbrenner's speech patterns and idioms set the tone for the entire meeting. He spoke in broad brushstrokes like this, which, in my opinion, further divide the parties. Representative Sensenbrenner also spoke in a curt and combative manner to his constituents who were asking questions about the Affordable Care Act, how he is going to use his voice in the House to make sure all people's voices were heard, as well as many other sentiments. 

Then, he called my name. I was lucky enough to still have my first tier question. This is my question, verbatim:

"Gentlemen, thank you so much for taking the time to be here and listen to us, your constituents. Representative Sensenbrenner, as one of those high school teachers, whom you broadly painted to all dislike Republicans, I understand the necessity of both the freedom of speech and the freedom of expression. I also understand the responsibility with which one must handle both of them. The President Elect's inflammatory and derogatory remarks on women, racial and religious minorities, and news media have spurred a seemingly impassible chasm in our already divided country. How will you, as well as congress, hold the President Elect accountable for his words and actions? It seems as though we're drawing lines in the sand that every time the President Elect goes 'too far' we erase it and draw it again. Where will you draw that line?" 

His immediate response was that the House of Representatives has no place in voting for the President Elect's cabinet, that he has no say in who will be in the cabinet. Then, he continued to say that he does not go around using those words, but he defends the President Elect's right to say them as much as my right to disagree with them. 

I said, "Thank you, sir, for that information. I did not know that piece about the House and Senate. However, that was not my question. My question was, 'Where do you draw the line in acceptable language?' How are you protecting your constituents from the things the President Elect is saying?" In response to my keeping the focus on the question and refusing his pivot, there were claps and nods of affirmation. 

His response was rapid fire, which cut me off, "Well, aren't you a teacher? Shouldn't you know that the House does not vote for the cabinet?" There were some cheers for his response, and I needed a second to reel back from that. 

I responded, "Sir, that is not an answer to my question. And, the tone with which you have conducted this meeting is both inappropriate and disrespectful to us, your constituents." 

Representative Sensenbrenner needed to call the room to quiet and reiterated that he can't control what the President Elect says and that it is within his right to say it. He also said that people need to responsibly use their words. 

And, then he moved on. 

About two or three speakers after me, Representative Sensenbrenner banged his gavel and said, "The more you clap and cheer the less questions we can answer," which took away our power to show if we agree or disagree with the speaker. It took away the community aspect and made it individuals with individual problems as opposed to a community feeling similarly about a topic. 

Throughout the meeting, several of Representative Sensenbrenner's comments were pointed and divisive. He did take a hard line on being careful with how he will respond to Russia's perceived influence in our election either for or against the President Elect depending on whom you ask. He referred to Rev. Theodore Hesburgh, past president of the University of Notre Dame as, "a proud, flaming liberal." (1:58 p.m. , 14 January 2017, Town Hall Meeting, Waukesha, WI), which states pretty clearly Representative Sensenbrenner's opinion of anyone left of center. This comment and opinions like this further divide this country along party lines. How can we possibly heal our country if our representative speaks so divisively of both the Democratic and Republican parties? 

Most of the this afternoon's town hall meeting focused on the Federal level, and consisted of people asking questions and sometimes being talked over. However, near 2:15 p.m., a gentleman stood up and asked  State Representative Adam Neylon and State Senator Chris Kapenga about voter suppression in Wisconsin. The gentleman suggested that if voting is a right, should there be an automatic registration process and photo ID  for anyone who turns 18. Representative Neylon's response was, "No." Senator Kapenga expounded saying that people need to make the effort to be engaged in the political process. It is not too much to ask people to register to vote. 

The gentleman followed up with it isn't necessarily about the  registration process, but what about living in the inner city and not having transportation to the voting booth or an ID to use if it is necessary. 

Senator Kapenga's response was something like, 'You don't have that problem.' 

The gentleman retorted, "How do you know that? How do you know my background?" 

Senator Kapenga said, "Are you a constituent of this district?" 

"Yes," the gentleman said.

"That's how I know," Senator Kapenga quipped.

"But, you don't know my background. How can you assume that?" The gentleman said, as murmurs spread across the room.

"You create problems in your own mind," Senator Kapenga stated. The room erupted in noise both in support and defense of his comment. (2:23 p.m., 14 January 2017, Town Hall Meeting). 

Representative Sensenbrenner banged his gavel and brought the question to the federal level by documenting South Carolina's initiative to have people without transportation call the DMV to drive them to their polling place. He said that 59 people used it (I have not verified this number or program), which he suggests it was not a successful venture. 

After the meeting was dismissed, I approached Representative Sensenbrenner and told him that the tone with which he spoke to me and many others was disrespectful and inappropriate. I assured him that I did not need or want an apology, but I wanted to tell him that his comments about me not knowing specific parts of the Constitution were uncalled for. 

He followed up with, "Every teacher should know the Constitution. If someone wants to become a citizen of the country, they need to know the Constitution. The people teaching our children should also know the Constitution." 

I responded with, "I am an English teacher. I studied literature. I don't expect you to know the inner workings of literary theory." 

"Literature is not the basis of our country. You should know the Constitution." 

Baffled, I responded to that with an idea that my knowing this aspect of the constitution is wrong or right, is not the point. I continued, "The point is the tone of this meeting was combative and defensive. I just wanted you to know how one of many of the people here perceived your message and tone."

"Well, your comments and questions were pejorative and derogatory to me."

At this point, a line began to form behind me, and with such a loaded statement, I felt pressured to answer quickly or not at all. So, I decided to get off of the hamster wheel. I thanked him for his time and exited. 

After the meeting, more than one person approached me, thanked me for my words and bravery, and said that his comments and composure were not atypical. I am not being brave. I am speaking my truth. I am standing up for what I believe. I am refusing to normalize this political climate. I am living my American dream--a dream in which people can hold respectful conversations, a dream in which the government listens to the people, and a dream in which people, all people, work towards unity.