“To foment a rebellion”

By JoAnne Young

When Donald Trump came into office in 2017, women in Lincoln, Nebraska and across the country took to the streets to protest what may have seemed like new threats, but were age-old grievances about how half the population is treated by lawmakers, political administrations, their cities, states and country.

 

We have a new administration now, and have elected a woman to the second highest office. And things seem to have quieted down. 

 

I hope not. 

 

Our country is still facing crisis after crisis affecting women. Job loss, a pandemic that hasn’t gone away, unequal justice, racism, erosion of reproductive rights, expensive child care, sexual assault. 

Also subtle offenses, like low numbers of women on corporate and nonprofit boards, the myth of “Supermom,” and those language slights, like the propensity among men and women alike to reduce full grown women to children when they label them “girls.”

 

Womensmarch.com says Biden’s win – and control over the House and Senate – is a win for women, and while they can celebrate it, women must also keep fighting. 

We’ve had a lot of serious things to take up our attention in the past 18 months, but these centuries old issues are still with us. 

A 2018 report by the Institute for Women’s Policy Research gives Nebraska a grade of C and a rank of 29^thon its employment and earnings by women, a D and rank of 37^th on political participation, an F and rank of 50^th on reproductive rights; a C and a rank of 19^th on work and family.

At the current rate, Nebraska women will not reach equality in pay with men until 2066. One-third of employed women work in low-wage jobs. 

In politics, Nebraska’s two biggest cities – Lincoln and Omaha – have female mayors. But for statewide offices, the picture is bleak. 

There are only conservative white Republican men in the top elected roles in Nebraska, technically known as state constitutional offices, elected by a statewide vote. They are Pete Ricketts and Mike Foley, governor and lieutenant governor; Doug Peterson, attorney general; Bob Evnen, secretary of state; John Murante, state treasurer; Charlie Janssen, state auditor. 

Of 49 senators in the unicameral Legislature, 13 are women, down from 14 a year ago. Out of 14 standing committees in the Legislature, only two are chaired by women, the Education Committee and Revenue Committee. 

What if the numbers were reversed? What if 36 women served in the Legislature and 13 men? What if the chairs of standing committees were two men and 12 women? What if there had never been a male Speaker of the Legislature, as is the case for women? What if the governor, lieutenant governor, secretary of state, treasurer, auditor and attorney general were all women? 

In the 2020 primary for 25 legislative seats, 23 candidates were women. Eighteen made it to the general election and nine were elected, seven of whom were incumbents. One male incumbent was replaced by a woman. 

“The Guardian” newspaper reported in May on research by the Reflective Democracy Campaign that showed “a pattern of systemic gridlock fortifying white male minority rule.” The Reflective Democracy Campaign describes itself as an organization that investigates and confronts the demographics of power in the United States. 

Its research showed that although, demographically, white men make up 30% of the population, they hold 62% of all elected offices. They exercise minority rule over 42 state legislatures, the House, the Senate, and statewide offices from coast to coast. 

They benefit from an incumbency advantage, in which sitting officials almost always defeat challengers, and a partisan demographic divide in which Republican candidates do not reflect the demographics of the country. 

At 51% of the population, women are 31% of all officeholders. And at 40% of the population, people of color are 13% of all officeholders.

The report shows that once in office, state legislators control election laws and districting, and that power can be used to obstruct the political progress of women and people of color. 

This is no time to become complacent. 

 

I keep thinking of a 1776 letter from Abigail Adams to her husband, John, sent before the meeting of the Continental Congress, which drafted the Declaration of Independence and the Articles of Confederation for the United States.

 

“Remember, all men would be tyrants if they could,” she wrote. “If particular care and attention is not paid to the ladies, we are determined to foment a rebellion, and will not hold ourselves bound by any laws in which we have no voice.”

More Work to Do

by Marilyn Moore

I just can’t let it go. The headline on the front page of the Lincoln Journal Star on May 28 was taken from the Governor’s address to the legislature on its last day of the session. It didn’t take long to realize the Governor’s list of more work to do was really about one thing – reducing property taxes, and he wants to do it by placing further restrictions on the budgets of local governments.  Think schools, municipalities, cities, counties….those levels of government that are the very closest to the people they serve, the people who elect them.  

This is not a blog about property taxes.  It’s an issue, I get it.  I’m a homeowner; I own some farmland.  I write checks to the treasurer of the county in which that farm land is located, a county in which I do not live, I cannot vote, and from which I don’t receive much in the way of governmental services. It's my contribution to the overall health of that community, and I'm okay with that.  In comparison to surrounding states, the balance among property taxes, income taxes, and sales taxes is way out of whack. But that’s a blog for another day. 

I was hoping our governor might have been thinking about the work that needs to be done to address critical issues for Nebraskans, but no, that’s not what he was thinking about.  In my mind, I listed those issues, then put it aside, knowing the legislature won’t be back in session for several months.  But the headline stays in my mind…I just can’t let it go.  

I would start by acknowledging that the pandemic and its effects are with us still.  Life is not “back to normal,” whatever that may mean.  The unemployment rate in Nebraska is low…but even with a job, families at the very bottom of the earnings range need support in access to food and access to housing.  Families that experienced months of unemployment experienced a loss of savings, a loss of college nest eggs, an accumulation of debt related to health care, and for many, the still-sharp grief of death, more than 2200 Covid deaths, more than 2200 grieving families.  Whatever federal funds have been allocated to Nebraska to assist with these effects of the pandemic need to be moved quickly, efficiently, and compassionately into the hands of these families.  

High on the list of “work that Nebraska needs to do” is addressing the needs of persons with disabilities, those 3,000 persons who are presently on a “waiting list,” still there because it just wasn’t a priority this year.  A bill that would have provided services to 850 families of developmentally disabled children, that would have allowed those children to continue to live at home, rather than be placed in more expensive out-of-home facilities, failed by filibuster.  More work to do….

One of the things we learned this past year is that our safety net for child care is very fragile.  If school isn’t in session, and children are home, it’s likely that employment for one or both parents is disrupted.  And if employment is disrupted, then needs such as food, utilities, mortgage payments, and medical care can quickly go unmet.  Nebraskans were fortunate, in that most schools were able to be open most of the time for most students during this academic year, due to incredible efforts by teachers, administrators, and all school staff members.  We need to fund schools, and provide related support and expertise, such that any future pandemic does not throw this vital foundation into disarray.  School is the best place, the safest place, for students to be, for their learning and for the community.

Related to education, a game changer for most families would be state provided pre-school for all four-year-olds.  And it would be a game changer for most children, too.  The cognitive, social, and emotional benefits of pre-school are well documented, and this would even the educational access for all families. Investing in our youngest learners is always the best investment; lets invest in four-year-olds.  

A critical issue in our state, as in every state, is the disparity between opportunities and outcomes based on race and ethnicity.  Whether we look at high school graduation, college enrollment, lifetime income, family wealth, home ownership, or any of the health measures we might examine, there is a gap between those who are white and those who are persons of color…and the outcome is always better for persons who are white.  Let’s be a leading state to acknowledge the disparity and make plans and allocate resources to reduce that gap, to assure life’s best opportunities for all Nebraskans.  (An understanding of historic practices and policies that have resulted in these disparities might be helpful….)

Further work to do?  Here are some issues to consider:

• Resisting all efforts to suppress voting.
• Safe working conditions for those who labor in meatpacking plants.
• Making Nebraska a welcoming place for all workers, by making employment discrimination based on sexual identity illegal.
• Access to high-speed broadband internet service in the most sparsely populated areas of Nebraska, just as there is access to telephone and mail service.  We made a start this year; let’s finish the task.
• Climate change.  We just lived through the coldest stretch of February in memory, and this summer will be hotter and drier.  How can we be part of the solution, not part of the problem?

Yes, Governor, I agree there’s more work to do in Nebraska.  My list is just different from yours.

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Finding magic on a summer softball field: 1, 2, 3, Oriole’s fly

 

By Mary Kay Roth

Standard advice for youth softball has changed since I last played the game, many years ago. For instance, there is a simpler strategy that calls for wee fielders to consistently throw the ball to first base whenever anyone gets a hit. Consequently, as head coach of our first-grade team, at our first practice of the season this summer, I told my players exactly that: “Fielders, no matter what, when someone gets a hit, always throw the ball to first base.”

So, the practice play started. The softball was hit and a grounder rolled out between first and second. The player covering first base scampered out to retrieve the ball, then turned around and threw the ball … to an empty first base.

Pause.

“Wow, way to hustle, you did exactly what I told you to do, Eden. I’m so proud of you.”

Pause.

“Now, perhaps I failed to fully explain. There actually needs to be someone on first base to catch the ball.”

Yep, I’m coaching softball again. My granddaughter, Scout, had heard all the legendary tales of when I coached her mom – my daughter, Anna.  So perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised when Scout called this spring, her voice pleading: “GranMary, will you coach my team like you coached Mommy’s?  Pleeeeeeeease.”

I folded like a cheap suitcase. A lawn chair. A house of cards.

I signed up immediately, only then counting backward and realizing that a quarter of a century had passed since I last coached. Rules had changed.  Kids had changed.  Schedules and players were now all online. I was clearly the oldest person at the YMCA’s organizational coach meeting.  And perhaps the most essential question loomed large: If I squatted down to catch a ball, would I ever get back up again?

Thankfully, two co-coaches joined in this endeavor: My daughter, Anna, and a friend, Cynthia, making up a trio of women now in charge of a dozen first-grade girls who mostly have never before played softball. Haven’t held a bat. Can’t figure out how their fingers fit into a mitt. And certainly don’t understand why in the heck there is a player called shortstop between second and third base.

Nonetheless, June arrives, and we all come together as a team, the Oriole’s, approaching our initial practices with honest clarity: We will inevitably start the season amidst one major muddle of confusion.  

Sure enough, several girls who prepare to bat for the first time, arrive at home plate and face … the catcher.  A couple kids proudly reach first base, still holding their bats. Fielders play in the dirt and search for mulberries. One girl rounds the bases – just as we had demonstrated – but when she reaches third, for some mysterious reason, heads back to first.

Then, ever so gradually, the magic starts to happen. The quietest member of the team lobs the most extraordinary throw. A player reaches down and scoops up an impossible catch. A girl who has never before held a bat, steps up and swats her very first hit, dashes to first base – gazes up with unbridled joy. And suddenly, without warning, you remember why you coach.  

“Coach Mary, why are you dancing?” one player asked me during our game on Saturday morning.  

“Because I’m so very proud of you, and I need to do a happy dance to celebrate. I can’t contain myself.” 

I had almost forgotten: Forgotten how, within weeks, I fall in love with each and every girl – forgotten how much heart and soul happens on game days with everyone cheering for everyone else – forgotten how I feel when tiny Mae brings me a lovely heart picture with the words, “Coach Mary, thank you for everything.”

Somehow, I had almost forgotten how much I love this game. 

Annie Savoy, the wisest of women in that most sacred of movies, Bull Durham, declares that baseball is “a religion full of magic, cosmic truth and the fundamental ontological riddles of life.”

Amen to that. 

I was a tomboy as a child, a time when softball was the only sport that girls could play. And that summer passion helped teach me tenacity, a sense of team spirit and an ease with my changing body. So, when my daughter was young and shied away from athletics, coaching was a way to coax her onto a team. 

More than 20 years later Anna now tells me:  “Mom, we have to do everything with Scout’s team that you did when you coached my team. I remember the times you brought water balloons to toss instead of balls.  We went for ice cream after games. And parents always played against their kids on the last practice of the season.”

Trust me, we did not have much of a winning team when Anna played.  So I’m somewhat surprised, yet comforted, that my daughter was not counting losses but instead counting laughter and ice cream cones.

This summer, ready or not, put me in coach, we will continue to tally batting helmets, water bottles and wonder.

“1, 2, 3, Oriole’s fly.” 

At our latest practice we whacked down piñatas to help teach batting skills. And in the coming weeks there will be water balloons to cool us, egg tosses to make sure we catch that ball, gently. Rituals that somehow feel familiar and reassuring. 

I seem to need that right now. Despite vaccinations of salvation and mask-free days, I’m feeling a little untethered and tenuous in these post-pandemic times.  

Strangely enough, running the bases with a fierce group of girls – around a softball field on a sultry, summer night – is helping me find a dependable place to land. Sweaty high fives. Jerseys and mitts getting dirtier by the week. Bronzed limbs stretching for the next base. That wonder when a fly ball actually falls into a girl’s mitt. That surprise when the ball connects with the bat.

And that beatific smile when a little runner reaches first base and looks up with a delightful sense of triumph: “I hit it, Coach Mary. I hit it.  Am I safe?”

Yep. You’re safe.  And so am I.

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