What do we do now?

 

By JoAnne Young 

It’s started already. A worry everyday since the election, with appointments and predictions of what we're in for. Shouldn’t we have just a few remaining weeks to know we are OK, to have at least a short break in the constant drama that was the 2024 election? There’s been no time to prepare for the exhaustion we will no doubt experience beginning in January. 

 

In a conversation with friends, we agreed it’s one thing to sit around and lament and wring our hands, and it’s another to say, OK, what are we going to do now? What are we going to do to make things better for those who don’t have the means to wait things out, who could suffer in so many ways in the next four years. 

 

So many in our community are being left behind. 

 

How are we going to persuade those 45,410 registered voters in Lancaster County who did not cast a ballot how much they are needed two years from now during mid-term elections? Convince them that even if they have given up on the political system, sometimes for good reason, they will be swept in the results of this 2024 election? 

 

It's worth noting that more than 1,500 Lancaster County voters didn’t check a box for a presidential candidate. That’s known as undervoting. Nearly 600 voted for more than one presidential candidate, known as overvoting, and that vote for president doesn’t count. About 1,000 wrote in another name, a protest vote that also didn’t count. In addition, close to 4,000 didn’t mark a preference for Senate candidates Deb Fischer or Dan Osborn, and nearly 5,000 chose not to vote for either Pete Ricketts or Preston Love Jr. 

 

Our microcosm of Lancaster County spoke loudly in the voting booth, and gave us something to ponder. 

 

In this week as we approach Thanksgiving and spend time with family and friends, it makes me think back to a speech by George H.W. Bush, that invited us all to be among a thousand points of light in this country. Yes, he may have been trying to push off government responsibilities onto individuals, charities and churches, but I have tried to think beyond that. We may be needed now more than ever, especially since Donald Trump seems to have no understanding of what it means to be a participant in the goodness of our future. 

 

“Thousand Points of Light. I never quite got that one,” he said at a rally in 2018. “What the hell is that? Has anyone ever figured that one out?”

 

I think it’s a pretty easy concept. You can be one of those little candles of brightness and hope, even in the most unexpected places and times.  

◊ My beloved granddaughter came to visit last week from Florida, where she’s a high school senior, and I asked her, since she attends a private school, if the Florida education laws have restricted what she has been taught about race or other banned topics in the state. Florida law threatens public school teachers with termination of their jobs or certification if they engage in classroom instruction on sexual orientation or gender identity. It restricts what a teacher can say about race and racism and forbids teachers from discussing anything that could make students feel guilt, anguish, or psychological distress for actions committed in the past and for which the students played no part. In one of her classes, she said, the students did study racism. They did touch on LGBTQ topics, with the teacher acknowledging the related Florida laws. I felt relieved to hear that, that there will be pockets in America for our young people to continue to learn what they need to be learning. 

 

◊ My husband and I deliver supplemental food for the Food Bank of Lincoln, and our small list of people who would have trouble getting to food distributions included a woman only a couple of years older than me who waits outside her apartment door each week in anticipation of our visit and the needed food we bring. In our short chats, I have grown to care about her personally and to count her as a friend. She, and all of us really, rely on the help and attention of others. I know I do. But she especially has touched me and taught me about the people our political and governmental systems seem to have forgotten, purposefully or just out of turning their attention neglectfully elsewhere. 

 

◊ Many of my Lincoln friends have been daily points of light in so many ways, in hospitals, on nonprofit boards, for immigrants needing help in adjusting to a new country and learning English, and in advocating for foster children in court proceedings. Couldn’t we all be a point of light, spread like stars across our city, our state? 

 

I saw a quote today by the late Frank LeMere, a Native activist and politician, and a leader in the Democratic party. He said: “Nothing changes unless we make ourselves uncomfortable.”  How great if we could convert our discomfort with politicians and policies and fears for our nation to defiance.

 

We are OK as long as we continue to care. Our universe is made up of millions of stories. And each story has the potential to contain a point of light. 

And so I polish...

by Mary Reiman

Today I polished a spoon. You might think I have a rather boring life. Maybe. I have had several (OK…many) moments of feeling catatonic in the last few weeks. But this is more cathartic. In some ways the spoon has the touch of a worry stone. A place to go to find calm. I could hardly put words together for the short segment of our group blog last weekend. I was feeling motionless. 

I believe this silverware came to me for a reason when I found these pieces deep in a box last week.

The spoon with the R on the handle was a family piece. A well-worn family piece left behind after cleaning out the farmhouse. I am finding serenity by focusing on this simple act of polishing.  

Reflecting on one thing leads to another when thinking about the past. 

My trip to Iowa last weekend took me back to the family, the land, the memories. It just happened to be Veterans Day weekend that included a visit to the cemetery to honor Dad, a WWII veteran who served from 1942 until the end of the war in 1945. He went into the Army when he was 21 years old. Like so many, he never talked about those years, and mom told us not to ask.  I often wonder how much he shared with her. 

Recently, thanks to the families of others in the 748th Tank Battalion posting their stories online, we are now piecing together his story…history. 

Instead of going directly overseas after basic training in 1942, Dad was part of a unit sent to the Arizona desert to be trained on the use of the British-developed Canal Defence Light or CDL. Over 9,000 soldiers were sworn to secrecy about the project. This light would be attached to tanks for the purpose of disorienting approaching enemy troops and it needed to be tested before use.  They were told they were being trained with a weapon that was going to change the course of the war. Unfortunately, after months of testing, the light did not work as the military had hoped. It was never tested in battle, but it did get used during the war for security and illumination, especially when they were crossing rivers. Dad’s unit was in the desert from July, 1943, until March, 1944. 

Their battalion landed in Europe on April 6th, 1944. After arriving on Utah Beach, Dad drove a truck at night, in the dark, through enemy territory in France, Germany and Austria. His friend’s documentation described what they saw, and how they kept going in spite of what they saw. I now have a better understanding of why dad never talked about it. He was a private in the Army. And he was private about that experience forever after.

I wonder what mom and dad would say about the state of our nation today. Patriotism is defined as ‘love for your country and loyalty towards it.’ A definition currently interpreted in so many ways. 

With each journal I read, I find clarity in Dad’s life story. Do I wish I had known sooner? Yes, but maybe we learn more when we are meant to learn more. Maybe gaining more knowledge of the past will help me more clearly define patriotism, loyalty and courage. 

I feel there is much to wonder about, to worry about…and so I polish.

Reflections on Post-Election Mayhem

THE HARD WORK AHEAD
JOANNE YOUNG

We always knew, didn’t we, that electing a woman to be president would be hard work. We hoped it wouldn’t be this hard. We know the benefits. We know their capabilities. It’s harder than we thought. Even so, Kamala Harris said after Tuesday’s setback that the fight will continue.

If I don’t see a woman in the Oval Office in my lifetime, at least I will know that we fought for it, and to hell with those who stood in our way.

In the meantime, I will choose to fight locally. Historically, local efforts have been a key to keeping democracy alive.

“If people have more of a foothold in their own communities, they are then more likely to support the kinds of legislation that supports the community:  education, health care, you know. And that may be the future of democracy, if not a national democracy,” says historian Heather Cox Richardson.

There are many politicians here making important decisions for us – people being elected to the state Legislature, for example, that is stuck with a stagnant minority of women, around 30 percent, if we’re lucky. With the recent election, six of those women will be Democrats, one an Independent, and seven will be Republicans, including Kathleen Kauth, who will continue her work on a bill that would define K-12 school locker rooms, bathrooms and sporting teams as either male or female, based on a student’s sex at birth, and Tanya Storer, who has vowed to “attack the woke left”.

Our Legislature has 15 Democrats and one Independent, again, less than one-third of the 49 senators. Historically, the diversity has also been woeful.

I’ll also mention that all six of the state elected executive offices are held by Republican white men, some of whom continually try to subvert the rights of women, children and the electorate.

We have hard work ahead. But hard work is good work and can be joyful work, Harris said. And the fight for our country and state and community is always worth it.

It is always worth it.

***

WHITE HOT ANGER
MARILYN MOORE

I’m trying, really trying, to bring some order, some thoughtfulness, some peace of mind to this post-election time.  I’ve tuned out of the news…I do not need, nor want, to hear boasting, bragging, blaming, fault-finding.  I’ve taken lots of long walks, good for the soul, good to counter the excessive leftover Halloween candy bars I’m eating.  I’ve spent time with friends; we’ve commiserated, laughed, cried, and sat in quiet contemplation of a horror too great to put into words.  I’ve sent checks to organizations that amplify my voice.  I’ve sent checks to organizations that meet the basic needs of members of our community; the demands for their services will only increase in the coming years.  I’ve tried to identify the issues I care about most, the ones about which I’ll be especially watchful and outspoken in the coming years.

 But with all those reasonable, rational, somewhat indulgent responses, I have to admit that deep within me is a white-hot anger, a huge WTF? trying to get out.  And sometimes that anger is not deep within at all; it’s right at the surface, as evidence by the WTF.  That is language I do not use…and there are moments now that I want to stand on the front step and shout it out to the universe. The anger is that once again, a truly competent, capable, and well-prepared woman has been defeated by a man that is none of those things.  And that in the process, he bullied, he belittled, he threatened.  Especially women.  The language in this election has coarsened our society (see the endless repetitions of Your Body, My Choice said by men about women), and it will not easily nor quickly be diminished.  This dangerous language, which denigrates women, will be what our daughters and granddaughters and nieces and great nieces and all women, young and old, of color and white, Christian, Jewish, Muslim, of every education and income level, will live with for years to come.  And that makes me very angry.

***

10.5
MARY REIMAN

On November 1^st, NPR reported ‘More than $10 billion has been spent on ads in the 2024 election.’

“Altogether, $10.5 billion has been spent on campaign ads in the 2024 election cycle, on races from president down to county commissioner, according to data compiled by the ad-tracking firm AdImpact and analyzed by NPR. That total is up $1 billion from four years ago.”

10.5 billion dollars.

What purpose did those ads serve? Did we not know who we planned to vote for by October 1^st, when it seems an extraordinary abundance of vicious ads began rolling across our screens, whether through television, newspaper, or social media.

$10,500,000,000

A few million could have been used for one week (I would prefer one day only) of campaign commercials. The rest should have been used to provide food, shelter, healthcare in our communities. There are so many ways our country could be a better place for all.

***

WALKING THE LINE BETWEEN LIGHT AND DARK....
MARY KAY ROTH

 I barely pulled myself out of bed Wednesday morning but my dog, Pip, was blissfully unaware of the previous day’s nightmarish election.  So, we walked and marveled that the sun did actually rise – quite beautifully.

Nature has always calmed my rawest tears and fears. 

Meanwhile I’m also calmed by actually doing something tangible. Subsequently, last week I gave money to the ACLU and OutNebraska. Subscribed to a few national publications that bravely covered the campaign. Started exploring meaningful local initiatives. Held my loved ones close.

I’m truly gutted, reading conflicting analysis of what happened Tuesday, trying to comprehend the thick, black Sharpie line that divides our country.  

I actually worked the polls this election for the very first time, a 14-hour day with nary a confrontation and record numbers of voters.  My favorites were the first-time voters and most especially brand-new citizens who so proudly announced their delight in voting – as poll workers handed them ballots and applauded.  

In those moments I was feeling so good about democracy – I’ll absolutely work the polls again,

Today, however, I’m wondering about those migrant voters.  Legal or not, I’m terrified for them, as well as other underserved, marginalized humans of different gender orientations, racial identities.

My grown kids and I cried together a few days after the election.  My son pointed out that our family – middle class with privilege – may have our ethics crushed over the coming four years but will likely not be harmed significantly.

The question that looms large for me is whether those of us with privilege will be willing to stand up for those without – in a toxic climate that could put us at risk.

Yes, I’ll continue to bask in the golden light of sunrises. But I’ll also be asking myself if I have the courage to do battle with the dark. As the days have passed, I’m not really questioning who we are as a nation. Instead, I’m asking myself, “Who am I and what am I willing to do?”  

I’ll know, sooner than later.

***

OH, FOR THE LOVE OF DOG!
PENNY COSTELLO

In 1996, I moved to Lincoln, Nebraska from Minneapolis to be with my partner, Kate. As a single mom, she put herself through law school, became an attorney, and began her 38-year career as a legislative staffer in the Nebraska Unicameral. She always drew a clear distinction that she was a “policy wonk”, not a litigator. And in the coming years I would learn the difference between policy and politics. And I gained tremendous respect for those passionate souls in government who worked long and hard to formulate policy that would improve peoples’ lives, as opposed to the politicians who set their sites and their priorities on one election cycle after another.

I came to my political awareness with some reticence. I really didn’t want to spend much time thinking about what was going on in the legislature, either at the state or national level. Kate challenged me on my apathy at one point, and my response was anything but apathetic.

“I have a right to be apathetic!” I said. “In my first ten years, they assassinated John F. Kennedy, Robert Kennedy, and Martin Luther King. Not long after that, Watergate happened, and we all learned that our government lies to us and sells us out. So, yeah, I’m apathetic!”

“Well,” she chuckled, “you’re pretty passionate about your apathy…” She had a point.

Then near the end of the 20^th century came the state constitutional amendment that declared that Nebraska would never recognize same-sex marriage or civil unions. One of the most stringent such laws in the country. So, in 2005, we created our own commitment ceremony, surrounded by friends and family, including our dog, Dexter, who made sure he was standing with us as we exchanged our vows. That ceremony made a difference for us. We felt like a real couple, committed to ‘the we that is us’, as we like to say.

Ten years later, the U.S Supreme Court mandated that same-sex marriage would be legal and recognized in the United States. We both happened to be home that day, and had the TV on when the news broke. A month later, we became the first same-sex couple to be married in the Rotunda at the Nebraska Stae Capitol, officiated by Senator Ernie Chambers, the firebrand from Omaha who had been fighting for equal rights for all for over 30 years. It was a day filled with unsurpassed hope, love, jubilation, and validation. Definitely one of the best days of our lives.

When Hilary Clinton ran for President against Donald Trump in 2016, I got my hopes up for the possibility that finally, after nearly a quarter of a millenium, this nation would select a woman to lead it.

And when President Biden withdrew from the race this past year, and Kamala Harris became the nominee, that hope was rekindled, until it was Trumped again. Those hopes were dashed, smashed, and trashed. I don’t need to regurgitate the outrage, the WTF?!, the how the hell could this happen? There’s plenty of that all over the news, on social media, and none of it changes the result.

At least for now, and hopefully for the rest of my life I am still married to the love of my life. And it’s very clear that I’ll have to leave that old apathy behind, and make sure to stay informed, involved, and fulfill my responsibility as a citizen of this democratic country.

In the midst of all this, my two dogs, Boone and Idgy, have been especially sweet and present. They have been very snuggly, staying very close by, and giving me that look that says, “You know, if you take us for a ride in the car, and we go to the dog park, we know you’d feel a whole lot better. And if we stopped at the drive in on the way home and you got us each a pup cup, everything would be even better!”

Wise pups. Turns out they were right. Fresh air, dog romps, looking up at the sky and saying hello to the trees and the birds and the butterflies, these are the things that ground me, that remind me that, for now, in this moment, life is pretty darned good. We’ll see what happens in the weeks to come, but for now, we’re hanging onto those pure, good moments. 
They need to be savored, not squandered in doom scrolling and diatribes on social media. I can choose where my energy goes, every moment. And as often as possible, I’m going to hug a snuggly dog. Hit me up if you want to join us for a romp and a pup cup.

                    ***

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Drawn to the Light....

 

By Marilyn Moore

Early this fall I was part of a small group walking through the wonder that is Wilderness Park.  It was a nature walk; we had a wise and caring guide, who stopped at points along the path to talk describe the precious moments of summer becoming fall.  We walked together for a time, then our wise leader suggested we choose a path and go at our own pace, or perhaps find a comfortable spot to stop, and look, and listen, and feel the breeze.  

I headed out, continuing on the trail, especially noticing the berries that were hanging by a thread, waiting to fall to the ground and become a new seedling next spring.  It was a warm day, and there were shady spots along the trail, where it was tempting to stop.  But I didn’t stop, much as the shade would have felt good.  As I reported back the group when we gathered again, I could see the trail ahead, and I was drawn to the light.  I kept walking, drawn to the light.  

Kind of how I live my life, drawn to the light.  The approaching winter months awaken anxiety within me…I do not look forward to those long winter nights.  I know…darkness and cold are the conditions needed for rest and restoration of all living creatures in the forest and the prairie, but a remnant of the fear of the ancient people that perhaps the sun isn’t coming back still resides in my DNA.  I will breathe a sigh of relief, and gratitude, on the day of the winter solstice, knowing that a minute or two more of daylight each day will get me through January and February.  

But more than the darkness of night, which has the blessing of stars and comets and which triggers our circadian rhythms to let us fall asleep, it’s the darkness of prejudice and poverty and damage to our planet and lack of compassion that is most unsettling to me.  Those are the dark places where I most crane my neck in search of light…the writers, the poets, the volunteers, the caretakers, the teachers, the policy makers, the inventors, the health care workers, the astrophysicists, the artists, the lovers of life, who light candles and draw a wide circle and shine a light on the shadows and into the dark corners, making the world a better place.

I’ve thought of that path in Wilderness Park, that beckoning light, often in the weeks since then, particularly in the turbulence of the time leading to the 2024 election, now just days away.  In the midst of violent rhetoric, accusatory and blaming language, loud and divisive voices, I’m drawn to the light.  Light that shines possibility, a hopeful future, an affirmation of the value and dignity of all people, an assumption that collectively we can do more and be better, that chaos  and disruption need not be the new normal in our political life.  Like the light on the path ahead, I’m drawn to the candidates whose language conveys light, not darkness.  

In a town hall meeting with Republican women earlier this fall, Kamala Harris was asked a poignant question.  The woman started by saying that she was anxious, so very anxious about the election, and she wondered if Kamala was anxious, too.  She asked her, “How do you sleep at night?”  And Kamala’s response was empathetic, compassionate, and hopeful.  She acknowledged that she wakes up most nights at two in the morning, worrying about something.  Then she said that she manages anxiety and worry with all the healthy things we know about – she tries to exercise daily, she tries to eat wisely, she stays in touch every day with her family.  And then she said that what gives her hope is the goodness of the American people and the democratic systems in our country, the US Constitution, the opportunity and responsibility to participate in those democratic systems, that by doing so we affirm our commitment to something bigger than ourselves.  

It was a stirring response, for several reasons.  She acknowledged what every woman I know has experienced, waking up at two in the morning, anxious and worried about something, knowing that it won’t be so frightening in the light of day, but in the dark, it is.  Watching the women who were in that room with her, you could see that every one of them had been there, too…lots of head nods.  She affirmed the daily health habits we all try to maintain, knowing that sometimes it’s a “tried, but couldn’t make it” day.  And then, she shined the light of possibility and belief in American people and democratic systems in this very dark and stormy time.  

Our choir sang an anthem last week, “Can we sing the darkness to light?”  The text describes “chords of compassion and peace.”  Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., reminded us that hate does not drive out hate, only love does.  In these days that are fraught with darkness, my heart and mind and soul are asking… 

* Can we sing the darkness to light?

* Can we love the darkness to light?

* Can we vote the darkness to light?

And my heart and mind and soul, drawn to the light, say, with a whisper, sometimes, and with my big girl voice, sometimes, yes, we can.  Yes, we can.  Yes, we can.  We must….