Courageously telling our stories … my kind of resistance

 

By Mary Kay Roth

My daughter, Anna, earned her degree to become a nurse practitioner by carrying some graduate school debt, something she has been paying off diligently, save a few brief grace periods bestowed by President Biden.  The loan has been facilitated by the U.S. Department of Education.  

In January the website that displayed her monthly payments started freezing up and Anna couldn’t submit her bill. In April, the website suddenly indicated she owed the full amount of her loan by the end of the month.  She freaked out, worried she would wreck her credit score. When the government started threats of garnished wages, she went ahead and tried to make a payment – only to discover the site remained frozen ... a story that symbolizes, I think, our current government. 

Josh, my son, has his own story - as principal at a high-poverty school in Kansas City where the only way most students can afford college is qualifying for grants, loans and scholarships. Generally, you qualify by submitting something called the FAFSA (Free Application for Federal Student Aid), a document that determines eligibility for financial aid.

This year Josh’s administrative team noticed a dramatic decline in FAFSA applications and discovered many families were warned not to submit the form because they could be sharing potentially harmful data. Josh is angry, knowing FAFSA is often the only ticket to college for many of his students, yet understands the vigilance of his families.

Back when Trump was first re-elected, I remember making some embarrassingly naïve declarations, predicting middle class families would not likely feel much pain from this presidency – but that we would all need to practice empathy for those who did.

Don’t I feel incredibly foolish today, as I feel the shocks and blows of the past four months all around me, watching our president dismantle democracy and dismantle lives.

One of my own personal challenges has been a helpless, hopeless feeling.  Resist, write emails, make phone calls … for me, they’ve fallen short.

Then I remembered how much I believe in the power of stories, the lifeblood of connection.  So, I started asking people for their personal experiences, collecting tales from the past several months. 

My friends and acquaintances talked of losing jobs and losing faith in the American dream – of taking money out of beleaguered investment savings despite warnings to the contrary, due to fear that Social Security will evaporate and savings will fall further – of worrying about who might be accessing emails, text conversations, social media accounts. 

Those who work at local non-profits talk about bleeding budgets and concerns of shutting down. People who have never fired a gun, are considering buying one.  One woman said she was thinking about purchasing drywall and carrying it into the house in the dead of night to build a secret hiding room for undocumented friends. 

I’m weary of hearing Trump supporters who claim nobody “important” is getting hurt right now … when stories paint a very different landscape. 

* A Lincoln educator I know described an incident involving a recent intruder at one of our higher-poverty schools, an elementary with significant numbers of immigrants and refugees. Everyone ended up safe, but as a result of the intruder the school was blasted with sirens and emergency vehicles. Afterward, teachers discovered that many students were traumatized because they thought authorities were coming to take them away.

* A Lincoln mother talks about dramatic changes in her son who has worked for a large federal agency for over 20 years.

“My son was born smiling, an easy-going optimist with an upbeat, unflappable personality all his life. He is a veteran. Since Trump took office in January, he has experienced the intentional infliction of trauma aimed at him and his fellow federal workers. As a supervisor, he is struggling with the pain and fear he listens to daily when the stressed employees come to him asking if they still have jobs … He counsels them as always – with humor and unrattled reassurance, advising them that all they can do is their job and try not to worry. The end of the workday on Fridays are the worst – that’s when demeaning ultimatum e-mails usually arrive from DOGE.  And I can hear his pain, the worry about his fellow employees, and questions about his job insecurity. And when I express concern or rant, he reassures me that he’ll be okay – but his voice is flatter. The upbeat optimism is gone. My heart breaks for him. I miss my easy going, unflappable optimist.”

* A retired minister addressed the dilemma of reaching congregations in this toxic atmosphere: “There is a congregation in our Presbytery made up mostly of immigrants who are now afraid to come to church, fearing churches are not safe from ICE. So, the pastor goes to them.  Other clergy wonder what to say… how to be prophetic witnesses … especially those in purple congregations.”

* A farmer from rural Nebraska – who, believe it or not, I met at a protest rally in Lincoln – said most of his friends had voted for Trump but were getting very nervous: “The times are long gone when we focused on local markets.  We’re about global markets and trade, and the current uncertainty is putting our livelihood and families at risk.” 

* My cousin faces a different horror story. She and her husband worked beyond retirement age to maximize their Social Security, now their major source of income. A year ago, their 45-year-old daughter – a recovering stroke victim – moved into their home.  As they work through the slogging bureaucracy of applying for Medicaid, they are panicked about losing their own benefits.

“At this point, we are slashing all spending we can. We've put in a garden. We drive a 10-year-old car, have 8-year-old cell phones, and watch every penny. If this madman can be stopped from raiding our only savings, we will be okay. There will be no travel, few gifts and no luxuries, but we should be alright. So, how have the last four months been? Absolutely terrifying. Our sleep, health and total well-being are on the edge, every single day. Our American Dream is now a nightmare.”

* Another local educator worries about the day-to-day climate inside our  schools: “So, right now, I worry. What am I really prepared to do? For starters, I outright refuse to call the Gulf of Mexico anything different. That may seem small, but in my role professionally, it is not a small stance. I emotionally eat. I worry because teachers across the country have been required to take down their inclusive posters in their rooms. I have an "All are Welcome Here" poster.  Will I be forced to take it down as a public school teacher? I will not. So, then what? A lawsuit, which I cannot afford? What is next?  What am I going to have to do? So, I worry.”

* A good friend in Lincoln works with an Afghan family that came to America to stay safe, a family that has worked hard to earn money and make their way.  

“I'm worried about this family being detained or deported by ICE, even though they have their green cards and are legally in the U.S. This family has relatives in the U.S. who have not yet been able to get green cards, even though they have waited months or years. The federal government could cancel their Temporary Protected Status and declare them here illegally anytime.”

* Several mothers I know are worried about the physical and emotional well-being of grown children receiving gender affirming medical care.  

“The current climate is making trans people feel as if they do not belong anywhere, increasing anxiety and depression, and reducing access to basic rights like using a bathroom and essential health care. The executive orders signed by Trump are an invitation to discriminate against this group, and state legislatures are following suit.”

Finally, there were all the folks who responded to me – describing anxious friends and family members who have lost jobs, many in the avalanche of government layoffs but also from secondary waves: Anyone involved in diversity, equity and inclusion. University staff caught in the crossfire of college cuts.  Retail and restaurant workers where owners anticipate higher prices for their goods and less profit. 

As for me, I’ve had strange yet serious conversations with both my kids: What happens if mom loses Social Security while her savings go bust?  Both my son and daughter are generously willing to take me in – but perhaps not my crazy dog, Pip.

Oh well, whatever happens, I pledge to continue telling my story.  And I ask that you join me. Stand up and courageously share yours. Ask the people around you to talk about how they are feeling. Have dinner with someone you disagree with – and swap tales.

Tell your story.

For in them lies the power to heal, inspire and transform, to reflect upon who we are and the possibility of who we can be.

*One footnote: I’m a firm believer in using people’s names because it lends legitimacy and accountability.  But I never imagined I would live in a country, worrying that publishing a name might put someone in danger. So today I share stories without names.  I trust you’ll understand.