...a seventy-five-year-old female...

 

By Marilyn Moore

I discovered this summer that I can see the clinical notes on the patient portal of my health care provider.  I clicked, of course, and it’s most interesting to see the physician’s or therapist’s notes, way more detail than the usual patient summary document.  

What struck me first was the opening line:  The patient is a seventy-five-year-old female.  It’s probably standard template language.  Every clinician began their notes with this statement.  It is, of course, true, and because it’s the first statement, it must be the overriding general statement about my health…my age and my gender.  

I’ve never been one to hide my age.  If people ask, I tell them.  Comments from kids are always interesting. At the beginning of this school year, I was visiting with an eighth-grade student at the end of class.  His teacher had told the class that if they had any questions for me, they could ask them.  So he asked how old I was…and then asked if it was okay for him to ask that.  I said it was a perfectly fine question, and that I was 75.  And then I asked him how old he thought I was.  He said maybe around 80.  (The girls sitting next to him were visibly appalled that he asked that question and that he thought I was 80!  I remember that when I was a beginning teacher and celebrated my 25th birthday, my students thought I was really old…somethings have not changed in five decades….) One of my great nieces regularly inspects my face, noticing wrinkles, and dark spots, and other signs of aging.  She asked one time about one of those annoying skin tags, wondering what it was and why was it on my face, and I told her that sometimes this happens when you get older.  Her response, “You must be really old.”  I assured her that I was….

Cute kid comments aside, however, I must admit that seeing the sentence in print in the clinical notes was a bit of a jolt.  It somehow or other seems more real, kind of a smack-dab punch, to see it in black and white in front of me.  A jolt, perhaps, because I don’t often think about it.  Like most of you, I live the days as they come, look forward to events and happenings in the future, try not to obsess over regrets of the past (because I can’t fix most of them), and don’t wake up each morning thinking, “Oh, my gosh, I have lived three quarters of a century!”  Mostly I wake up, trying to remember what day it is and what’s the earliest I must be up, dressed, presentable, and ready for something.  And I remember that the answer to that question, before retirement, was 7:30.  And I’m glad 7:30 is no longer the answer, at least on most days.   

I do find myself paying attention to this age, starting with sheer gratitude.  I’m alive to see it, and many who were born the same year I was are not.  Some of my high school classmates were not living when we gathered for our 50th class reunion. Some of my cousins who were my age have died.  I’m alive, and that’s my opening moment of rejoicing when I wake in the morning…even before I’ve figured out what day it is.  

Alive, followed quickly by in relatively good health. That’s mostly good luck.  My parents and grandparents lived long lives, relatively healthy until the final year or so.  I grew up in a home where we had adequate and nutritious meals.  We could see a doctor and a dentist when necessary.  My brother and I were vaccinated against polio, one of the discoveries that improved children’s lives, developed just in time for us.  We had heat in the winter, and the air and water were fresh and clean.  A huge percentage of children and adults in this world do not live with these basic necessities…and they don’t live to age 75.  The average global life expectancy for women born in 1949 is 48, a full thirty years less than in the United States.  (And I would point out that the recent decision to cease funding for USAID will most assuredly cause the life expectancy in the poorest parts of the world to fall.)

Beyond gratitude for life itself, and good health to go with it, I am extraordinarily grateful for having had the opportunity to do meaningful work, work that I cared about, with people I cared about.  I am grateful for the circle of friends who surrounds and sustains me…some of whom I’ve known for most of these 75 years, and some who have entered my life at points along the way, with grace and love and “keeping it real” observations when I perseverate too much on almost anything.  I am grateful for a faith, and a faith family, that grounds me and challenges me.  

I find that my age enters my thinking about many decisions.  Will we live long enough in this house to make (fill in the blank here) worth it?  (We just built a new garage, so evidently the answer is yes…) How many more times will I renew my drivers license? And have I just bought my last car, or do I have more new cars in my future?  Will I live to see my great nieces and nephew graduate from high school?  College?  Marry?  Have children? (The oldest is 9 and the youngest is 3, so I have some goals there….) Should we acquire one more piece of artwork we really love, or should we start giving away what we have?  My bike – should I replace the tires and get it ready to ride in the spring, or should I find a new home for it?  

While I'm grateful to be able to walk the neighborhood every day, I have reluctantly concluded there are some things I will most likely not do, even though I had hoped to at an earlier stage in life.  I probably won’t climb Mount Kilimanjaro; it’s a lot of miles through every climate zone from rainforest to arctic, and I don’t embrace discomfort that well.  Nor will I climb Long’s Peak; it seems way past adventuresome and on the scale to high-risk to climb a mountain that has a very narrow trail with an incredibly steep drop off when I have enough neuropathy in my feet that I sometimes can’t feel the ground beneath me.  Not sure if this is cowardice or wisdom, but it’s a climb I won’t make.  

While some of life’s options may have narrowed because of the very real impact of an aging body, I think my mind and spirit have expanded.  I have drawn the circle wide.  I am more committed to the worth and value of all God’s children than I have ever been…and all means all.  I am more curious about the many ways that people in this community and throughout the whole wide world embrace and explore and seek to understand their spiritual nature…so many ways of knowing God. And so many names for God…Divine, Spirit, Creator, Presence, Allah…. The God-questions are engaging, the thin spaces are real.  I am appalled at the number of times I have asked myself, “How did I not know that?” when learning of significant events in our nation’s past, events like the Tulsa race massacre, the Indian boarding schools, the naming of Frances Perkins as the first Secretary of Labor, the roles that women played as spies and codebreakers in World War II, and the wisdom of enslaved people and indigenous people.  And I am outraged at the efforts of some at the federal level to try to bury these stories, as if by ignoring our past we somehow make the future better.  We need the stories, we need all the stories.

I think I had hoped that at this stage of life I could comfortably coast…tea and scones, time to read, hours to sort through all the accumulated things of a lifetime, travel to wherever appealed, long and leisurely conversations with friends, times of spiritual retreat, precious moments with family.  I had hoped that the cares of the world would seem to be on a trajectory of health and healing, that my generation’s political efforts would have resulted in a nation and a world of less poverty, less warfare, less discrimination, more opportunity, more embracing of the wholeness of arts and sciences, work and leisure, body and spirit.  What arrogance on my part to think that the boomers were going to bring forth paradise….

So, while I dabble a bit in all those hoped-for moments, what I’m increasingly faced with is the urgency of a limited number of years remaining to make an impact.  I believe in all the wonderful stories I read of people who treat others with kindness, finding that their kindness grows and makes the neighborhood better.  I believe that, I see that.  I also see that the very foundations of our democratic society, which have been the basis for the good life I’ve been privileged to live, are being assaulted daily.  An increasingly tyrannical, authoritarian president occupies the White House…and the usual constraints (Congress, the Supreme Court, universities, science, history, newspapers) are being ignored, attacked, or blasted to smithereens.  What is left…is the American people.  And I, for one, want to have an answer of some integrity when those darling great nieces and nephew ask me what I did as the country was going down the road to a dictatorship.  

So this seventh-five-year-old female will enjoy tea and scones, books and friends, moments of peace and reflection. And she will also write letters, give money to campaigns, speak up for the values she holds dear, participate in demonstrations, help others register to vote, and take seriously, with gratitude, the gifts and the responsibilities of this stage of life.  I invite you to do the same….you, whether you’re twenty-five or ninety-five or anywhere in between….look at the five-year-olds, and say, “We promise to do better for you.”

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Lessons from the past … and turning the wrong man into a saint … Pivotal moments that should remind us: Do not back down

 

By Mary Kay Roth

On this perfect first day of autumn, the low light of the season hanging heavy, my backyard prairie grasses are beginning to glow with the golds and russets of September. I pluck late-season tomatoes and consider what colors to paint my new garage door.

But as I go about the normal trappings of everyday life, I’m also acutely aware of an undercurrent pulling me down. My country is twisting, warping and buckling beneath me. 

I live in the United States of 2025.  And I live under an authoritarian, perhaps even an autocratic regime, with the rights I hold near and dear – admittedly rights I took for granted – slipping away.

Trump and his minions have appointed a keystone cops cabinet, declared war on DEI and chain-sawed basic democratic governance. Immigrants, refugees, people of color vanish into the night.  The health care system is shredding. Free elections feel tenuous with rabid gerrymandering. 

And over the last few weeks it has become abundantly clear that my beloved freedom of speech – the very First Amendment – is disappearing into a culture of retribution and intimidation.  

Knowing all of this, it took the shooting of right-wing activist Charlie Kirk – and the feverish aftermath bathed in nationalism and fundamentalist, evangelistic Christianity – for me to actually stare into the cold, harsh reality of the USA.

Trump has used threats, lawsuits and government pressure as he remakes the American news media landscape, unleashing his long-standing hatred focused on journalists of integrity. He has extracted multimillion dollar settlements and prompted changes to programming that he found objectionable.

Last week, ABC announced it was pulling Jimmy Kimmel’s late-night show “indefinitely” after conservatives accused him of inappropriate comments related to Kirk.  It shouldn’t have been surprising, coming in the aftermath of CBS canceling out Stephen Colbert. 

Yes, the First Amendment is widely viewed as protecting even the most disparaging remarks, and the Supreme Court said in an unanimous opinion last year that “government officials cannot attempt to coerce private parties in order to punish or suppress views that the government disfavors.”

Nonetheless it is becoming abundantly clear that Trump is exerting toxic political pressure and power over major media streams.  As a former journalist, an ongoing news junkie and a plain old citizen of this country, it makes my blood run cold.

This past week, even my young granddaughters noticed my unease.  

“What’s wrong, GranMary?” they asked. “Are you scared?”

I told them we all need to be brave right now.

That’s why I continue to protest. Gather with others who protest and speak out.  Pen postcards. Write as part of this Mayhem blog, my sacred moment of resistance.

“Are you scared, GranMary?”

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about lessons from the past, and reconsidering my naïve judgments directed at people who came before me, those who lived in shadowy countries where freedoms had disappeared – particularly everyday citizens who lived in 1930s Germany.  In fact, as I continue to read more about Germany just prior to WWII, the parallels are stunning as we watch Project 2025 (the playbook of fascism) unfold.  

“A sizeable proportion of Germany’s citizens impassively witnessed the country’s descent into dictatorship,” according to Paul Roland in Life in the Third Reich, “because they believed they were simply powerless to prevent it – as well as many more who could not see the danger until it was too late.” 

There’s definitely a distinctive and common thread among most historians who write about that time: The shocking number of people who felt powerless, who weren’t paying attention, who did nothing at all.

From The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich: A History of Nazi Germany:

“No class or group or party in Germany could escape its share of responsibility for the abandonment of the democratic Republic and the advent of Adolf Hitler. The cardinal error of the Germans who opposed Nazism was their failure to unite against it.” 

I think about protests I join in Lincoln, often along O street where you’re  close enough to lock eyes with passing drivers. Many cars honk in thumbs-up support, others yell their obvious disagreement. But the people who truly disturb me are those who read our protest signs with utterly blank expressions, as if they haven’t a clue what we’re about.

I want to stand in front of their cars and scream, good grief, now is not the time to lower your eyes and shrug.

In 1930s Germany, Nazis obliterated the press and news sources to keep people in the dark about power grabs, acts of violence and dismantling of human rights. In America, Trump and MAGA have launched a slew of lawsuits against major liberal news sources to shut them down and squelch opposition – not to mention their grip on the Federal Communications Commission.

Nazis muttered “luggenpresse” – press of lies – as rumor and hearsay became the main source of news. Trump vilifies mainstream media information as “fake news” while he makes ridiculous proclamations of immigrants who steal and eat pets – adhers to unfounded declarations about voter fraud – spreads crazy notions related to medical research and vaccinations – refers to the folks who stormed the nation’s Capitol, as well-behaved sightseers. 

Then comes Charlie Kirk, a man many are calling “a conservative activist,” a man praised and worshipped this weekend at memorial services across the country – a man I believe demonstrates how hateful, racist, sexist and overall nasty discourse gets a seductive platform.

I mourn for Kirk’s tragic loss and for his family.

But in the wake of his death, powerful people on the right, including in the White House, seem to be making lists and taking names of anyone who dares to say anything negative about this man.  Last week, Pentagon officials promised to "address" federal employees who mock or celebrate Kirk's death. The State Department says it will revoke visas over social posts that "celebrate" Kirk's death.  Now Mr. Kimmel is gone.

This morning I read that a school board member from a town in Nebraska was forced to resign because he posted – practicing free speech on his private Facebook page – that he objected to flying flags at half-mast for Charlie Kirk.  Apparently calls for other officials and professionals to resign over similar social media posts have been happening everywhere.

Again, I abhor the act of violence that took Kirk’s life. But I abhor the vile national fervor that demands I abandon democratic values and bow down to a guy who: 

• Quoted scripture about homosexuality as an “abomination” deserving death. 
• Called Martin Luther King Jr. a “myth” and said the Civil Rights Act was a “huge mistake.” 
• Spread COVID-19 misinformation likening masks and vaccine mandates to “medical apartheid.” 
• Suggested mass incarceration was a fix for the housing crisis. 
• Called transgender identity a mental disease needing “brain treatment.” 
• Urged teacher firings when they wouldn’t espouse the right party lines in their lesson plans. 
• And, sadly, said gun deaths are “unfortunately worth it” to preserve the Second Amendment.

I have the right to speak out. So did Kirk. Jimmy Kimmel did as well. 

“It's not a question of whether you agree with Mr. Kimmel or disagree with Mr. Kimmel,” says Sen. Elizabeth Warren, a Democrat from Massachusetts. “The point is … of the government not coming in and making decisions about whose speech gets heard.  Everyone should care, no matter what your political view is."

I don’t know how we find that precious moment when we will all begin to take heed – to care – to wake up and face reality. 

But as we bask in the golden glow of autumn this year, plant our flower bulbs and light our fires, I hope we pause to consider the state of our country – and refuse to succumb to the helplessness, hopelessness of past despotic regimes.

In How to Stand up to a Dictator, author and journalist Maria Ressa speaks the ugly truths about Rodrigo Duterte, authoritarian president of the Philippines and a man who has weaponized social media to cripple a free press and dismantle his nation’s democracy.

Ressa urges us to take action, calling for legislation to hold tech companies accountable, invest in investigative journalism, and create more collaboration between news organizations and those who care about democracy and facts.

Bottom line, Ressa gives us very clear marching orders:

• Don’t back down.
• Expose their methods.
• Risk your freedom.

“GranMary, are you scared?”

No, I’m not scared.  I’m terrified.

But I’ll not be sitting this one out. 

On Endings and Forks in the Road

 by Penny Costello

Some endings and pathway changes are planned: a transition from being a student to a graduate to a professional in a chosen field, becoming a parent (and a family), a move to a new home city or state, retirement from a career.

Other navigational shifts can come out of nowhere – job loss due to downsizing and other economic factors, the end of a marriage or committed relationship, a need for change due to illness or injury, or maybe it’s a clear realization that the current path no longer holds the relevance and allure that it once did, and you’re ready for a change or a new adventure, or coming to the decision that there’s a dream you’ve always had, and it’s time to by gosh make it happen.

Life happens, sometimes in harmony with our best laid plans, and sometimes life demands complete abandonment or serious adaptation of those plans.

As regular readers and followers of 5 Women Mayhem know, I’m coming up on the 11^th anniversary of sustaining a traumatic brain injury resulting from a 30-foot fall into a ravine on Thanksgiving Day, 2014. Mary Kay Roth was my first responder that day, and I’m so grateful to her for coming to my aid, and for our 30-year friendship. Over the years since, I’ve learned about and lived with the impacts of TBI, post-concussion syndrome, and I’ve reaped much from both the challenges and benefits encountered and gained along the way.

Some people would call this a “God-Moment”. I call it synchronicity. Three days before I took that plunge into the ravine, I was working at my job as a television producer/director at Nebraska Public Media, on the co-production of a series called “Now What?”, which offered resources and expertise to viewers on elder and dementia care. We did three or four programs a year in this series. That week, we were in production on the episode entitled “Now What: Understanding Brain Injury”. One of the panelists on the panel of experts for that program was a Resource Facilitator for what is now called the Brain Injury Association of Nebraska (BIA-NE). Little did I know that the Universe was equipping me with a toolkit that would serve me well into the future as I navigated my own journey with TBI.

When I think back on the experience of falling into the ravine, there’s a strange distortion of my sense of time. In reality, it took maybe a couple of seconds of airtime before I hit the bottom. In another sense, I remember it in slow motion, almost as if some other force took the wheel and said, ‘You’re on a different path now.’

And that certainly proved to be true. I detailed that pathway shift in a previous post on this blog, titled “On Brain Injuries,Butterflies and Becoming”.

Over the years, I became involved with BIA-NE, serving a couple of terms as a member of the Board of Directors, and in ongoing service as a volunteer support group facilitator. In that time, I’ve learned a lot. One of the stand-out lessons was beautifully summed up by a friend I gained along the journey, who was a former nurse before brain injuries she sustained ended her career.

“If you’ve seen one brain injury, you’ve seen one brain injury,” she told me once. And it’s so true. The range, severity, and impact of symptoms varies with every person. Challenges with executive functions like focus, memory, task initiation and completion are part of the package with what is called Post-Concussion Syndrome.

Sincerely well-intentioned friends and co-workers would do their best to support and encourage me, offering what I have come to know as “the just-need-to’s”:

“You just need to focus…”

“You just need to concentrate…”

And my all-time least favorite, “You just need to get used to your new normal…”

My response to that is, “This isn’t my new normal. I’m forging new pathways.” And I started thinking about launching a t-shirt and bumper sticker line for TBI survivors with that response. Another offering would be, “Sometimes it’s hard to tell if this is a bump in the road, or it’s the road. But it’s a bumpy road.”

Then came the COVID-19 pandemic. I had COVID three times, and after the third time, I noticed that my post-concussion symptoms had become more intense,. Luckily, I had access to great medical care at the same rehabilitation facility I went to following my brain injury, and they were very proactive in developing a post-COVID treatment plan.

There have been blessings along the way as well. As I realized that continuing to work in project management jobs that are very deadline intensive were probably not the best path for me anymore, and I knew I probably needed to explore other new pathways, the pandemic began to lift, and friends wanted to get away, and they needed someone to take care of their pets while they were gone. So, I got into the pet-sitting business. I also continued my training and got certified as a Peer Support Specialist, which eventually led to  a job at the same rehabilitation hospital that I went to for post-concussion therapy after my injury.

Over the past year, I began to notice an increase in brain fatigue, forgetfulness, and other symptoms I needed to get checked out. As I told my doctor, I wanted to know if it was brain injury, Long COVID, or, my worst fear, the onset of dementia.

He referred me to a neurologist, who conducted testing which led to a diagnosis of Cortical Irritability, caused by irregular electrical discharges in my brain which can lead to development of seizures and possibly epilepsy. The best news  was it’s not dementia. The neurologist felt reasonably certain the condition resulted from my brain injury. While I’m not aware of having any seizures in my lifetime, I’ll  have to be on anti-seizure medication for the rest of my life, which I’m getting used to and learning to navigate the side effects and symptoms.

All I can say about this is, I don’t want to get to the end of the book anytime soon, but I also could be very happy not to continue to write new chapters. But, apparently, it’s not up to me to decide that. There’s an old expression, “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

Now I’m coming to terms with the fact that this is my story, and it’s sticking to me. Over the years,  I have  learned to shift my thinking about those ‘bumps in the road,’ and use them more as navigational aids and road signs. Maybe it’s time to pull over and take a nap. Maybe I need to get something to eat. Maybe I need to drive down a quieter road. And I have found pleasure and purpose in being able to support and help others travel that same bumpy road, and I will continue to do that.

I’ve also learned that, sometimes, we need to release those commitments, habits, or activities that aren’t serving us as they once did. And I really like the term ‘release’ to describe that, because it implies choice to lighten a load, and make room for something new. In that spirit, this will be my farewell post to this blog.

I’ve joked over the years that I am the ‘Mayhem’ in 5 Women Mayhem. I refer to my contributions to the blog as my ‘mercurial meanderings’, and I’m eternally grateful to the amazing women in this group for accommodating me and my struggles.  It’s such an honor to have been included in such esteemed company and collaboration over these years, and to hear from readers and followers who comment and share our posts.

Having grown up in a family very proud of our Irish heritage, it feels appropriate to close with the Irish blessing: “May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, the rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand.”

I’m grateful for all the roads that have risen to meet me in my life, and I welcome the road ahead, bumps and all. Thank you, my Sister Mavens of Mayhem, and all of our followers and supporters. I am so blessed with your presence on my path.

***

Who got it wrong at the town halls?

 

By JoAnne Young

Did Nebraska Congressman Mike Flood get it wrong? 

Did some of the participants in his town hall meetings get it wrong, too? 

Or did I? 

 

Flood says he believes in town hall meetings. He honored his campaign commitment to hold three town halls in Nebraska in spite of Republican party leadership telling him not to do it. Town halls “are real, they’re raw, and they’re as accountable as anything in America,” he told Michael Barbaro of the New York Times “The Daily,” after the last one in Lincoln. 

 

We all know how those three town halls turned out. Shouting, swearing, booing, emotions spilling out, grandstanding. And in between, some good questions that needed a decent answer. 

 

I have to give him credit for holding these meetings, for deciding to go ahead in spite of Republican leaders telling elected officials not to do it because they don’t like the optics. He and Nebraska got national attention for those gatherings, from the New York Times; Fox News; CBS, ABC and NBC News, CNN. 

 

My beef is mainly with whether the town halls are as useful as both he and the participants wish they were. The fault lies on both sides. 

 

The interview Flood did with Barbaro provided the most insight. The Fox News interview was more pandering than anything. 

 

He told Fox News that the people attending the town hall meetings were not “everyday Nebraskans.” 

 

“When I said something to the effect of ‘the heart and soul of working class Americans now runs through the Republican party’ that was a very hard pill to swallow but it is very true. A lot of the folks who are objecting to (Medicaid) work requirements simply aren’t in touch with working class America.” The left, he said, thinks they’re entitled to free health care without having to work for it. 

 

The town hall was performative, and he wasn’t buying it, he said on Fox. 

 

His interview with Barbaro was more interesting. Barbaro asked good questions and I learned that 

Flood grew up with two active Democrat parents, his mother on the state central committee and his dad an elected country attorney in a solid red area of Nebraska. At age 5, when he asked his dad the difference between Democrats and Republicans, his dad told him Democrats were poor and Republicans were rich.

 

“Right there I was like, well, I’m going to be a Republican,” he said. 

 

By age 11, he said, he was supporting state Treasurer Kay Orr for governor and his parents were supporting Helen Boosalis, mayor of Lincoln and first female mayor of any city over 100,000 population in the United States. He worked for Kay at a call center and attended a fundraiser for her two hours from his home. 

 

“I just loved it, I loved everything about it,” he told Barbaro. 

 

Barbaro has an interest in town halls because he spent most of his career covering hundreds of town halls as a political correspondent. “I’ve always seen them as a pretty special part of our political system, a unique chance for elected officials to come face to face with voters, actually answer questions. There’s a built-in accountability system, a chance for voters to evaluate the official for authenticity and candor.” 

 

Flood became a fan of town halls in 2003, before he was elected to the Legislature, when he attended one in Wahoo held by state Sen. Ron Raikes and members of the Legislature’s Education Committee to hear from rural Nebraskans on Raikes’ bill to eliminate all one-room schools across the state. 

 

“I saw tears. I saw screaming. I saw people that were just despondent,” he said. “I was definitely against what he was doing, but he sat there and respectfully listened to everybody, and everybody got their say. And this went on for 3 ½ hours.” 

 

He decided then, being a politician and listening to constituents was the job he wanted. It was powerful to witness people exercising their right to protest, he said. So even when told this year by Republican leaders not to hold those ugly headline producing town halls, despite thinking of himself as a team player, he honored his campaign commitment to do three town halls in 2025, knowing that town halls “are real, they’re raw, and they’re as accountable as anything in America.”

 

That first one in March was held in the shadow of the president’s executive orders, including one to end birthright citizenship, his lawsuits against law firms, trying to put his thumb down on universities, and DOGE’s rampage through federal agencies. Even so, Flood said he had no idea how raucous that town hall in Columbus would get. 

 

People there were angry about Elon Musk, about potential cuts to Medicare, Social Security, jobs. They shouted him down, booed loudly when he said: “I support Elan Musk and the Department of Government Efficiency.” He supported Donald Trump, he said, because he had done more to address the root issues of the country in these few months than the prior president.

 

Speaking to his audience, he told them their high school civics teacher wouldn’t endorse their behavior. A man shouted back: He wouldn’t endorse yours, either. 

 

“I couldn’t have predicted that it would have gone like that,” he said. “And I think when it was over, I was stunned and a little numb. That’s honestly how I felt.” 

 

On the 45-minute drive back to Norfolk, he replayed everything he had seen and heard that night. He processed the participants questions: What was he doing to be real with people about how Trump was breaking the law? When was he and Congress going to take back their responsibility? Why was he doing this to his constituents? What is the purpose of Congress? Why does it even exist? 

 

“Elon Musk gets $40 billion a year in funding from the federal government. Do you think he would cut that before he would cut our Medicare or our Social Security or our jobs?” someone asked. 

 

“I support Elon Musk and the Department of Government Efficiency,” Flood responded. 

 

Boos. 

 

Barbaro asked him: Why do you even exist? Have you spoken out against anything Trump has done in his second term? 

 

The checks and balances Congress was created to provide don’t have to be done on CNN or Fox News, Flood said. 

 

“If I’m going to draw a red line, I’m not going to draw it on TV. I’m going to do it with people that are actually in charge of their part of the government. ... It’s not done for public purposes.” 

 

Barbaro tried to pin him down about anything he had spoken out against. Flood said he spoke out against cuts to the National Weather Services. Those offices, which are vital to our state, are down 40%. “This was a hill to die on for me. This was public safety.” And since, they’ve hired back people that had been fired.

 

When asked if he was afraid to get crosswise with Trump at these meetings, if he can be candid with any disapproval of Trump’s actions, especially in a public room, he said that to do that he had to be convicted and to know where his conference committee was on the issue. You don’t come over the hill with no one.

 

“Do President Trump and I have the same demeanor? Probably not,” he said. Sometimes Trump just says things, like seizing the Panama Canal, and Flood said he doesn’t take the bait, but rather looks at what he is trying to accomplish.  “You don’t get to have a red line every day just because a subset of your constituents are livid about ‘x.’ (Trump) is the leader of the party that I’m in and there’s a balance.” 

 

At the Lincoln town hall, he told those gathered that Trump’s domestic policy bill (titled the Big Beautiful Bill) protects Medicaid for the future, even as it takes it away from an estimated 110,000 Nebraskans, including 53,000 children. He answered a question on how he could vote to cut medical research dollars and food stamps by saying: “We do not have unlimited money in the United States.”

 

Loud boos. 

 

After three town halls, Flood still believes they have value because they are cathartic for people who are upset. And he sees nonverbal agreement with him on issues like Ukraine, and that fascists don’t hold town hall meetings. He sees a communication that can only be seen when he is talking to people who are upset.

 

“It’s good for America that we have Republicans and Democrats that can spend an hour and a half in a room together, and yeah, there’s some shouting and yelling, but I got the chance to say what I wanted to say. I got the chance to explain my votes. I got the chance to essentially debate with a few of my constituents, and they got the chance, in their eyes, to hold me accountable, to tell me how they felt. We all got something out of it.”

 

The town halls were strained, but not representative of where he thinks most people are. Still, he has more in common, he said, with those screaming protesters than he does with the rest of America who thinks that politics is a hobby, and they don’t pay any attention to it. They are only concerned with the bubble they live in.

 

“Every decision I make affects somebody,” he said. “And the lady that’s calling me a fascist is not living in that bubble. She is very invested in her beliefs and where she thinks the country is going. She showed up. And she’s spicy. That’s the town square. That’s politics. That’s what we do.”

 

Except, he turns around and disses the town hall participants to Fox News watchers as “not everyday Nebraskans.” He says those booing and disagreeing are extremists. Performers.

 

I say, town halls should not be a place for name calling, hyperbole and simplification of the issues. On either side. I want real answers to serious questions. Only then can our politicians be held accountable. 

 

Our Nebraska delegation should show up at town halls, should answer our questions there and in letters and emails. They should submit to unbiased interviews. 

 

Their work may go on behind the scenes, as Flood says. But how would we know? We need them out in the open and public.  

 

He told NPR’s Steve Inskeep: “I want the medical research. I want it in there. I want America to lead the way here.” 

 

Let’s hold him to it. Make him show us the waste, fraud and abuse he claims exists in social programs. And stop the sound bites on both sides.