We all have our reasons ... or should

By JoAnne Young 

I took a walk this July 4^th morning through a quiet Lincoln neighborhood and for most of the hour thought about my adventures in the America I have lived in since birth, throughout my 18 years as the daughter of an Air Force sergeant, and the ups and downs of adulthood, as a woman and as a journalist. 

One thing stood out: For the vast majority of those years, I have been a voter, the privilege of our American culture. I am aware that some working journalists don’t vote, to maintain a stance of objectivity, and because they don’t want their names on a list that political parties can see. 

I have been a registered Independent for a number of years, my strong preference. I have at times registered as a party affiliate – in one or the other -- in order to vote in a local primary election, but wasn’t happy that I could not do that as an Independent.

But I’m not willing, even as a journalist, to give up my vote. I have many reasons. 

* I saw two houses on my morning walk where at one a woman came out of her front door to collect a newspaper lying on the porch. And at the other, a man sat on his patio reading a newspaper. I wanted to yell from the street, “thank you, for wanting to be an informed citizen, for whatever reason.” Instead, I thanked them silently, and crossed my fingers that people will continue to understand the importance of local journalism. 

I vote to maintain freedom of the press. 

* About 88 percent of Nebraska residents rely on groundwater to provide their drinking water. In addition, the state has 30 threatened or endangered species: plants, animals and birds. Other endangered birds migrate through the state. The top environmental concerns in this country and the world are biodiversity, water pollution, deforestation and climate change. 

I vote for the future of my children and grandchildren. 

* In my 14 years of covering the Nebraska Legislature, I have heard a lot of speeches by Sen. Ernie Chambers about the discrimination and threats, and treatment by police of people in his north Omaha legislative district, and beyond. For those who say they weren’t aware of the suffering of people of color in this state, they have only had to pay attention to the debates and hearings in their Capitol, broadcast live every day. 

I vote in the hope of fair treatment for all and to end racism.

* The United States is in the middle of a pandemic and not faring so well, with COVID-19 surging in the majority of states and threatening the lives and wellbeing of many people.

I vote to put people in office who believe in science. 

* When ratification of the Equal Rights Amendment came up again last year, I looked up Nebraska legislative transcripts to find out why my state was one of the first in 1972 to ratify the amendment to the Constitution, and then in 1973 the first to rescind that vote. Sen. Richard Proud of Omaha led the way on the withdrawal of ratification, saying: “If you ask a woman what the Equal Rights Amendment will do for her, how it will help her, she has no answer, and the reason she has no answer is because the Equal Rights Amendment will not help her.” Women, he went on, would lose their legal protections, like financial support from husbands. They would be able to keep their own names upon marriage. "No country puts women on a pedestal as the United States does," Proud said. “They can pretty well get their way on about anything they want.” He implored senators – Shirley Marsh the only woman among them – to follow the wishes of the people, not the minority of “Women Libbers.” And so senators voted 31-17 to withdraw ratification. 

I vote to ensure women have as equal say about their lives as men do about their own. 

There are many people in this state and country who don’t vote. This year, out of 1.2 million registered voters in Nebraska, less than half, 40.5%, voted in the primary. 

In the 2018 Nebraska primary, less than 25% voted. In the general election, that rose to 58%. But only 36% of voters ages 18-29 went to the polls. That’s an improvement over the 20% who voted in 2014. But don’t they have the most to gain or lose in their future? 

As a journalist, I give up my right to have public opinions. And as long as I work, I am content with that. 

But voting? It's a 100-year-old right I won't surrender. 

Everything Happens for a Reason....

by Marilyn Moore

"Everything happens for a reason…" and then the voice trails away, because there really doesn’t seem to be a reason, and there’s not much more to say.  Many times this phrase is uttered in the most tragic of circumstances, such as a young parent who dies and leaves behind a grieving spouse and bereft children, or an accident claims the life of the most beloved member of your group of friends, or the highly-sought after elected position goes to someone else…those times when people gather in silence, and shake their heads, and someone says, “Well, everything happens for a reason,” and it’s supposed to be comforting, but it isn’t….

Sometimes those words are said in moments of great confusion, those times when everything is sideways and upside down.  Sometimes they’re said to convey the message that God or Allah or Yahweh or the Higher Power has caused a great shakeup to get our attention, to send a message. 

I’ve heard those words recently in reflection on the time in which we live now, a time in this country marked by a pandemic that we cannot or will not control and wide-spread unrest about social injustice and racism.  The speaker was searching for meaning in a time of chaos, and the speaker is not alone – millions are doing the same.  The hope or prayer within those words was something like, “I don’t know why you let this happen to us, God, but I know you have a plan, and I’m trusting you….” 

And it’s at that point that I have to back away, because I don’t think the pandemic or the racism at the heart of the social unrest is God’s plan at all.  I’m not presuming to speak for God, but the God I know and worship does not cause a global pandemic that has inflicted illness upon millions and death upon hundreds of thousands in order to send a message.  The God I know and worship does not cause a white police officer to kill a black man by kneeling on his neck in order to get us to pay attention to centuries of racism. 

I don’t dispute the assertion that there’s a reason, or many reasons, for what we’re living in right now...I just think the reason is human behavior, not divine determination.  We’re living in a pandemic because viruses develop and circulate and are transmitted without regard to borders...and it has reached pandemic proportions because we are reluctant to take the measures that would most effectively stop the transmission. 

And in the midst of the edginess of the pandemic, the constant worry about health and the uncertainty of economic security, the egregious killing of George Floyd became a flash point for people across the country and around the world, a flash point that burns from hundreds of years of racism, discrimination, and the reality that we are light years away from acting on the belief that all are created equal…and the disturbing truth that many people don’t believe that “all are created equal” stuff anyway. 

The cracks in our social structures that have always been there are magnified with hard-to-ignore clarity in this pandemic.  People of color have been impacted by job loss, by economic hardship, by illness, and by death to a greater degree than those who are white.  And in George Floyd’s death at the knee of a white police officer, we saw, everyone in this country saw, the inequality in the justice system.  The resulting stories in the following days, still more deaths of unarmed black men at the hands of police officers, the plea to say their names, the significant protests across the country, magnified and amplified the systemic racism in country.  All of this happened not because God wanted to send a message, but because of our own very human behaviors.

What I know from chaos science is that in the midst of chaos there is always a pattern…and it’s hard to see the pattern.  In fact, sometimes it’s impossible to see the pattern, because we can’t get far enough away, in either distance or time, to see the pattern in the chaos in which we are immersed.  It may be decades before the pattern, the big picture of this time, becomes clear.  But not seeing the pattern, not seeing the whole picture, is not an excuse for stepping back and waiting for God, or someone else, to fix this mess, this time when we disregard science because it’s inconvenient, and we don’t talk about racism, because it’s uncomfortable. 

The God I know and worship has created humans with minds to understand and solve problems, with hearts to love one another, with hands to reach across the street and around the world, and with courage to do what is right.  And that’s a reason to listen, to learn, to hear the stories and perspectives, and to act.

Finding my heart in a simple summer-solstice hug

By Mary Kay Roth

I’m not really sure how you describe a hug.

Webster’s says this: “To press someone tightly in one’s arms, especially as a sign of affection.”

Wikipedia explains that hugs are generally a “form of endearment in human communities, in which two or more people put their arms around the neck, back or waist of another, and hold each other closely.”

I can tell you this much. On Saturday, summer solstice 2020, I hugged my wee granddaughters – Scout and Everlyn – for the first time in more than three months. And they hugged me back. Tenderly. Fiercely.

It was a hug to end all hugs. A hug that defied Webster’s and Wikipedia.  A colossal, super-duper, wing dinger of a hug – filled with heart and soul, tears and giggles, affection and memory. A hug that my dad, who gave the greatest granddaddy of all bear hugs, would have been proud.

Yes, you can Zoom and FaceTime.  You can press your hands up against a glass window or door.  You can stand six feet apart, open your arms and pretend.  But it just doesn’t work like the magic of true touch.

The ongoing pandemic has created titanic losses in our world and I never want to underestimate the tragedy of losing lives and economic stability, nor the catastrophic glare of inequity that plagues this crisis. But forgive me, I would also count hugs as a monumental loss. 

A shoulder to cry on.  The simple touch of understanding. The healing power and wonder of connection. That wash of comfort that defies logic. The quiet embrace that says, without a word, everything will be all right. 

The word hug likely originates from 'hugga', an Old Norse term that first appeared 450 years ago and meant 'to comfort.' However, the history of the act of hugging is a little fuzzier, though many zoologists believe you can see beginnings rooted in the early history of mammals:  Elephants linking trunks, big cats nuzzling, chimps holding one another. 

On the other hand, scientific research is completely clear that there is healing power in a hug, as an embrace brings increased flow of oxytocin – a hormone that calms nerves and boosts positive emotions.  In other words, a good hug: 

·      Lowers your blood pressure

·      Lowers your cortisol (the stress hormone)

·      Increases your social connection and sense of belonging

There’s an old wives’ tale that professes each time someone warmly embraces you, your life is extended by one more day. I’m not so sure about the validity of that claim, but we do know that in several documented studies:

·      Students that received a supportive touch from teachers were twice as likely to raise their hands in class.

·      A sympathetic touch by a doctor gave patients an impression that their appointment lasted twice as long as it did.

·      Patients who received physical touch often experienced reduced pain and reduced symptoms of depression.

Healthy or not, hugs became one of the many casualties of this raging global pandemic, with responsible people shutting their doors and embracing the concept of no embraces.  Months marched on and curves indeed flattened.  But today, due to a monstrous lack of state and national leadership, we are left to navigate these turbulent and confusing waters on our own. To get a haircut or not?  To go to the pool, the farmer’s market, a restaurant – or not?  To hug – or not to hug? 

I believe each family has their own unique story, a patchwork of puzzle pieces they must consider. Like so many folks, my kids and I are scrambling for solid, sensible principles – aiming to make decisions based on integrity and good judgment.  Rest assured, I’m not heading for indoor rallies, and my daughter has opted to delay visits to public pools and community playgrounds. Our family members diligently wash hands and wear masks in indoor and compact public spaces. We are keeping tabs on community spread. And since my daughter is a nurse, we are also guided by significantly increased testing in the nursing home where she works.  Finally, we recognize that ongoing vigilance is required and at some point we might need to take a step back.

But for now we are taking a leap of faith and choosing to end the moratorium on hugs with my grandbabies.  I believe the hot summer of 2020 could be a rough one and I am going to fortify my home with the power of touch.  

I recognize – in the grand scheme of this chaotic, troubled, world –  the question of a hug seems pretty insignificant.  But for one moment, on this very first day of summer, it was everything to me.  

Some stories just beg for the telling

By JoAnne Young


I listened this week as a diverse group of people, about 175 of them, went to microphones set up for them in Omaha and Lincoln. They had been invited to tell their experiences, concerns, ideas and solutions surrounding racism and police interactions to eight Nebraska senators elected to make laws that oversee the state’s judicial system. 

I don’t know what the senators took away from those listening sessions. What I heard was 175 compelling stories, and I would love to tell every single one of them. 

Because here’s the deal. Our brains are wired for story – to tell them and to hear them. It’s been that way from the beginning of time. Even in our sleep, we craft stories from the chemistry that is our thoughts and memories, and call them dreams. Some insightful, some fright filled, many forgotten by morning. 

My love of storytelling is at the same time learned and organic. 

In my grandmother’s family, there was said to be an uncle who could enrapture people for hours with his tales. I may have had at least one encounter with Uncle Mace, but it’s a hazy childhood memory. He died when I was 10. My aunt, his niece, was also a storyteller. A columnist and author of several books, who dug into stories that came out of the history of Oklahoma. A typewriter was central to her home décor. 

I have been lucky enough in my career to be able to tell a few stories, to listen as someone chronicled at least a part of their lives and then trusted me to retell it. 

There is at least one story that has been with me a few years that I haven’t retold, but I know it deserves at least a longform telling. Maybe a book. I have researched it, visited other states to track down people and details, spent hours on the internet and some time on the phone talking to friends and relatives of the true-life characters that inhabit this story. 

Frequently, I can tell them more about the story than they can tell me. 

It’s always a surprise that a story can be so shrouded from the annals of family lore. Especially one that involves, as this one does, courtrooms and crimes and a dead baby girl lying in an old cemetery with no marker to show she existed, even for a short time. 

“Good lord. I’ve never heard this story. That’s fascinating,” a great-great-grandson  told me recently.

“Some things are harder to talk about than others,” his sister told me a couple of days later. “My family never talked about this.”

I found the story in a morgue, a newspaper morgue. It leapt out from the light of a microfiche reader. 

I have never met the people who populate the story. Its pivotal moment happened a hundred years ago, and they are lying in cemeteries spread from the southwest to the east coast. But I have come to know them through the gathering of details about their lives. 

I have no journals or diaries of their thoughts or feelings. Just the facts. 

I have thought from time to time I should find another story, like literary nonfiction writer Erik Larson (“Devil in the White City,” “Isaac’s Storm”), who chooses stories that have an ample supply of documents, journals and recorded history. But I can’t let go of this. One of the characters must want this story told. 

Maybe it’s the baby in the unmarked grave.

On May 29, she would have turned 100. And she has a hell of a story to tell.

LISTEN LEARN ACT

by Mary Reiman

My blog posts are usually stories of my life, things happening in and around my world view. But it is the time to take "I" out of the conversation. This week has reminded me that my time should be spent listening and learning from the stories of others, allowing the phrases to flow through my mind into my being and moving to action. Those S.E.E.D. (Seeking Educational Equity and Diversity) workshops seem so long ago, when Peggy McIntosh was with us discussing white privilege. And what did we learn and how did we act on what we learned?  Reading, reflecting, listening, learning, more reading, more reflecting, more listening, more learning. Words, thoughts, poems, teachings. Even with all the discussions, it was never enough. 

We need systemic change. 

Thanks to those who have posted thoughts and reflections and those who have reposted the reflections of others. Below are a few of the voices rising up this week. 

READ

National Museum of African American History and Culture

Talking About Race

LISTEN

LeVar Burton’s Story

READ

President Barack Obama

LISTEN

Adam Foss TED Talk: A prosecutor's vision for a better justice system

READ

President Jimmy Carter

LISTEN

Trevor Noah Breaks Down Reparations & White Privilege – Between the Scenes

READ

Peggy McIntosh

White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack 

The list could go on and on. Each day brings another powerful message that needs to be heard or read...and absorbed. It needs to stay in the forefront of our minds, driving us to take action, to keep listening, to have the difficult discussions. Whatever words you find that speak to your heart and soul most clearly, that help you resolve to take action, revisit them. Revisit them often. 

And are you looking for books addressing systemic racism? Children's books about diversity? Young adult titles? Let me know if you can't find any. However, I doubt you need me to curate a list for you. There are booklists everywhere, such as this one from the Chicago Sun Times, as well as recommendations from our Lincoln City Libraries. Check them out. Resolve to learn more..and take action.

LISTEN

LEARN

ACT

The Veil

by Penny Costello

What’s happening in Minneapolis is in the part of town where I lived for 15 years. I’m so sad to see what’s going on. I came out there in the heart of a thriving LGBT community. (It was the 80s, and that was the acronym at the time.) 

I marched in Take Back the Night marches through those streets, coordinated Pride festivals, protested in support of Native women who were being murdered. And today I am so saddened to know that, while all of those were truly worthwhile endeavors, things have not changed, and may have gotten worse. More likely I've been too comfortable in the blinders of my privilege.

I saw a meme on Facebook attributing this quote to Will Smith, “Racism is not getting worse. It’s being filmed.”

I recognize those neighborhoods that are in flames as I watch the news coverage. My heart aches for George Floyd as he pleaded for his life, and I imagine the terror and despair he must have felt.

But it's not just in Minneapolis. Swastikas painted on trees in Wilderness Park here in Lincoln, people dying in cities across the country as they protest or speak out. Others using the protests as an opportunity to loot, destroy property, and act out against real and perceived injustices. I’m trying to identify what I can do, and how to be a part of this movement for true reform, without being an armchair slacktavist on Facebook.

I'm glued to news coverage. People in the streets in cities all over the country. Police in riot gear, tear gas canisters exploding, cars and buildings in flames. As my granddaughter watched with me (which is amazing because she hates news and politics) she said this to me, "Holy crap! You mean I'm living through a pandemic, this, AND global warming?"

Yes, my darling. You are. 

All of this is simultaneous with the highs of her graduation from high school and the confluence of good feelings and friendship as I organize an online celebration for a dear friend and mentor who turns 90 today.

I’ve heard it said that time is not really linear at all. That in reality it’s all happening at the same time, in parallel. That’s what this emotional spectrum feels like. Maybe the veil is lifting after all, and we’re moving into a new dimension. Maybe part of that is focusing a magnifying lens on everything.

I don’t know. But I guess we’ll find out.

A friend recently shared a song with me called “Resilient” by Rising Appalachia. It’s a powerful video, and the first verse shines a light on the way forward for me.

I am resilient

I trust the movement

I negate the chaos

Uplift the negative

I’ll show up at the table, again and again and again

I’ll close my mouth and learn to listen

Okay. I’m listening.

The Great Upheaval

by Marilyn Moore

Deep beneath the surface of the Earth are tectonic plates, foundational structures of the planet.  They’re always moving slightly, adjusting to one another along the fault line where one plate meets another.  But every now and then, a slip occurs, a plate is caught, and shock waves are sent through the miles of the planet to its surface, and the earth quakes.

Earthquakes are not a common occurrence here in the middle of the country, though they do happen, usually on a small scale. But in many places around the world, both on land and on water, they are frequent, frequent enough that earthquake warnings are issued, and building codes are adapted to earthquakes, and people living in earthquake-prone areas accept them as one of the hazards (like tornadoes and blizzards for Nebraskans) of their chosen home. 

Earthquakes range in level of severity.  Many times, the resulting earthquake results in damage as minor as broken dishes.  Sometimes, it’s much more major, like the earthquake of 1989 that hit just as game three of the World Series was about to begin in Candlestick Park in San Francisco.  That earthquake brought down the Bay Bridge, and 67 people died.  The tsunami of 2004, an earthquake in the middle of the Indian Ocean, resulted in the death of more than 200,000 people in 14 countries.  On a much larger geologic scale, an earthquake about 10 million years ago resulted in the formation of the Tetons, and earlier than that, the formation of the Himalayas. 

Lots of science, lots of physics, lots of geology….bottom line, there are times that the tectonic plates beneath us shudder, and the earth heaves, and the planet is forever changed.  Those plates do not settle back into the same position as before the shudder and the resulting quake. 

I have come to think of this pandemic time as The Great Upheaval.  Foundational plates to our society (think of healthcare, commerce, education, entertainment, families, religious organizations, government, among others) have been disrupted by a microscopic virus, and the resulting shock wave has caused our society to quake.  While it may not be a quake of the magnitude that formed the Tetons or the Himalayas, it is certainly larger than a broken teacup.  And just like the tectonic plates after an earthquake, I suspect our foundational plates will not return to their “before the upheaval” state. 

A significant observation for me is that these foundational plates are all connected.  Just as the Pacific Plate can’t move without impacting the North American plate, the institution of health care can’t shudder without affecting other plates.  When public health (that is, for the benefit of the health of all of us) demands that we stay home as much as possible and limit contact with others, and a resulting decision is that schools close, families are affected, and businesses are affected because parents need to be home with children.  Because people aren’t going out, entertainment venues and service industries have no customers, and millions of people become unemployed.  This pandemic has perhaps been the best ever living-right-in-the-middle-of-it example of our connectedness with one another….a tremor in one system eventually ripples through all the systems.

Earthquakes have a way of making visible small cracks and crevices that might have previously been unknown.  That’s happened in The Great Upheaval, too.  We know that a shockingly high percentage of those who are stricken by and killed by the coronavirus are persons of color.  Those who have the disease and are hospitalized are more likely to be persons with low incomes, persons without access to a regular primary care physician.  Children who live in lower-income families without access to the internet were less likely to be engaged in remote learning, as were children who live in homes without a stable adult presence.  Emergency needs for food and shelter exploded overnight in this community that had an unemployment rate of around 3% just three months ago.  We have seen in long lines at Food Bank distributions just how “on the edge” so many of our neighbors are.  Mental health professionals are very worried about the long-term impact of isolation, worry, and anxiety for children and adults alike, knowing that finding affordable and available mental health services is a challenge at all times, and especially as the need grows.  It has become clear that “kids in school” is the safety net for many children, for breakfast and lunch, for a safe and supervised day, for teachers and counselors and principals who notice a child who is ill or a child who is depressed or a child who is abused – and who know how to alert other systems in the school and the community to respond.

We’re all figuring out what the new normal will be, when a vaccine has been developed and/or a reliable and effective treatment plan has been tested.  Our new normal will most likely not be the same...and that reality is a growing edge for each of us, room to stretch, room to create, room to see and do differently.  Houses of worship will continue to have an online presence, which engages people who are seeking spiritual growth but who choose not to enter a building.  K-12 schools and institutions of higher education will build online learning into their strategic plans.  Individual employees and businesses have learned what work can be done at home…and what really can’t.    All of us have had time to think about what activities we will "add back" when the restrictions are lifted; for many, it's likely to not be the same list as before.  And I suspect that for years to come, we will all be more conscious of washing our hands, and not touching our face. 

I hope that as a nation we hold in even higher regard the scientists, the researchers, the epidemiologists, the virologists, the public health leaders, those who invest their professional lifetimes in the study of diseases and how to identify, contain, and stop them from spreading.  I hope we are more watchful of what happens in other communities, other states, and other countries, because as we have learned from The Great Upheaval, viruses do not know boundaries.  And I hope that we hang on to our new understanding of “essential employee,” knowing that many of them have been invisible to us in the past, but they are the workers that assure that we have food daily and that other basic needs are met. 

I hope that when we are able to gather again, at places of work, places of worship, places of learning, family picnics, graduations and weddings and funerals, concerts and ball fields, that we do so with profound joy and gratitude at the simple gift of being in community....because it is in the connections that we find meaning, substance, energy, and life itself.

A final note about the 1989 earthquake, in which the Bay Bridge collapsed.  It collapsed not because it was not strong enough, but because it was too rigid.  It couldn’t bend, it couldn’t shift, it couldn’t adjust.  A pretty fine metaphor for what we will need to be able to do as we emerge from The Great Upheaval….