Dear Governor Pillen...About that Detention Center

 By Marilyn Moore

Dear Governor Pillen,

The United States flag flies proudly on Memorial Day at the cemetery in Bartley, Nebraska, a village on the east edge of Red Willow County, just a few miles down the road from McCook.  My parents are buried there, having lived and farmed there all their lives.  I grew up on the family farm, about thirteen miles south of Bartley, and I own some farmland there, which my nephew farms for me.  While I have lived in Lincoln all my adult life, I consider that farm, and the surrounding countryside, to be my soul home…prairies and plains, crop land and pasture.  

So I paid special attention to the announcement of the proposed opening of an ICE detention center in McCook, because it’s close to home, and in Nebraska, that matters.

I know you’ve been receiving a lot of communication following your announcement that the Work Ethic Camp in McCook will be repurposed as an ICE detention camp.  Nebraskans have strong feelings about this action, and I’m sure you’re hearing them.  I suspect the comments have been across the political spectrum, with some Nebraskans saluting the state for joining President Trump’s vow to deport millions of persons who are in the country without legal documentation, and others expressing outrage that our state would join an effort that has divided families, ignored constitutional rights, and terrorized communities.  Just so you know up front, I’m with the second group.

I raise all the policy and organizational questions that others have raised:

* Can the governor just change a Nebraska facility and program that was established and funded by the legislature?  Is this constitutional?

* With a prison system that’s already among the most overcrowded in the country, why are we giving prison space to a non-Nebraska program?

* There was a significant effort to build relationships with the people of McCook before the Work Ethic Camp opened.  Why was there no such effort this time?  A conversation with the mayor a couple of days before the press conference belittles the community and its residents.

* How is a facility that was designed for 200 men going to be remodeled to hold 300 people?  And those people?  Men, women, children, families?  Evidently that is not known….

* And speaking of the people to be housed here, President Trump and DHS Noem have said this deportation effort is to focus on “the worst of the worst,” while Nebraska’s Director of the Department of Correctional Services says that only low-level offenders will be housed here.  Which is it?  

* And if they’re the “worst of the worst,” that would imply they’ve already been charged and convicted with a high-level crime, so why aren’t they housed in the prison of the jurisdiction where they were tried and convicted?  Why be transferred to McCook?

* If they’re low-level offenders, that’s probably code speak for “no crime committed at all,” so why are they being detained?  If they’ve been charged with a crime, and being held without bail, which would be unusual for a person charged with a low-level crime, why aren’t they being held in the jail of the jurisdiction where the crime was committed and the trial will be held?

* I suspect the persons to be held in this facility are neither of the above; they will be persons swept up in ICE raids of packing plants or roofing businesses or agricultural fields.  In other words, people doing hard work, honorable work, work that matters a lot to the economy of Nebraska.  Is that really the look you want for our state?  And how does that make Nebraska safer?

* Courts at every level have ruled that persons who are detained for being in the US without legal authorization are entitled to all elements of due process, which includes the right to receive legal counsel.  Are there sufficient attorneys in Red Willow County to provide this constitutionally guaranteed representation?  Is the State of Nebraska going to assure that legal counsel is available?  

I care about all the issues and questions I’ve raised above, but what I really want to ask you about is the language that is used in talking about immigrants and refugees, whatever their status in the country.  From the moment that Donald Trump descended his gold escalator in 2015 and declared something to the effect that “Mexico isn’t sending us their best; they’re sending us murderers, they’re sending us rapists, they’re sending us drug dealers,” the language of some candidates, some public officers, and some members of the public has become increasingly coarse, punitive, harsh, and dehumanizing.  In short, it’s language that bullies, language that demeans.  

Take the phrase, “worst of the worst.”  That implies people who are truly monsters.  And there may be a few in the millions of immigrants in this country.   But it’s been applied to every one of the people sent to El Salvador, even though the vast majority of those men had no criminal conviction of any kind.  The same phrase has been used to describe the persons being held in the detention center in Florida; again, the majority have no criminal record.  That’s hardly “the worst of the worst,” unless, of course, the intent is to paint a picture that every immigrant who is here without documentation is a monster…and I fear that may be the intent.  

The tricky thing about name-calling is that it often spreads beyond the original target.  Because some persons without legal documentation have been charged with crimes, some residents may come to believe that all immigrants, those here legally and those here without authorization, are dangerous, or a threat, or lazy, or a sex trafficker, or a drug trafficker, or a terrorist, or any other label that is used by a public official.  And that’s not only incorrect, it’s just wrong.  You know, I know you know, that the crime rate in the immigrant population is significantly lower than the crime rate in the non-immigrant population.  I’m far more likely to be assaulted, or have my car stolen, by another long-time resident of Lincoln than by a member of our many immigrant communities in Lincoln.  (And I’m not worried about either; the crime rate in Lincoln is low and getting lower.) But language has created in the eyes of many an “other,” immigrants who are a threat to public safety.

I wonder, Governor, if you’ve thought about the children of those you describe as “criminal, illegal aliens.” That may be the way that you see the people who will be rounded up and brought to the ICE detention center in McCook, but to their children, many of whom are US citizens, they are Mom and Dad.  You have said often that there is no more important thing Nebraska can do than to take care of our kids…the children of immigrants are our kids, too.  Will they be cared for when their parents are in the detention center?  

And speaking of language, I must raise the name of Cornhusker Clink, following in the tradition of “Alligator Alcatraz.”  I don’t know if these names are meant to be funny, or cruel, or sardonic, or cute…but I have to say they are awful.  Again, they demean the people who are sent there. As the sheriff of Red Willow County noted, the word “clink” is the label used by the Nazis for prisons during WWII. Not an association I would be proud to make with “Cornhusker.”

Finally, Governor, I would ask that you use language that affirms the basic human dignity of all.  I know that you are a person of faith…as am I. Your faith tradition is Catholic, mine is United Methodist.  Both of our bishops have issued statements about the proposed detention center; both are concerned.  

Bishop James Conley of the Catholic Diocese of Lincoln writes, “Finally, we must never forget: every person – whether an immigrant or not, documented or not – is a human being made in the image and likeness of God.  This human dignity must be recognized and respected.  Let us constantly see each other with the eyes of Jesus Christ, who looks mercifully and lovingly upon each one of us.” The Rev. Dr. David Wilson, Bishop of the Great Plains Conference of the United Methodist Church, says, “What is clear to me, and I hope to you as well, is that people should be treated with dignity….these are real people created in the image of our Creator God.  Flippant comments about this facility being the ‘Cornhusker Clink’ are not cute, nor are they funny.  They dehumanize the people who will be detained there….”  

Perhaps Bishop Conley and Bishop Wilson have the words from Leviticus 19:33-34 in mind:  “When a foreigner resides among you in your land, do not mistreat them.  The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born.  Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt.  I am the LORD your God.” Your words are heard, Governor; they are reported and repeated.  You have an opportunity to demonstrate and affirm the dignity of all persons…and model such language for all of us.  

A challenge, Governor.  Could we shift the perspective on 11 million immigrants?  Away from finding and deporting them, to finding a way for most of them to reside legally in the US.  We know that the persons in this group in Nebraska are for the most part hard-working people, parents of children, who want to provide for their families.  They are doing jobs that need to be done…and they are the source of any growth our population is experiencing.  A Gallup Poll from June 2025 indicates that more than 75% of Americans favor a path for citizenship for persons who are not legally here if they meet certain criteria over time.  How about re-directing some of the energy and money presently used in apprehension, detention, and deportation to creating such a path?  That would serve Nebraska agriculture, Nebraska industry, Nebraska schools and communities.  It would be, in a phrase, “Nebraska nice.” 

Sincerely,

Marilyn Moore

Ahh, the summer of orange-cone discontent … gotta laugh

 By Mary Kay Roth

This time I think I’ll make it.  I’ll create a thoughtful, strategic plan and map my journey.  I am a smart, efficient woman.  I can do this.

I close my eyes and try to picture the route. Which streets are open and which ones are closed?  Which ones go one way, which ones go another?  Where can’t I turn left?  Where will I least likely mow down a row of orange cones?

I ease my way onto Lincoln’s streets and head toward my destination.   

And yet.  

Despite all my detailed plotting and planning, somewhere along the way, an unexpected street is padlocked. Foiled. Dead-ended. Doomed.  Once again.

Welcome to the summer of discontent.

Yeah, yeah, I recognize that my glorious fellow Mayhem bloggers recently have written about solemn topics that focus on the plight of the country and the state of public programming.  

Apologies. This blog is nothing like that.

It’s about the silly, maddening state of this particular summer of street construction.   

Good grief, what’s happening out there?   

I’m a native Lincoln woman, a pretty mild-mannered gal, who loves this city and respects the responsible stewardship and maintenance of its infrastructure. I’m also not a person who let’s rush hour send me into fits of despair.  

In fact, since 2019, the city has improved or constructed 194 lane miles of arterial streets and 162 lane miles of residential streets, making up $309.5 million in transportation infrastructure investments.

Yet this summer brings me to my knees with more bottlenecks, traffic tie-ups and circles of hell – than I’ve ever encountered in my community.  

I’m not alone.

One local blogger celebrated the new helpful street construction graphic with this observation: “The city of Lincoln just released the new street closure map that goes into effect June 9th. The city is requesting you to charter a helicopter, dig tunnels, or teleport, should you need to leave your house.”

Another local citizen is practically becoming famous with a series of videos that depict the trials of driving through the city – created by someone who cruises about our community and narrates with a British accent:

• “Welcome to Lincoln’s death triangle – 40th and Normal – now featuring new levels of rage.”
• “Hmm, Lincoln traffic or the final lap of Mario Kart? Hard to tell.
• “And here we are at Lincoln’s favorite psychological experiment, 56th and Pioneers, where there are no left turns, both directions … So, this brave soul in front of me, full-on left turn, no signal, no shame.  Other drivers are very displeased.”

And then there’s the guy who says: “I’ve never seen so many construction signs and I think I could save the government some money. Just buy two road signs that say ‘No Road Construction Ahead’ and put them near the two places where there isn’t any work going on. I haven’t seen those two places, but I’m sure they’ve got to exist.”

Trust me, it’s tricky out there.

Entering Holmes Lake is a challenge in critical thinking.  

I’ve started to believe that landing at Deb’s Market – just across Nebraska Parkway – is like getting to the promised land.

And there are countless times this summer I have stumbled into construction debacles due to simultaneous closures in the same area – times, for instance, I couldn’t get through 40th or 48th streets, 56th was a disaster, and then – holy smokes – they decided to close A and Randolph.

Meanwhile, don’t get me started on Normal Boulevard which has been closed off and on for more than a year now.  One moment one part is closed, and another is open.  Then they open up the part that was closed.  And then – lo and behold – they re-close the one they’ve previously opened.  

Realistically, I figure people have probably been complaining about road construction since the very oldest paved street in the world – the Lake Moeris Quarry Road in Egypt – was created sometime between 2500 and 2100 BC.  The ancient street facilitated the transport of stone for pyramid construction, and I have no doubt citizens at the time had their complaints – perhaps about personally having to haul the stones on their backs.

Makes my whining seem ridiculous.

To be fair, I do recognize Nebraska climate limits construction work to April through October – and that projects must work around school hours and Husker football. 

And we have wonderful city officials who have been honest in giving us fair warning.

* “The sun is shining, the squirrels are frolicking, the birds are chirping – and orange cones are out,” said Lincoln Chamber of Commerce President and CEO Jason Ball. “And so, it’s again the time of year where I like to remind everybody that this is a great sign of progress.”

* Mayor Leirion Gaylor Baird likes to refer to the orange cones of progress as investing in our community, explaining that 19 major summer construction projects are planned across town this summer fixing up 54 lane miles of arterial streets and nearly 14 lane miles of residential streets across the city’s four quadrants. 

Trust me, I’m for community investment.  But I do wonder why this particular summer seems so much trickier and challenging. Why does it seem like clusters of streets in the same area of town are closed at the same time?  Why does it sometimes seem like the same stretch of street keeps getting torn up?  Why are people sitting in traffic jams when some construction sites look empty? 

According to news articles, Liz Elliott, director of Transportation and Utilities for Lincoln, says the strategy for picking out places that need improvement comes from working with the Advisory Committee on Transportation, looking at factors like pavement and infrastructure conditions, as well as other construction in the area. 

“We also look at the timing of all the projects,” she said. “We don’t want to just be in one area, we want to minimize that impact, so we try to coordinate geographically where projects are.”

Really, truly, I’m a believer.

But this summer I have been switching streets so often it feels like zig-zagging on switchbacks when I climb trails in Rocky Mountain National Park, often resorting – forgive me – to illegal U-turns and “detours” through private parking lots.

Gaylor Baird says: "Well-maintained streets enhance public safety, spur economic growth and contribute to our high quality of life.”

Totally agree with our excellent mayor.  I just wish I could find my way to the grocery store.

2

Putting the “Public” in Public Broadcasting

By Penny Costello

There’s a whole lot going on these days. Civil and political discord, economic upheaval, uncertainty on so many fronts, and, well, in a word, mayhem. It would seem our better angels have gone on sabbatical. After enjoying a 22-year career in public broadcasting in Nebraska, and being given the opportunity to capture that history and share it with viewers, listeners, and supporters in many ways over the years, I feel a great sense of gratitude that I had the opportunity to be part of that world, and to be able to experience Nebraska through that lens.

So, when I read the announcement that the Corporation for Public Broadcasting (CPB) would be shutting down operations at the end of September, I was both heartbroken and flabbergasted. Apparently, we’re not living in Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood anymore, and it’s definitely not a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

In its article “What the Corporation for Public Broadcasting Shutting Down Means for PBS And NPR”, Time magazine explains the ramifications of federal funding recissions for public media, especially in rural areas.

“Without CPB grants, some stations may be forced to reduce staff, cut programming, or shut down altogether. That could have a significant impact in smaller communities, where public media stations are often among the few remaining sources of local journalism. Researchers have classified many rural areas as “news deserts” due to the decline of local newspapers and commercial outlets. Public broadcasters have filled that gap in many communities by providing access to local news coverage, educational content, and emergency alerts.”

On a more positive note, public response in many areas has been to increase donations to their local stations, but that doesn’t replace the role that CPB has filled since 1967. That role includes providing funding to stations for operations and content development, production, and distribution. CPB also supports independent media production throughout the country through the Independent Television Service (ITVS). Carrie Lozano, President and CEO of ITVS made this very powerful statement about the importance of public media and support of documentary filmmakers to our democracy. It also includes support and distribution through the National Multicultural Alliance, a group of five organizations providing services for multicultural storytellers.  VisionMaker Media is part of the National Multicultural Alliance, and is headquartered in Lincoln at Nebraska Public Media. VisionMaker  supports the work of Indigenous content producers throughout the country. 

I retired from my role at Nebraska Public Media in 2018. On my last day there, my grandson began his first day as a freelance studio production crew member, and he has since joined the staff as a full-time Production Specialist. That certainly deepens the fondness and sense of legacy I have with this organization, and my commitment to see that it continues to thrive. I’ll be increasing my financial support, and I have faith that NPM will prevail, evolve, and continue.

Over the entrance to the Nebraska State Capitol is inscribed the famous quote by Hartley Burr Alexander, “The salvation of the state is the watchfulness of the citizen.” Nebraska Public Media has supported and facilitated our watchfulness for nearly 70 years. Now public media needs our watchfulness and support more than ever. We are the “Public” in “Public Media”.

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August Potpourri

There’s a whole lot going on these days. Civil and political discord, extreme weather, and, well, humans being human. Join us on a heartfelt and heart-filled, circuitous ramble through the fields of Mayhem.

The Loss of Those Girls ...
 By JoAnne Young

 It’s been a month now since 27 young girls and camp counselors died in an explosion of water through Camp Mystic in Texas. The flooding of the Guadalupe River took many more lives in that tragic July 4 storm, but it is the children --  those girls -- I can’t stop thinking about.

 We’ve seen pictures now of many of them, all freckles and ponytails, beaded necklaces and adult and baby teeth shining through 8-year-old smiles. They are the girls who could have someday become scientists or doctors, special education teachers, mothers, maybe heroes. They could have added so much to a needy world.

Scott Simon of NPR in a tribute said this: “We think of the years that should have been ahead of them, filled with laughter, learning, friends, new adventures, fun, frustration, love and heartbreak and love again.”

I also think about the soul deep grief of their parents and grandparents, family and friends left to imagine these darling children being carried away, out of reach, too fast to rescue. Parents who kissed them good-bye just days before and told them not to be nervous, to have fun. 

Other children died outside of the camp in that flood, and some children who survived lost their parents. I’m thinking of them, too. And there are the two Nebraska girls who died Tuesday with their father in a horrific explosion at a plant in Fremont, Hayven Danielson, who was 12, and her sister Fayeah, 8.

We know the deep hole they all leave in their families’ lives. What we will never know is what our country and our world will have lost with their absence. 

***

A Summer’s Gift
Mary Kay Roth

I’ve never done an accurate job describing the sound of cicadas. 

A crescendo of buzzing voices. A cadence of rhythmic, high-pitched whines. A symphony of clicks, drones, whirrs, hisses. 

But perhaps words don’t really matter, because for me cicadas are simply the sound of summer. 

Once upon a time I listened randomly.  Nowadays I head outside each evening, around dusk, with a cup of tea or a glass of wine. 

Listening. 

To the bass of a bullfrog, the whoosh of sprinklers, the splash of kids in a pool, the call of their parents telling them it’s late. 

Distant thunder. The jingle of an ice cream truck. The faraway chords of an outdoor concert, buzzing lawnmowers, trilling meadowlarks. 

And cicadas. 

Their famous sound only emanates from the guys, using special structures called tymbals, located below each side of the front abdomen. The tymbals contain a series of ribs that buckle one after the other when the cicada flexes its muscles – and every time a rib buckles, the rib produces a click. 

In fact, the legendary insect song has been featured in literature as early as Homer’s Iliad.  Specifically, the elderly Trojan counselors are described as fluent orators, sitting on the tower “like cicadas that chirrup delicately from the boughs of some high tree in a wood.” 

I’ve always thought their cry was a little sad, perhaps foreshadowing the close of summer. According to legend, cicadas are filled with the souls of poets who cannot keep quiet because they never wrote the poems they wanted to.

***

The Season for Good Eating  
by Marilyn Moore 

Mom was a gardener.  She planted, nurtured, watered, weeded, harvested, and preserved most of the food we would eat year-round.  It was a lot of work.  She liked it…I think it was the sheer satisfaction of seeing plants grow, knowing that the harvest would provide for our family.  Most of the year, we ate the summer produce that she had canned or frozen.  But in the summer….well, as Mom said, “It’s the season for good eating.”

 I’m not that gardener.  And because of transportation and storage and imports from around the world, we can buy fresh produce in the local supermarket all year long.  Still, it’s not the same; that tomato that was grown somewhere, harvested green, packed and refrigerated and shipped to Lincoln, is not the tomato that comes off the plant in your own garden, or your neighbor’s garden, or from the local farmer who is selling at the farmers’ market.

 So August is a celebration, a season of good eating.  On my kitchen counter now, Colorado peaches.  Naber’s sweet corn.  Tomatoes from the farmer’s market.  In the upcoming days, BLT’s.  Cherry tomato salad.  Peach pie.  Peach cobbler.  Corn on the cob with nearly every meal. Some new recipes, some from my mom’s recipe box.  All of it good, all of it fresh, all of it a reminder that this season of good eating nourishes my physical body and my spiritual body.  It’s another tie this urban dweller can make to the soil, the sun, the rain, the seed, upon which all life depends.  

***

Exercise?

By Mary Reiman

 What moves me? Stretching...literally.  Not stretching my mind, stretching my body.   Years ago, I didn’t feel the need to work out the kinks early in the morning. Now I am   fascinated by those exercise reels where they make everything look so easy. At full   speed, they are swinging their arms around the heads and doing crunches touching   knees to nose...and all the time they are smiling! That doesn’t happen in my world.   However, it is amazing how a two-minute series of stretches, first thing in the morning,   can set the tone for the day. Time well spent.

***

Finding Pawsitivity & Purrpose as a Petsitter

By Penny Costello

I am a crazy dog lady. I have often joked that my true purpose in life is to be a human dog bed, but that I need to figure out how to get paid for it. Apparently, the Universe has been listening and responded.

Regular readers of this blog know my story of sustaining a traumatic brain injury after falling headfirst into a ravine almost 11 years ago. Before that, my career trajectory was based on very timeline and deadline intensive pursuits, including event management, television production, and grantwriting. Over time, it became apparent that the demands of those deadline intensive pursuits were no longer a good fit. Traumatic brain injuries can wreak havoc with executive skills like planning, task initiation and completion. Ten years later, these are still impacts that I grapple with. I’ve made progress over the years, and I’ve also learned that sometimes it’s better to not set myself or esteemed co-workers up for that kind of stress and exasperation. Instead, I chose to resign from the grantwriting job, and forge new pathways.

That’s where the Universe and human dog bed thing came in. A couple of former co-workers had plans to go on vacation, and they asked me if I could take care of their dogs while they were gone. I happily accepted. Over time, and through word-of-mouth, my client base, and membership in The Good Dog Club has expanded, and my aspiration to be a human dog bed has come to fruition.

So many sweet, snuggly pups give me joy and friendship. And the opportunity to provide peace of mind and comfort to their humans, knowing their fur babies are safe and loved is incredibly gratifying. My circle of human friends has grown, and housesitting for people and their pets provides a nice change of scene from time to time.

Sometimes the bumpy roads and unexpected turns can lead to wondrous places. I’ll continue to look forward to whatever is around the next turn.

***

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An open letter to Sen. Deb Fischer

Dear Sen. Deb Fischer, 

 

We are not pen pals, although I know some of your pen pals, quite a few actually. They send you letters, revealing their innermost feelings about your representation of Nebraska in the United States Senate. They try to reason with you. They plead with you. You write them back, sort of, telling them their comments are important, but that you really don’t agree with them.

 

I do not write letters or emails or make phone calls to you, because I know I could not change your mind or your vote on anything. There are stronger forces at work in your decision making. 

 

But last week I happened to see something you posted on Facebook that prompted me to write this open letter. It made me fume and pace for a few minutes, until I decided I had to write something to ease my anxiety. 

 

Here is what you posted: “Thanks President Trump for hosting a beautiful and fun White House dinner with colleagues to celebrate a very successful first 6 months of working together for the American people!” It was accompanied by three photos: 1) A gilded dinner plate, the likes of which I will never eat from, on a table with a large white rose centerpiece; 2) You and President Trump laughing together; 3) The dinner menu, the font designed and written by a White House calligrapher. It was elegant writing and made even Tomato Sauce look fit for a queen. 

 

May I share?

You were served: 

Sweet Pea and Ricotta Raviolo

Creamed Corn

Tomato Sauce ... Shaved Pecorino

Pan-roasted Dover Sole

Beurre Rouge

Sunchoke Puree ... Oyster Mushrooms 

Lemon-scented Broccolini

Cider-spiced Plums 

Raspberry Craquelin Choux

Vanilla Ice Cream 

 

The upshot is this: You, as a woman representing the state of Nebraska in the United States Senate, were celebrating the “One Big Beautiful Bill” and “a very successful first six months of working together for the American people.” You were celebrating with top-chef foods on golden plates, and having laughs with a president who thrives on name calling and revenge against respectable people who he has decided are his enemies. 

 

You were celebrating six months of what you perceived as having worked for the benefit of the American people. If you recall, as you were sworn in for your third term, you said, “Together we will continue to stand tall for our shared values and take care of our people.” 

 

Sen. Fischer, I have lived in Nebraska for decades, so by definition could be called a Nebraskan. You do not share my values. My values do not include celebrating significant cuts to health care and nutrition programs, like Medicaid and food assistance, having “fun” while people worry in your home state about how they will feed their families without help, or while those around the country wonder who will help if their city is flooded, or their house is wrecked by a hurricane or tornado. 

 

My values do not include cutting off funding for important medical research that could save lives, or eliminating backing for public media that provides crucial information to Americans, including Nebraskans. They do not include firing government workers without cause who  provide needed services to your constituents, and treating the remaining federal employees with disrespect for their dignity and the time they have devoted to the people of this country and state. 

 

On April 18, 2012, on your last day in the Nebraska unicameral Legislature, you told your fellow senators and constituents that from the first time you saw your name up on our Legislature’s voting board you realized that “every time you hit a red or a green (button) you affect somebody's life in this state. Every time you stand up and speak on the mic in opposition or in favor ... you are affecting everybody's life in this state. Every time you introduce a bill, every time you work hard on that bill to get it passed, every time you work with your colleagues to build a coalition, you affect somebody's life in this state.” 

 

You said it made a deep impression on you. Have you forgotten about those Nebraska lives? The lives of the 340,000 children, women and men in this state who rely on Medicaid for medical care? The more than 155,000 people who rely on supplemental food to get through the week? The ones who can barely afford a $4 loaf of bread, $4 pound of hamburger, $5 box of cereal, $5 carton of eggs, $5.50 gallon of milk or $20 can of baby formula? 

 

This was your statement: “The One Big, Beautiful Bill delivers. It reflects Nebraskan values — strong defense, smart spending, and support for those who serve. With this law, we are taking national security seriously and building a safer, more secure future for all Americans.”

 

I know a lot of Nebraskans are writing to you, expressing their concerns about your voting and actions. When you bother to have your staff reply, you tell them you are prioritizing “cutting wasteful spending” and “reforming Congress’s broken budget process.” Can you provide details? No? You say their suggestions, comments and feedback are “very important” to you. Have you considered how your support of the current administration has put family farms and rural hospitals at risk and negatively impacted education? How it has reduced respect for the United States around the world? How tariffs will raise the cost of living?

 

You have been called tough, formidable, strong, tenacious, fearless. Rep. Mike Flood said you were a person of passion and principles. Please use those qualities for the benefit of all people of Nebraska, not just the politicians with whom you now surround yourself. 

 

Use them for working out compromises that benefit common people and those who need your toughness, strength and fearlessness. Use them to keep government honest and represent your constituents' interests, even those who have less money and privilege than you. Use them to raise the intelligence level in our nation’s capital, to model compassion and integrity for the young people on your staff and in the halls of Congress and beyond. 

 

I will remind you that you did not get the majority of votes in the 2024 election in Lancaster and Douglas counties, the two largest counties in the state. Remember those 439,212 Nebraskans who did not vote for your “values.” 

 

Celebrate making their lives better, too. 

Sincerely, JoAnne Young

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What defines us...

by Mary Reiman

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen...and heard...the loons in Northern Minnesota. Last week we joined friends who make that journey every July. I can see why they are drawn to the area and I’m so grateful they asked year after year until we finally made the trek with them to that special slice of Americana. 

From the sunrises,

To the lake,    

  

To the turtle races.  

Truly...a perfect vacation in the heart of the Chippewa National Forest.

Vacation was made more special as we stopped in Southern Minnesota on our way home. My sister had her bags packed and joined us for the rest of the journey.

She has been in Minnesota as long as I have lived in Nebraska. She raised a family. She worked. I worked. We usually met in the middle for holidays with mom and dad. 

Yes, I have written about her before, but she’s never stayed at my house for more than a day or two. 

Not until this week. A week of great joy!

We went to the farmer’s market and found beets. Yes, we now have pickled beets!

We drove around Lincoln and laughed about all the cones.

Yes, they are back in full force, aren't they? (And did we ever determine where they are stored for the winter?)

We wandered around shops. There's no one more fun to shop with...she notices everything and I see her brain spinning as she thinks about how it will fit with her decor.

We had dinner with friends, compared book titles....and talked...and talked...and talked. 

 

My heart is full of love and admiration. She's a fabulous woman, with a heart of gold. 

I wish she had stayed longer...and missed her as soon as her husband met us in Onawa for their trip back home. So many more things to do, places to go, stories to share. Next time....

And now, I am attempting to balance the relaxation of my week with the overlying cloud of the continuing mayhem. Another protest. Following the legacy of John Lewis as he described the need to make 'good trouble.' 

To show we care. To show our state senators that the funding for NPR and PBS is not "reckless spending." It is an important source of local programming in our state. How can that be called reckless?

And funding for U.S. food aid overseas. Wasteful spending?

Compassion for those in need of food and medical resources and a safe place to sleep in our global community. How can that be described as wasteful? We can not/must not stop asking...as a country, what IS our moral compass?

It seems the ups and downs of our weeks do define us....and drive us.

July has been a time for travel, family and friends in my world. I know how lucky I am to be surrounded by such goodness and love.

It has also been a month to continue giving voice to our frustrations, fears, concerns for our country, for our democracy.

How do we balance the anxiety of the world with our daily lives?  At this point, I believe it is staying informed, watching, listening, learning, asking questions....and making good trouble.

Strong Women

 

By Marilyn Moore

The year was 1665.  The setting, a small mountainous village in England.  The plague was sweeping across Europe, killing millions of people.  And when it came to this small village, carried by the fabric of a roaming tailor, the people who lived there made an extraordinary decision.  They decided to isolate themselves from the surrounding villages, hoping that the disease would not continue to spread beyond their village boundaries.  They made an agreement with the next closest village, seven miles down the road, that it would provide all of life’s necessities, including food, fiber, and what was needed to sustain animals, for a year, at no cost, in exchange for the safety of isolation.  Provisions would be dropped off at a designated spot, on a schedule such that the person bringing supplies would not see nor have any contact with the person picking up the supplies.  And so the village lived this way, for a year.  

People became ill.  People died.  There was fear and distrust.  And a few heroes emerged, the helpers.  Chief among them was Anna, a young widow, with young sons who succumbed to the illness.  She herself became ill, but survived.  She became the caregiver for those who were ill.  She learned of remedies and medications derived from roots and plants from the woman in the village who had such knowledge, but who was viewed with suspicion as a devil, a witch, a being of Satan…who was drowned because people feared she was making them ill, rather than making them better.  Anna rescued her salves and ointments and dried leaves and berries, and she made use of them as she cared for those struck by the plague.  And she tried not to let people know that she had this knowledge, lest they kill her, too.

The story is told by Geraldine Brooks in her book Year of Wonders.  It is inspired by the true story of Eyam, an isolated village in the hill country of England.  

She tells another story in Caleb’s Crossing, this one set in Martha’s Vineyard and in colonial Massachusetts, in the 1660’s.  Caleb is the first indigenous person to be awarded a degree from Harvard, and “crossing” in the title refers to the immense difficulty in crossing between his native indigenous culture and the colonial academic culture.  Brooks chooses to tell the story through the eyes of Bethia, a young woman, daughter of the local minister, who befriends Caleb when both are children.  

Like Anna, in the English village at the same time, Bethia is not supposed to learn to read.  Nor is she supposed to know anything of traditional school subjects of the time.  But she manages to be near the room where her father is tutoring her brother, so she can listen in while she carries out her household chores.  She is not supposed to know anything of the language of the indigenous people who live on the island…but she learns it.  And in the course of the story, her knowledge of academia rescues her brother from an ignominious end at Harvard.  Her knowledge of the indigenous language rescues Caleb from danger, including the near loss of his soul in the moments before he dies.  She worked so hard at all the tasks that women were supposed to do, and she worked so hard to not let it be known that she could read, and think, and communicate in the indigenous language, because such was not permitted, and punishment was sure.

Another such story is told in The Frozen River, this one by Ariel Lawhon.  This is the story of Martha Ballard, a midwife in the town of Hollowell, Maine, in 1789.  The book is based on the journal kept by Martha Ballard, a real midwife, in Maine, at that time; her actual journal entries are the heart of the story.  Like most young women at the time, Martha had not gone to school, had not learned to read.  A hundred years after Anna and Bethia, but girls were still not taught to read.  In Martha’s case, she learned to read after marrying; her husband taught her.  (And such a delightful side note, he used the Song of Solomon in the Bible to do so…a very romantic, some would say sensuous, text.  But I digress….)  

As a midwife, Martha attends to the births in the community, and she is generally the health care provider for all.  People send for her when they are ill, when there are babies to be born, when death is near.  And yet, some are suspicious of her knowledge…wondering if perhaps those ointments and tinctures and mixtures of leaves and berries are really the work of the devil.  And while she’s required by law to provide testimony in court in some cases (particularly in the case of an unmarried woman who gives birth to a child and who does not name the father), she can’t testify unless her husband is in the courtroom.  Because her word…is valid only if said in the presence of her husband.  

Of the dozens of books I’ve read in the past year, these three stand out in my mind.  I believe Anna and Bethia and Martha have taken up permanent space in my brain, and my soul.  First, because I’m reminded all over again how very hard, and how very dangerous, it was to be a woman in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.  Everything was hard.  The basic, daily tasks of preparing meals, providing clothing, and keeping a house warm required hard physical work.  Add the dangers of pregnancy and childbirth, the labor required to grow and preserve food, freezing winters and blistering summers, and life was just hard.  (And I would add that this had not changed much for my grandmothers, living in Nebraska in the early 1900’s, though both had been to school and were readers.) I hope they had strong women friends….

But what most strikes me about these three women is that they were not allowed to learn.  Women were simply not seen as having any role in life for which they would need to be able to read, or think, or write.  And despite not being allowed, they all did.  And they saved lives because they learned.  I can only imagine the difference in the quality of life in those villages had the number of people who could read been doubled. 

In all three of these cases, the women lived.  The tailor, who brought the plague to the village in England and for whom Anna cared, died.  But Anna lived.  Caleb died, but Bethia, who provided care for him, lived.  Martha cared for patients during a diptheria outbreak and through all the normal illnesses and tragic accidents of the time.  Many died; but she lived.

Starre Vartan, author of The Stronger Sex, to be published this month, cites research by multiple scientists who assert that women are biologically made to be stronger.  That holds true in extreme circumstances, such as famine, epidemics, and enslavement, across time and across continents.  In an interview published by CNN, she describes many contributing factors to this finding.  Three of them strike me as especially interesting.  One is the X chromosome.  Persons assigned female at birth have two X chromosomes, and that is an advantage over those assigned male at birth, who have the XY chromosome pattern.  The X chromosome is larger, containing 10 times more genes than the Y chromosome.  This means that female bodies have access to a much larger array of immune genes, increasing the likelihood of surviving infections and diseases.  

A second finding interesting to me is that the female small intestine is longer than that found in males, which means our bodies absorb more nutrients from the same quantity of food, nutrients needed to replenish the body during menstruation, pregnancy, and breastfeeding.  

A third finding…estrogen confers a variety of immune advantages, testosterone does just the opposite. Women also have higher counts of active neutrophils, the white blood cells that fight infections.  

Anna, Bethia, and Martha survived…because their bodies were built for survival.  Because they persisted to learn despite social and cultural prohibitions, which often caused them to disguise what they had learned, they saved the lives of many others.  While being thought of as “the weaker sex,” they were not.  Perhaps the men in the power structure, and it was all men in the power structure, knew in some way that women really were stronger, and if they were also allowed to learn and speak of what they knew, the power structure would no longer be only men.  Perhaps remnants of that thinking still persists today….

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