Wednesday, February 1, 2017
If you're among certain kinds of Northern European pagans, the year is divided into eight pie pieces, by the holidays. Four of those holidays are the solstices and equinoxes, and then there's an observance bisecting each of those.
At the Winter Solstice, one of the things people do sometimes is to hold vigil for the sun to return after its longest night. We watch the sun set, and then we stay up all night to watch it return. It's a way that we can express faith that we will stand through the darkest times, until the light comes again. We greet the return of the sun with joy, though winter's only half over, because we are now on the road to spring.
Roughly six weeks later, we come to Imbolc. In agrarian cultures, it marked the lactation of the ewes, the first faint sign that the lambs were coming, and spring following behind them. Long before the weather turned, before the earth quickened or the trees put forth their leaves, into the bitter grey there came the promise of spring. Here in Central Texas, Imbolc is more likely marked by the first green shoots and budding wildflowers, to herald our brief and gentle spring before the brutal summer takes hold.
The reason that Imbolc is my favorite is that it's a marker of validated faith. In the northern latitudes you can't see, at the Winter Solstice, any real indication that spring will ever return. All you have is your belief in how the world works, that it will continue to follow the laws of nature that it always has, and then at Imbolc that faith is met with proof.
When I lived in the Midwest, I always knew that the worst of the year, the most bitter, brutal, demoralizing cold came in February, in the weeks following Imbolc. No matter how mild a January thaw might be, there remained the looming threat of weather so cold it would freeze the gas lines in your car, burst your pipes, creep in around your windows to torment your sleep. The worst of winter was always its last gasp.
As a modern, educated pagan who knows exactly how the seasons progress and why, there's less concern that the sun will or won't come back, and the cycle of the year becomes metaphorical. Imbolc comes to stand for the moment when the darkness breaks briefly, to give you a glimpse of the coming light before the year plunges you into another harsh test of faith.
My country is in darkness now. The long election season and the first two weeks of the new administration have cast a lot of people into despair. We rightly worry that fear and ignorance have handed the reins of power to a dangerous madman, and that we'll end in war -- external OR internal. The most vulnerable members of our society are at ever-greater risk.
There have been small victories, though. Marches and protests, rogue government agencies, little wins over policy or polemic. There is just enough happening to mark an Imbolc moment, a signal to those who crave light that it will come someday and give us the ease and abundance of full summer.
There may yet be worse to come than we've endured already. There may be more danger, there may be more rage and fear driving our actions and our neighbors'. It's not yet time to plant our gardens, or plan our leisure time. We have more tests of faith before us, but we can survive them.
We must apply winter logic, though, if we're going to get as many people as possible through the darkness ahead.
Know your resources and use them carefully. Check on one another. Support and take care of your neighbors. Stand up for each other. Plan for the worst. Keep your faith and believe in the better times coming, but make sure your root cellar is stocked to get you to them. Trade what you have for what you need. Fight the madness that accompanies isolation and despair with companionship, with music, with laughter. Find a hearth and circle it with love. Connect where you can, and fight where you must, but remember, always, that your only goal is to carry yourself and as many of the lives around you as possible through to the better days.
Together, in community with one another, we can reach spring.
Thursday, January 26, 2017
Jane was born at the end of 1972. Her mother had not wanted her, or her older sibling, but had no access to reliable birth control, and she had a husband with needs and expectations who wouldn't have allowed any child of his to be put up for adoption. It became clear to me, the longer I knew her, that Jane's mother was one of those people who should never have had children, and she knew it.
Rather than try to become the good mother she was singularly ill-equipped to be, Jane's mom let the resentment through. My friend was regularly beaten; she confided to me once that her mom had started using the belt on her upper thighs, because she'd had her ass beaten so frequently it no longer really hurt that much, and her mom had figured that out.
The thing that sticks with me, more than any other, is Jane finding out when my birthday was, and saying enviously, "You were wanted." I was born *after* the landmark Roe vs. Wade decision. Our friendship fell across that historic cusp.
Since she could remember, my good friend's mother had told her, on a regular basis, that she wished abortion had been legal in her state. She told her "If it had been six months later or if I could have afforded to drive to another state, I would have aborted you." She told her "you never should have been born and I wish you hadn't." She told her children "Your father left after you were born and it was your fault. He wouldn't have left me if not for you." Jane looked at everyone she knew through an age-related filter, with everyone younger than her living in this miracle land of being a wanted child, because the law hadn't forced their mothers to have them like it had hers.
Everything Jane had done to improve her life, from studying hard to taking up hobbies to applying to colleges and getting a part-time job, her mother met with, "Why bother? You'll just ruin your own life like you ruined mine." When she started dating, she was told, "When you've gone and gotten yourself knocked up, I'll take you to get an abortion because even you don't deserve a child like you."
I can't explain what it was like to be in proximity to this kind of toxic relationship. Jane made me promise not to tell anyone because every time someone tried to help it got worse. I was much younger then, so I kept her secret.
As the years wore on and we moved to different cities, Jane and I had our fallings-out. She was always a difficult person to be friends with, so quick to reject friendship if she had any fear that it might hurt her, so guarded against trust. But when she was in an emotionally healthy space the friendship was good and solid. Jane at her best was bright, kind, and witty.
Looking back I wish I'd tried harder to hold the connection, but that was tough to do in the days before email, and cellphones with free long distance, and jobs that pay enough for road trips. She started making some dangerous choices with drugs and sex, and the last straw for a close relationship was me trying to talk to her about that. I was not particularly subtle or empathetic about it, and she was not open to having her slow suicide through deliberate irresponsibility called out. She told me she should never have been born anyway, so why did it matter? We spoke occasionally after that, but the real closeness and trust were gone. Eventually, the relationship just dissolved, and she faded out of my life.
Whenever abortion comes up, I think of Jane. I hope she's all right and that she eventually managed to get the help she needed to deal with her abuse. I hope that she's never become the mother she feared she'd be if she had kids. I hope that her life, today, is one of joy and freedom. Every so often I put her name in a search engine to no real effect, and I'm not even sure what I'd say to her if I found her.
Most stories of the days before Roe focus on the women, the ones who lost their lives or suffered desperate health crises as a result of a botched illegal abortion. We tell a lot of stories about women whose lives were derailed or forever altered by a pregnancy and motherhood they didn't choose.
We talk about how now, because abortion is not as readily available as it should be, we have not reached the goal of making every pregnancy wanted and healthy. We talk so much about the effects of abortion restriction upon the women who are forced to bear by them.
I can never deny, though, that the deepest part of my own opinions on the necessity of safe, legal, accessible abortion doesn't come from my own identity as a woman, or from my belief in my bodily autonomy. It was formed by being helpless to stop the pain of a child who would not have existed if abortion access had been a reality for her mother.
Sunday, January 15, 2017
Whether it's a natural outgrowth of healthy polyamory or a general goal some people struggle towards is a matter of hotly debated opinion, and I'm not going to weigh in on it here. I'm here today to talk about a different type of compersion: the manner in which it relates to the people your partner loves but is specifically not involved romantically with. I'm talking about seeking compersion with your partner's friend group.
I am part of a large, caring, close-knit tribe. We're loud, loving, honest and heavily invested in our success as individuals and as a group. Many of us struggle with some form of chronic physical or mental illness, so we support one another on the bad days and celebrate the good ones. We've got a diverse skillset that includes domestic, medical, technical, literary, financial, and social skills, and each of us is happy to put those skills to use to help one another, so that we all benefit from what we each have. Without this group, my depression would have claimed me years ago; other friends would have failed in things they wanted or needed.
Over the years, some of the people I've dated have been intimidated by my tribe. They see this group of unfailing advocates as somehow arrayed *against* them, in competition for my time, energy, or affection. One poor fellow once told me, "Well, I just feel like if they don't like me, you won't like me."
He had it backwards. If I love you and they see that you love me, my tribe will look at you through that filter, and if they don't understand what I see in you, they'll try to find it, try to build a relationship with you, try to meet you on some common ground, because they want my highest good. They are invested in me being well and happy, and they consider anyone who is invested in me being well and happy as their ally. It takes a lot for them to say, "No, I'm sorry, I know that this person is important to you, but I can't accept them." And in most cases, that starts with a partner rejecting the friends, not the other way around.
The effects of having a tribe like mine have been twofold. The first was that I chose not to pursue a relationship with anyone who treated my tribe as adversaries, and I feel that I'm much better for it. If someone couldn't respect the people who love and support me as an important part of my life and necessary to my emotional health, then that person wasn't committed to my happiness. My partner, on the other hand, has been delighted to find that I had such a wonderful support system, and he has really enjoyed building relationships with them. Our wedding was a celebration of shared happiness surrounded by people committed to supporting it.
The other effect is that I view my partner's friends as MY allies in his happiness. He has a group of good friends, and I have made it a point to know and have relationships with his friends, because if they are the people he enjoys and loves, who share in his triumphs and support him in his troubles, then they're on my side because they're on his. When he goes out with them, and has a good time, I get the benefit of seeing him happy. When we hang out together, we all have the shared baseline of valuing my partner upon which to build our own friendships.
That's where, for me, non-romantic compersion comes into play. I have some interests my partner does not share. He likes to do some things I either don't have time and energy for or an interest in doing. If we tried to be everything to one another, tried to be the sole support, then we'd both be less happy. But I can see him come home from an afternoon of games with his buddies, or plan to go out with a friend to see a show, and celebrate the joy he has in doing things he enjoys. When we have separate experiences, we have things to talk about together. Even in our monogamous relationship, we can embrace the things and people outside our relationship that make one another happy, and take our own pleasure from it.
Too often, I see the partners of friends or loved ones look at established friendships with suspicion, as obstacles to be navigated or power struggles to be won. I've seen partners who treated friends as competition for a finite resource, and that hurts everyone.
Love is never a finite resource; time is. And you have the choice, in your relationships, to compete for that finite resource and ensure that someone doesn't get enough of it, or to share it with the people who, when your beloved's demons come calling, will stand beside you as you help to fight them.
Thursday, December 29, 2016
New Year's Day is upon us, and everywhere we look people are gearing up for Massive Life Change. This year, it's gonna be different. Really a new leaf. Gonna save money, gonna quit smoking, gonna get fit, gonna eat right, gonna bike to work three times a week.
I don't make New Year's resolutions, but I get that for some people that particular modality works. Fresh starts are very appealing. I'm here to talk to you today about one of those things you're all excited about: your gym membership.
My partner and I belong to a gym, and every year the regulars grit their teeth at the arrival of The Resolutioneers. They're on all the machines, struggling and sweating, they're filling up the pool and the locker room, they're clogging your favorite yoga class and harshing your namaste. They swell the ranks of gym-goers for about a month, and then it tapers back to normal by the end of February. Many of the regulars, at that point, breathe a sigh of relief. Now, they say, it will be fine until 'swimwear season' and then again until the holidays next year.
The resolutioneers make me profoundly sad. Not because they're inconveniencing me or crowding a space I use. I don't mind that part so much, because they're enjoying a thing I enjoy. I'm sad because I see them hit the gym like it owes them money, fast and fierce and intent, but never find the grip on a lasting habit. Over the last almost-ten years of gym memberships, I've been watching the resolutioneers to try and figure out why they fail. If you're looking for a shiny new gym, I've got a few tips for you. I'm not a trainer, so they're not tips for working out. I'm someone who loves the gym, so they're tips for how to become one of those.
It starts before you even begin. A lot of people are choosing a gym the wrong way. The absolute first consideration for a gym is "how convenient is this for me to get to?" All other factors take second place to whether a gym is on your way to or from work, near home or the kids' daycare, convenient for a lunch break session on the elliptical. Even the best gym is worthless if *just getting there* is a chore. After that, you look into classes and facilities, does it have childcare, is the facility clean and well-maintained? But first, convenience.
Then, too many of you skip the personal training sessions. Yeah, I get it, it saves a few bucks, but most gyms offer a low-cost introductory training session, in which you're taught how to gym. You're asked to clarify your goals, and figure out what you need to do to meet them. You're given a tour of all the things in your gym. You learn how to set up the weights and use them safely and responsibly. And if your trainer is worth anything, you learn about the importance of gym etiquette.
Not understanding the basic manners of the gym is one of the greatest sources of conflict between regulars and resolutioneers, and it's one of the biggest hurdles on the path to being an active member of your gym. If you're breaking the rules in ways that interfere with other peoples' ability to work out, they won't help you. They won't be open and welcoming. They'll just work around you until you go away.
Listen, we know you're new. We know you don't know what you're doing, because we all remember what WE looked like when we were new and had no idea what we were doing. Some of us have been doing this for a while, and we've learned helpful things we could share with you. We won't share them if you're sitting on a machine for ten minutes checking your phone, or if you're blocking the only available treadmill while you have a conversation with a friend. We won't share them with the person who just walked away leaving the weight bench coated in sweat. We won't share them if you've draped your gym bag over the machine next to you, or if you leave your equipment all over the weight room floor. Pissy and elitist? Maybe, but maybe not. A gym only works if everyone uses the resources cooperatively; most of us are there to work, with a limited amount of time allocated out of the day. We don't have time to explain to five people a day why you need to wipe down the equipment after you sweat on it, or argue with you about not slamming the weights.
If someone asks you, "You need a hand with that?" or "Everything OK?" it likely is a polite way of saying "I see that you are doing this in a way that may hurt you or break the equipment and I'd like to help you not do that," or "I see that you are struggling with something I know how to do." Most of the time the advice they have will make what you're doing feel better, smoother, and less awkward. If it doesn't, ask one of the trainers; they're usually good about one-off questions, especially questions about not breaking things or getting hurt.
Building friendly rapport with your fellow gym-goers goes a long way to making the experience supportive. You don't have to make small talk or have long chatty conversations at the juice bar, but you'll notice people smiling at you, exchanging friendly nods, offering advice or encouragement, and that changes the experience. You become part of a community.
OK, so you've got a convenient gym, you've got an exercise plan, you're making friends, now what? You've got to set and keep sustainable goals and be realistic about your capacity for gym attendance. Every year I talk to someone who says to me, "I've come to the gym EVERY DAY for the last two weeks!!!!!" and I never see them again because they're exhausted and then they miss a day, it turns into two days, and they get demoralized by the 'failure' and give up.
The most important exercise you do at the gym is walking through the door. Just get there. Whether you went yesterday should have no bearing on your attendance tomorrow. Missed a week in a row? I guarantee you no one will judge you if you *walk back through that door*. Missed two weeks? Man, they don't care as long as you *walk back through that door*. Just gonna show up and sit in the hot tub? No one tracks you once you *walk back through that door*.
Decide how many days a week is a reasonable goal, and how many is a 'stretch' goal. On a good week, I work out three times (plus whatever activity I do outside the gym). Most weeks, it's two. So I don't beat myself up if I only go twice, but I applaud myself if I make that third day. Your reasonable schedule should be one that you can keep. If you need to pay for classes, or work with a buddy, or designate scheduled nights to make yourself get into the habit then do it, but GO. A hectic schedule will flex around what you make time for, I promise you.
Make sure you build a varied workout. Use weights or weight machines to build strength, and treadmills, ellipticals, or bikes for cardio and endurance. Balancing the work you do gives better results, and it keeps the gym from being boring. It also helps you set goals that are unrelated to weight loss, and this is essential. I can't tell you how much weight I've lost at the gym, but I can tell you how much my lift numbers and my cardio time have increased.
Learn to use the gym to deal with life stressors. Bad day at work? Move weight till you're not pissed off any more. Family driving you nuts? Plug in the headphones and run away for a little while. Hyper kids? Drop them at the activity center, then hit a yoga or a dance class while they burn off their energy. Pack a gym bag and leave it in your car so you're always ready to stop off and work out.
Set functional rewards for practical goals. It's best if they somehow improve your workout. One full month of three-times-a-week attendance got me my Fitbit so I can track my workouts, and the next attendance goal will get me some new gym clothes. A lot of people do food-based rewards, but that sets up the idea that food and exercise are enemies. Food and exercise are friends because if you don't have calories you can't work out, and if you don't have protein you can't build muscle.
There will come a day when you really don't want to go to the gym. You're tired from your day, you've got a headache, you're down to the crappy sports bra, whatever. Whatever it is, it's not really a reason, just an excuse. There's really nothing keeping you from going except that the sofa is comfy and warm and the Netflix is all queued up. That day, you HAVE to go. That day is your routine-brain trying to get back to what it finds comfortable, and it'll keep coming up with excuses for you. You have to be able to tell routine-brain no.
Then there will come a day when you really want to work out and you can't. You've twisted an ankle, or you're getting over a nasty flu, or a legit workplace crisis eats your workout time. First, congratulations on building your workouts so deeply into your life that you *miss* them when you can't have them. Second, set a return date and stick to it, or that two-day hiatus can turn into weeks. The feeling of accomplishment at that 'first workout back', knowing that you took care of yourself and then came back to the goal, is wonderful.
Lastly, take advantage of your gym's amenities. I wandered into the sauna once, and now it's how I finish every workout because it gives me a quiet, contemplative space to set that good endorphin feeling and carry it with me when I leave. Whirlpools for sore muscles, steam rooms, dry saunas, cooldown pools, try it all and figure out what helps you walk out of the gym feeling energised and clear-headed.
I wish everyone luck and happiness on their 2017 journey, and I hope you find habits that you enjoy and benefit from!
Tuesday, December 27, 2016
Beautiful voices fall silent. Passionate hearts cease to beat. Visionary eyes dim and close for a final time. All lives do end.
For decades, they showed me where to go, how to love and live. They dared me to achieve, challenged me to be compassionate. They crafted lyrics that inspired me, delivered performances that touched me. They changed the faces of nations, and rewrote human knowledge.
And for a while here, especially with the loss of Carrie Fisher today, I've been feeling...bereft. Directionless. As each life fades into grey I can see upon my own where its colors were, where the greatness bled through their gifts to me.
What, now, am I to do? How do I find my way without their lights to guide me? They blazed the trail for all of us, up to the edge of this terrifying blackness.
I ask the Universe, and the answer comes back, "If you need them, become them."
How, though? I'm no virtuoso, no gifted performer, no brilliant creature to capture and inspire millions. I'm no political hero, no revolutionary. I'm a simple person who lives a simple life, as heart-first as I can make it.
In that is the answer. I will never be a brilliant guiding star, blazing across the heavens to touch millions of lives. But here, today, now, can I lift one person to hope? Can I teach one person that they are loved? Can I show one child that I believe in them and their dreams are in reach?
Millions of us have lost heroes this year. As we cast about for new heroes, let us not forget that this darkness gives US the chance to step forward and shine, to cast the light we need and maybe show others the way in the process. We can find new heroes, or we can become them.
If 2016 has destroyed something you loved, then face 2017 with a ready heart. Raise your voice, raise your fist, raise your spirits. Take hold of your passions, promise yourself that this year you'll create something beautiful, fix something broken, improve something that could be better.
If you're grieving, today, the loss of someone whose brilliance illuminated your life, then now is your moment to carry their light forward.
They weren't just shining for us. They were teaching us to burn.
Thursday, November 10, 2016
- It's not about 'the barricades'; it's about the day-to-day. It can be tempting to envision the fight for equality and dignity as an actual physical *fight*, one where we might need to take up arms to defend our friends. I desperately hope it never comes to that. The real battle is going on every day, in ways that don't feed our adrenaline. Most of the things you can do to stand and defend involve sitting and listening, speaking and teaching, reading and writing. It's tiring work, and it must continue steadily to do any good. The good news is that if you do it right, the number of people doing it with you increases, rippling outward from you.
- The goal is supporting others, not protecting them. We protect children, we protect the weak, we protect those who are incapable. Our friends are strong, courageous, intelligent, and dedicated. They can protect themselves. Do not stand between them and harm, thinking you can somehow shield them with your body. Stand behind them and beside them and among them. You are not the hero in someone else's fight for equality. You are the sidekick. Embrace that and be the best possible sidekick.
- Start by listening. Let your friends know that you would like to hear what they need from you, and then do your best to help them get what they need. Be present. Be thoughtful. Be open. Understand that they may have been burned, in the past, by 'allies' who demanded a tremendous amount of time and energy and praise in order to be decent human beings, so if your friends trust you enough to talk to you about things, be grateful for their trust.
- Accept feelings as valid, even if you don't have the same response to the situation. Don't try and tell people they're overreacting, don't try and tell them things will be OK, don't try and explain to them how it will all be fine and we just need to 'focus on the positive'. There are people legitimately afraid for themselves and their families, and that's not new. Some of these people are only experiencing a magnification of fears they've had every day for years. Understand that there is a real vulnerability in admitting those fears, acknowledge them and take them seriously.
- Don't make your friends waste precious time and energy when you can do the work yourself. Asking what you can do is good. Asking for recommendations to read is good. Asking your friend to dedicate hours to an online conversation explaining the basics of sexism to you and proving to your satisfaction that that is indeed what they are experiencing is cruel and exhausting. Asking your friend to give you detailed descriptions of what is and is not racist because you want to change as little as possible without hitting any land mines is lazy. Before you ask someone to explain things to you, spend half an hour with Google. Don't use that time to come up with ways to punch holes in what they say. Use it to try and better understand what they're saying.
- Stop hearing "That thing you are doing is hurtful to me and others," as "you're a bad person who should be ashamed of yourself." Don't make others spend the time and energy to ensure that you have a positive experience as an ally, just because it upsets you to have your mistakes pointed out. You WILL make mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes. Be the person your friends can trust to say, sincerely, "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize. Thank you. I will be more mindful of that," not the one who tells them, "Why do I even try? I'm just wrong anyway. You should not be so harsh with people who are on your side, you know." Don't expect praise for basic decency as a human being. If your friends don't thank you, it doesn't mean they don't appreciate that you're there; you'll notice that appreciation in greater levels of trust and respect and friendship, not in overt praise or thanks.
- Carry safe space with you, and establish safe space where you are. Be the person your friend can trust to chime in with, "I agree with (friend), I don't think it's OK for you to say/do that either," or "I'd rather you not use that sort of language around me," or "I'm not sure you're aware of it, but that thing you're doing hurts people." This is a hard balance, because you also need to do it without co-opting others' rights for them to speak for themselves. Let your friends know you will back them, and then follow their lead. Don't try to own the conversation, just support the people having it. Make sure that your home is safe space. This can be as simple as creating a space where others feel comfortable to speak up because they know they'll be supported, or as significant as keeping your spare room ready to receive someone who needs to get out of a bad situation quickly.
- Embrace and use your privilege. There is *something* in your demographic that means some people might take you more seriously than they would take those who don't have it. Once you understand what that is, whether it's your gender, gender identity, race, religion, sexuality, ability, or some other factor, you can use your status in the group to actively include and advocate for others who aren't. Tell your male buddies you don't think rape jokes are funny, whether there are women around or not. Call out your other white friends on racist comments. Speak among your other straight friends of the need for LGBT rights. Make sure that gender-specific events are planned as trans-inclusive. Always be looking for ways you can include, support, and amplify others. If you're aware of areas where you're not privileged, then let that awareness give you empathy in the areas where you are. When different groups of people work together to overcome each other's oppressive systems, this is called intersectionality, and it is good.
- Members of demographic groups are individuals, not a monolithic hive mind. One member of the group who doesn't have a problem with a slur or a joke can't 'give you permission' to use it whenever you like around anyone you want. Some members of a group may not want your active support, for whatever reason. That's up to them, and you have to respect it. Some may not recognise you as an ally, while others might consider you one. Again, that's up to them and you have to respect it. Remember that these are your loved ones, first and foremost, and your goal should be making sure that you are doing what you can to make sure they, as individuals, have the opportunity to be safe and happy on their terms, not yours.
- You're not obligated to attend every fight to which you're invited. The fight for justice and equality is going to be decades more at least. You have to choose a sustainable level of involvement. Sometimes, you have to say "I am too tired to take that on right now." That's OK, as long as you do step in when you're NOT too tired. If you see someone else fighting for their life, remember that they're probably at least as tired as you, and that even a little public encouragement could mean the world.
Monday, November 7, 2016
Tonight, I will get a good night's rest and then tomorrow at 6am I will report to the polling station where I've been assigned. I will spend all day helping people exercise their right to vote, and then I will come home and, like most of you, anxiously watch as the numbers are counted across my city, my state, and my nation.
I am doing this because for more than 20 years, other people have done the work necessary for me to walk into a polling place and blithely cast my vote. Other people have risen on dark mornings, blearily blinked away the sleep as the coffee took effect, and put in fourteen-hour days so I could have a voice. It's my turn now, and I'm excited beyond measure to take my place within the process, to be the one who says, "Welcome, please step into this booth and cast your ballot."
It has never been hard for me to vote. I've never had to fight for it. Perhaps I was inconvenienced, perhaps I had to sacrifice an hour or two, but I've never been afraid for my safety as a result of my choice to vote.
That's not true for everyone. Only a half-century ago, activists risked death to register black voters in Southern states, and those voters risked assault or abuse for showing up to the polls. Voters navigated poll tests and poll taxes, risked the ire of the KKK, walked past armed men who just 'happened' to be hanging out around the voting locations, marking who thought they had the right to walk in. And yet they walked in, because they believed in overturning the system that would keep them silent. There are people who will vote tomorrow who have done so when they believed they might die for it.
Only a century ago, the right of women's suffrage was so important that women were willing to risk assault, imprisonment, starvation or force-feeding. They were willing to be considered beyond what little protection the law afforded 'decent women' so that whatever happened to them might be called no more than they deserved. Despite all the risk, despite all the threats, they fought and won it. There are women voting in this election who were not born with that right.
Even the privileged original American voter, the white male property owner, has an obligation. Over two hundred years ago the colonies took up arms in the name of self-governance, granting you a voice instead of continuing to accept British priorities for colonial lives. Our Constitution is based on the principles that drove them to take up arms in rebellion.
No matter who you are, no matter what your demographics or your politics, if you're an American someone fought for your voice to be heard. We forget sometimes how much the simple act of voting meant to those who couldn't do it. It's easy, in a frustrating election cycle in a cynical time, to get apathetic and feel like there's no reason to show up, no reason to care.
There is so much reason to care. Our country stands at a crossroads, deciding what sort of nation it will be, what values will carry us through the 21st century. Choices are being made in the halls of power that will dictate our economic relationships, our basic and fundamental rights, our ability to express ourselves, even the love we choose to honor. And choices are being made in voting booths that will decide who fills the halls of power.
You must believe something. There has to be something, deep down in your psyche, not matter how jaded or cynical you may think yourself, something that matters to you. Somewhere in your ideology there must be a vision for what we as a nation should look like, act like, BE like.
And tomorrow, you should take up that vision, those ideals and dreams, and carry them to the poll if for no other reason than to honor those who cleared your way.