Democracy, 2020

I usually remain relatively quiet about political issues on Facebook.  In part, this is because when I joined Facebook (oh so long ago) I did so in order to feel personally connected to friends whom I see all too rarely, not to find a broad platform for my political views.  It’s also because there are many valid reasons for current and continual anger that don't touch me as much as they touch others, due to disparities and inequalities in our society. Thus, I need to speak less and listen more. Plus, as we all know, diving into political threads – or the comments section on pretty much anything -- can lead to despair and madness.  But I also know that at a certain point, silence makes me disengaged and complicit. 

Figuring out where and when to raise my voice is hard.  I could go so, so far into the weeds on… well, on practically everything.  Immigration?  Yeah, none of my grandparents were born in America.  Healthcare, policing, prisons, militarization?  We desperately need to take care of one another, and to learn from our own past, and from the rest of the world.  Racism, sexism, homophobia?  We have… so far to go. Wealth inequities, screwed up economic incentives, and environmental and social externalities that drive us ever further over a cliff?  Ugh.  Capitalism is a mess.

I’ve occasionally engaged, when I feel that I have direct standing in a discussion.  I’ve written about climate change, because I work as a climate scientist.  I’ve tried to apply my own personal perspective to larger issues, as I did in a blog post that linked loving ones country (while also fervently wanting to make it a better country) with the same feelings about ones children -- patriotism as parenting, if you will.  I’ve tried, ineptly, to talk about racism, sexism, immigration, the dismissal of science, the death of my own father from a tragically politicized disease that we know as COVID-19, and my own failings with regard to making any of this any better.

There’s too much to say, and I find myself overwhelmed and immobilized.  I suspect I’m not the only one.  My friends seem to be divided between those who say very little, and those who never stop saying.  I get it.  But for now, I’m going to say… just this one thing.

This November – this tumultuous and often terrible autumn, in a tumultuous and often terrible year, in a tumultuous and often terrible world -- I plan to vote.  I plan to vote for Grier Hopkins and Marna Sanford to represent me in Juneau.  I plan to vote for Alyse Galvin and Al Gross to represent me in DC.  And I plan to vote for Joe Biden and Kamala Harris to represent our nation to the rest of the world.  I will be casting these votes with all my heart.  I will also entreat everyone else I know – and anyone else I don’t know -- to do the same.  I will also beg everyone to do their best to flip the Senate out of its current toxic-majority condition, and to keep the House from slipping in a toxic direction.  Vote.  Please vote.  Bring others.  Persuade others.  Vote.

I entreat this for many, many reasons. I can’t possibly enumerate all of them here.  But the key point is that those reasons aren't abstract or “political” or “partisan”. Those reasons are real humans, who are suffering. They are real elements of the natural world, which once lost cannot be regained.

Do I think that all Democrats are right all the time? No, of course not. Nor do I think that of Independents, such as Gross and Galvin.  Do I think that Biden or Harris agree with all my opinions, or would always adhere to the soundest science? No, I don't -- but I do think that they respect science, that they respect human rights, and that either of them would sign into law some amazing legislation that could make it through Congress, if we have decent people in Congress to create and pass that legislation.

Remember, the President doesn't make the laws. He or she merely needs to veto the bad stuff, refrain from vetoing the good stuff, and appoint sane and honest judges who do not undermine the good stuff for decades to come.

Would I make Biden dictator? Hell, no, but that's not an insult. I wouldn’t make Harris, Gross, Galvin, Sanford, or Hopkins dictator, either.  There is no human being on the planet who agrees with me on everything, and even if there were, I would not give that person absolute power.

Democracy is messy. It involves compromises. It doesn't change as fast as it should. American democracy needs revamping in some deep, painful, and fundamental ways that involve widespread social change, economic change, and educational change -- as well as passing a lot of better laws, regulations, funding decisions, etc.

I agree that some change needs to occur "outside the system". That's the part we make by marching, by protesting, by writing, by educating ourselves and one another, by raising our voices, by having each others' backs and recognizing our joint humanity. But some change also needs to occur "within the system". That's the part we make by running for office, supporting good candidates, and simply... voting.

I am a scientist. I will keep working to try to figure out what might happen to us, if we don't clean up our act on climate change issues, and how we can adapt to the changes we've already wrought. I'll keep fighting. I'll keep bugging politicians about science, using whatever privilege, leverage, or status I have to do so. And I'll keep voting.

Vote.  Please vote.  Bring others.  Persuade others.  Vote.

 

Surviving Piggington

Among my friends and colleagues, there is a waterfall of grief and despair going on.  I’ve spent the past few days wallowing in that deluge.

I haven’t gotten over it.  I won’t really ever get over it – and that’s a good thing.  There are going to be a lot of letters to write, a lot of booths to staff, and a lot of charitable donations to make, over the next four years. I need to hold onto a kernel of outrage.  I need to promise myself that I will not let this – any of this -- become the “new normal”.

But I also need to focus my energy and channel my wrath.  Talking though these election results with two ten-year-old girls has been hell.  But it has also been good for me.  It turns out that the hopeful, optimistic truths I dug deep (REALLY deep) to offer to two distraught children are my own truths, too. 

Thus, although this list is still growing and morphing, I’ll share a few of my thoughts.

1) This election mattered A LOT.  Like, really, really, really a lot.    There are many ways in which our new President can threaten human rights and the environment, in the U.S. and worldwide.  However, our government is set up such that the President is not a dictator.  There are people who can check his actions.  We, the people, can peacefully, effectively, fight back.  This is not un-American; it is, in fact, intensely American.  Just as we are a nation of immigrants, we are also a nation of rebels, and always have been.

2) Although the President is certainly a Very Big Deal, most of what we experience in our daily lives depends not on how we are treated by the person in the White House, but how we are treated by the people who live next door… and the kids on the playground…and the folks who ring up our groceries or change our oil… and the teachers in our schools and universities. Yes, there are bigots out there, and that is horrible, but we already knew they were out there.  They were out there last week, last month, last year.  And, with the possible exception of Ku Klux Klan members, no one is 100% bigoted, and no one is 100% unbigoted.  Including me.  So, even as I’m trying to fight sexism, racism, xenophobia, and homophobia in the great big world, I’m going to try to avoid slapping labels on other people.  

3) Taking the high ground on being “informed”, like taking the high ground on being non-bigoted, feels crucial, yet shaky.  I have a PhD.  I read a lot.  I employ critical thinking skills.  But do I know everything about how to run this country?  Nope.  So while I’m going to do my damnedest to help counter misinformation in areas of my own expertise (“Anyone want to hear about climate change?  Anyone?  Anyone?”) I’m also going to try to keep learning.  And listening.

4) Even though right now it feels like we’re spiraling back to the Dark Ages, the choices of young voters and mock-voting children suggest otherwise.  Granted, I lead a privileged life.  I can’t speak for the experienced of LGBT or minority Americans.  But, heck, among locally reporting fifth-graders (in this red town in this red state), Hillary won all the electoral votes from “Narnia”, “Si-bear-ia”, and, indeed, all “states” and “territories” except for “Piggington”. 

Oh, Piggingtonites… I don’t think this is going to go any better for you than it is for the rest of us. 

The above photo depicts an exhaustive comparative literary analysis of the 1963 and 1980 editions of Richard Scarry’s Best Word Book Ever.   My daughters report, after intense scrutiny, that the awkward amendments intended to make the anthropomorphic bunnies, cats, walruses, and worms less sexist, do not, in fact, make the book less sexist.  They have a few editorial suggestions.  They have a few suggestions about other things, too.  Lots of other things.

5) On the morning after Election Day, one of the twins asked me how old she has to be before she can run for President.