Democracy looks like a crowd,
So the process can sometimes be loud.
When we learned to shout,
They shut us all out,
But democracy still will be proud.
Okay, so maybe we don't need protest limericks, but surely there are some good rhymes for Walker, Fitgerald, Koch, collective, and oppression.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Rally Recap
Yesterday was a mandatory furlough day for the UW Colleges. (Yeah, first day of spring break. Awesome how our furlough days don't give us actual time off other than what we already have.) A bunch of us spent our day in Madison.
It's interesting to me that we planned this before Walker even released his Budget Repair Bill. Although we had no idea what would actually be proposed--in the bill or in the actual budget--we did have concerns about our legislators' perceptions of the role of higher education in the state of Wisconsin. So, about a week before the bill was released, we began to plan a rally in Madison.
Since the initial planning stage, the political landscape has shifted dramatically. And so did ideas about what the day should be about. Many of my colleagues at our far-flung campuses had not been to Madison at all recently, and they viewed this as their opportunity to protest. Others of us really wanted to be positive and try to educate about what we do.
I wanted--no, I needed--to stay positive. There is much to protest, clearly. But my strengths are not in chanting, singing, and marching (although I do get much out of these things). My strengths are in thinking about what's next and in educating.
What I personally needed from yesterday was to feel like I was doing something new and different. I needed to be with my colleagues, many of whom I see only once or twice a year.
I have to say that it was a good, good day. It is easy to underestimate the value of physically being with other like-minded people. We can share so much on Facebook, but being there, hugging, marching together, and standing shoulder-to-shoulder was so healing.
We had a little over 100 people there, which was perfect. We felt together. We did a little chanting, we marched around the capitol, and we went into the Rotunda together, where we sang and visited our legislators.
My favorite moments:
It's interesting to me that we planned this before Walker even released his Budget Repair Bill. Although we had no idea what would actually be proposed--in the bill or in the actual budget--we did have concerns about our legislators' perceptions of the role of higher education in the state of Wisconsin. So, about a week before the bill was released, we began to plan a rally in Madison.
Since the initial planning stage, the political landscape has shifted dramatically. And so did ideas about what the day should be about. Many of my colleagues at our far-flung campuses had not been to Madison at all recently, and they viewed this as their opportunity to protest. Others of us really wanted to be positive and try to educate about what we do.
I wanted--no, I needed--to stay positive. There is much to protest, clearly. But my strengths are not in chanting, singing, and marching (although I do get much out of these things). My strengths are in thinking about what's next and in educating.
What I personally needed from yesterday was to feel like I was doing something new and different. I needed to be with my colleagues, many of whom I see only once or twice a year.
I have to say that it was a good, good day. It is easy to underestimate the value of physically being with other like-minded people. We can share so much on Facebook, but being there, hugging, marching together, and standing shoulder-to-shoulder was so healing.
We had a little over 100 people there, which was perfect. We felt together. We did a little chanting, we marched around the capitol, and we went into the Rotunda together, where we sang and visited our legislators.
My favorite moments:
- Singing "We Shall Overcome in the Rotunda," standing right next to a friend and colleague who was a civil rights activist in the Milwaukee Open Housing marches. Wow.
- There was a field trip, and I watched the fourth-graders walking through the Rotunda. They were encouraged to lie down and take pictures of the dome. Truly, it is a beautiful, beautiful building.
- While the children were there, one of my friends lifted up his sign promoting the UW Colleges. Immediately, 50 kids turned toward him to take his picture. He laughed and said, "This is awesome. For those kids, from now on, I will be the face of democracy."
- Walking into the Capitol. Several years ago, I was at a conference in Madison and stayed at a hotel nearby. I went on a walk and was thrilled to discover that I could just walk right into the Capitol building. When I was there for early protests, before the people were kicked out, I was overwhelmed by the experience. On February 15, the first day of the big protests, I was struck by how transcendent it was to stand inside the capitol building and shout, "This is what democracy looks like!" I get chills now, just thinking about it. When I was there with my daughter several weeks ago, I was moved by all the signs on the walls and the community that had developed inside the building. The last time I'd seen the inside of the building, it had been the people's house. Yesterday, I had to go to a particular set of doors to get in. I walked through the door. The walls were naked and bare. I had to walk through security. I had to have my bag searched. I cried. It felt so wrong, and I felt like I didn't belong there anymore.
- I was wearing a campus sweatshirt, though, and one of the troopers did stop me to say he was from the same county and to ask how I was doing as a state employee in such a conservative county. That meant so much to me, and it helped me shift away from my sadness a bit. But it didn't take it away.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Warning: Bad Gynecological Haiku Ahead...
Then again, is there any good gynecological haiku?
A year before my hysterectomy, I spent Christmas Eve wondering if I would ever even see another Christmas. I was waiting on results from biopsies I'd had of cervical and vaginal lesions.
One night when I couldn't sleep from the worry, I decided to try to write some haiku. I don't know why. I'm not a poet (as you'll see). But just for fun (mine, not yours), I'm going to share it with the world here.
Fibroids
Squeezing inside me
Uterus cramping in pain
Proving that I live
The Neck
From womb to the world
Passageway for my children
Bringer of my death
The Cell
Dysplasia, lesions
Prison of my own making
Life out of control
Female
Breast cancer steals breasts.
My womanhood? So I thought.
Life is at the core.
This reminds me. It's time to schedule an appointment with a gynecologist.
A year before my hysterectomy, I spent Christmas Eve wondering if I would ever even see another Christmas. I was waiting on results from biopsies I'd had of cervical and vaginal lesions.
One night when I couldn't sleep from the worry, I decided to try to write some haiku. I don't know why. I'm not a poet (as you'll see). But just for fun (mine, not yours), I'm going to share it with the world here.
Fibroids
Squeezing inside me
Uterus cramping in pain
Proving that I live
The Neck
From womb to the world
Passageway for my children
Bringer of my death
The Cell
Dysplasia, lesions
Prison of my own making
Life out of control
Female
Breast cancer steals breasts.
My womanhood? So I thought.
Life is at the core.
This reminds me. It's time to schedule an appointment with a gynecologist.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Why I Am Not Going to Madison Today
For the past month, my heart has been in Madison.
And for more than a week—yes, even before the events of March 9—I have planned to go to Madison tomorrow. I wanted to do my share of being physically present, and adding my body and voice to the masses. Then I found out that a tractor parade would be there, and I got more excited. Then March 9 happened (Senate vote). And March 10 happened (Assembly vote). And March 11 happened (Governor signature). The sadness I have felt in some moments of this week has surprised me. I have invested so much of my heart, mind, energy, and time into following the life of the budget bill and the people who have cared about it. I was not prepared to have it all come to an end in such an abrupt and unexpected way. This week, I felt shock, betrayal, and despair. My life has centered around Madison, the heart of the state, although physically I have been an hour away.
As some of my rights were removed and my paycheck was gutted (yes, me, a state employee who chose a life of service and who brings home less money each month than she did in 2001), my need to make a pilgrimage to the capitol became deeper. I yearned to be with the thousands of others who feel like I’ve been feeling—or who care about workers’ rights. And the “entertainment” grew. Tony Shalhoub is coming. The Wisconsin 14 are coming. I even heard that Michael Moore is coming back, and I think Jesse Jackson is still around. Just imagine the pictures I could take!
Today I realized something. I want to go to Madison today, but surprisingly I no longer need to. Instead, I have realized that the most important thing for me to do is to have a normal day. I know that being in Madison, with the thousands and thousands of others would be energizing and uplifting. I know that I could not go inside the Capitol. I think my heart would break a little seeing the naked walls and floors. It will always people the people’s home to me, and I am not ready to see it again as a statehouse.
I sense that the best thing for me to do is to start to reclaim my life. I am tired and worn out from the protesting, both real and mental. I am sore. My back hurts. My brain hurts. My heart hurts. I feel worn down. I’m behind on schoolwork and housework. I need to resume moving forward, not be where I am reminded of how angry and sad I've felt at times this week. I need to remember to live my life in the small things as well as the big. I've been looking forward to going for over a week, so I was a bit stunned yesterday to realize that I was gravitating toward being home with my family, reminding myself that it is important to do the things that only I can do as well as the things where I join with others.
Yesterday, I felt better today than I did the days before that. Wednesday night and Thursday, I felt so betrayed and oppressed. The Senate's actions--doing what it did in the way that it did--were so unbelievable to me. The Assembly's vote and the governor's signature are anti-climactic to me. Thursday, I could barely function. I have been incredibly distracted for several weeks. I thought I was so used to the idea that this would happen that it wouldn't actually hit me when it did; I was wrong.
Going to the judicial candidate forum Thursday afternoon was a good thing for me. Although I understood fewer than half the questions, I was reminded of the power of the vote. My vote is no less valid than Senator Fitzgerald's. I saw groups of teachers and several others wearing union sweatshirts. I knew I was not alone, and that we are not alone. It was healing to be reminded that life goes on, that this bill—as devastating as it is—is not the end of the world. Thinking about the vote on April 5 and the recallability of others in less than a year helped me focus on the fact that the seeds that have been planted in me, in us, will grow--that has been good.
On the first day of Spring Break, when my institution has a mandatory furlough day, many of my colleagues and I will join in Madison, to march and to meet with our legislators. That day will be quieter, but I will draw comfort from my friends in a way that cannot happen today. We will have time for conversation, for reminding ourselves of the ties that bind us. We are all affected by the bill and the budget in the same ways, which means we can focus on our issues and not be caught up in the union/labor aspects of the protest.
Still, I have discovered that I am fragile. Yesterday morning I felt good, in marked contrast to most of my colleagues. My classes went well and were fun. I assigned a piece of writing that I’m looking forward to reading. A good teaching day can do wonders for the soul.
Yet later that afternoon, I had a meltdown. At home, thinking about today’s protest, I started to feel sad and angry all over again. I am on edge, and it takes very little to push me over. Today I stay home, to protect myself and to try to rebuild a small layer of life over this week’s wounds.
Generally, I find that I am having intense moments with intense sadness. Yet I am also finding a sense of renewed purpose and energy for the work ahead. I am no less than I was yesterday, or the day before that, or the day before that. No matter what the law says.
And yes, I'm feeling conflicted. I do know that part of living is doing the big things. I know that the battle is not over, and that the movement needs bodies to be physically present. I am willing to do my share. But if I go today, I fear I will have nothing left to give later. It's like putting your own oxygen mask on first so you can better help others. I need to care for myself today so I have energy to keep fighting in the many other ways that will be needed.
So today, while my heart is still in Madison, my body needs to stay in my home, living.
And for more than a week—yes, even before the events of March 9—I have planned to go to Madison tomorrow. I wanted to do my share of being physically present, and adding my body and voice to the masses. Then I found out that a tractor parade would be there, and I got more excited. Then March 9 happened (Senate vote). And March 10 happened (Assembly vote). And March 11 happened (Governor signature). The sadness I have felt in some moments of this week has surprised me. I have invested so much of my heart, mind, energy, and time into following the life of the budget bill and the people who have cared about it. I was not prepared to have it all come to an end in such an abrupt and unexpected way. This week, I felt shock, betrayal, and despair. My life has centered around Madison, the heart of the state, although physically I have been an hour away.
As some of my rights were removed and my paycheck was gutted (yes, me, a state employee who chose a life of service and who brings home less money each month than she did in 2001), my need to make a pilgrimage to the capitol became deeper. I yearned to be with the thousands of others who feel like I’ve been feeling—or who care about workers’ rights. And the “entertainment” grew. Tony Shalhoub is coming. The Wisconsin 14 are coming. I even heard that Michael Moore is coming back, and I think Jesse Jackson is still around. Just imagine the pictures I could take!
Today I realized something. I want to go to Madison today, but surprisingly I no longer need to. Instead, I have realized that the most important thing for me to do is to have a normal day. I know that being in Madison, with the thousands and thousands of others would be energizing and uplifting. I know that I could not go inside the Capitol. I think my heart would break a little seeing the naked walls and floors. It will always people the people’s home to me, and I am not ready to see it again as a statehouse.
I sense that the best thing for me to do is to start to reclaim my life. I am tired and worn out from the protesting, both real and mental. I am sore. My back hurts. My brain hurts. My heart hurts. I feel worn down. I’m behind on schoolwork and housework. I need to resume moving forward, not be where I am reminded of how angry and sad I've felt at times this week. I need to remember to live my life in the small things as well as the big. I've been looking forward to going for over a week, so I was a bit stunned yesterday to realize that I was gravitating toward being home with my family, reminding myself that it is important to do the things that only I can do as well as the things where I join with others.
Yesterday, I felt better today than I did the days before that. Wednesday night and Thursday, I felt so betrayed and oppressed. The Senate's actions--doing what it did in the way that it did--were so unbelievable to me. The Assembly's vote and the governor's signature are anti-climactic to me. Thursday, I could barely function. I have been incredibly distracted for several weeks. I thought I was so used to the idea that this would happen that it wouldn't actually hit me when it did; I was wrong.
Going to the judicial candidate forum Thursday afternoon was a good thing for me. Although I understood fewer than half the questions, I was reminded of the power of the vote. My vote is no less valid than Senator Fitzgerald's. I saw groups of teachers and several others wearing union sweatshirts. I knew I was not alone, and that we are not alone. It was healing to be reminded that life goes on, that this bill—as devastating as it is—is not the end of the world. Thinking about the vote on April 5 and the recallability of others in less than a year helped me focus on the fact that the seeds that have been planted in me, in us, will grow--that has been good.
On the first day of Spring Break, when my institution has a mandatory furlough day, many of my colleagues and I will join in Madison, to march and to meet with our legislators. That day will be quieter, but I will draw comfort from my friends in a way that cannot happen today. We will have time for conversation, for reminding ourselves of the ties that bind us. We are all affected by the bill and the budget in the same ways, which means we can focus on our issues and not be caught up in the union/labor aspects of the protest.
Still, I have discovered that I am fragile. Yesterday morning I felt good, in marked contrast to most of my colleagues. My classes went well and were fun. I assigned a piece of writing that I’m looking forward to reading. A good teaching day can do wonders for the soul.
Yet later that afternoon, I had a meltdown. At home, thinking about today’s protest, I started to feel sad and angry all over again. I am on edge, and it takes very little to push me over. Today I stay home, to protect myself and to try to rebuild a small layer of life over this week’s wounds.
Generally, I find that I am having intense moments with intense sadness. Yet I am also finding a sense of renewed purpose and energy for the work ahead. I am no less than I was yesterday, or the day before that, or the day before that. No matter what the law says.
And yes, I'm feeling conflicted. I do know that part of living is doing the big things. I know that the battle is not over, and that the movement needs bodies to be physically present. I am willing to do my share. But if I go today, I fear I will have nothing left to give later. It's like putting your own oxygen mask on first so you can better help others. I need to care for myself today so I have energy to keep fighting in the many other ways that will be needed.
So today, while my heart is still in Madison, my body needs to stay in my home, living.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Two Weeks in Madison...and Counting
This video makes me cry every time I watch it. No matter what the outcome of these protests, I have been blessed to witness the beauty and dignity of a mass of people joining with each other for a greater good.
I sat on the floor in the Capitol last Saturday, nursing a headache and middle-aged knees. Thousands started shouting, and I could feel every voice soak into my body, absorbed from the marble on which I was sitting. I closed my eyes for a moment and wept.
"THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!"
Thursday, March 3, 2011
The Rotunda of My Mind #wearewi
(Note: I couldn't get the formatting the way it was in my mind, but you'll know what I mean.)
I shall never again see this . . .
. . . or this . . .
. . . without thinking of this . . .
. . . and this . . .
I shall never again see this . . .
. . . or this . . .
. . . without thinking of this . . .
. . . and this . . .
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