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.

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!"

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 . . .

History Is... #wiunion #wearewi

My daughter and I went to the rally in Madison on Saturday. It was the biggest day yet, with around 100,000 people there. We had an amazing day as we went inside the Capitol building, marched around outside it, and stood outside waiting for the official rally to begin.

We were there partly as protesters but also as observers. With all the news coverage, we wanted to see what was going on as well as be part of it.

I loved watching my daughter soak it all in and be part of this big moment in history. At one point, we were walking up the Capitol steps. I looked at my daughter and said, "Honey, turn around. I want you to see all the people you're connected to right now." She turned around and saw about 80,000 people in the streets behind her. Later she said,"I know that I'm part of Wisconsin history now. I was born in Illinois, but now I feel like I'm part of Wisconsin and like it's a part of me."

And the fact that shortly after she saw all those people behind her, the band started playing the chicken dance and we shook our butts along with all those thousands of other Wisconsites, well, that helped make the day a bit fun as well as historical.




P.S. I've been tweeting so much about what is happening here that it feels natural and right to include hashtags in the blogpost heading.

Exercising My Civil Liberties

The governor's budget repair bill will devastate my family's finances. Despite what the average state worker in Wisconsin makes, I am far, far below average. As a nine-month employee, I have four months' worth of health insurance premiums taken out of my June paycheck--the last paycheck I will receive until October 1. If our premiums jump, I may have no actual income in June this year.

I doubt that it will make a difference in the legislative votes, but today I did something that was wonderful for me: I went to the State Capitol with colleagues to protest.

Wow!

Standing there with thousands of other people, our voices all speaking the same words, was an incredible experience. My favorite moment was when we were inside the Capitol Building and people started shouting, "This is what democracy looks like!" And truly, it was.

On Being Political on Facebook

Most of the time, I avoid expressing my political views on Facebook. My husband and I have a politically mixed marriage, so to a certain extent, this effort functions to preserve marital harmony. I also acknowledge that in my situations, being married to a husband who votes differently than I do has taught me to be very tolerant. Although I don’t always agree with his point of view, I am usually able to understand it. And I often find that my own political views are tempered by this understanding. Importantly, I have learned to focus my disagreements on positions and views, never on the individuals who hold offices or are running for them. I have refused to make things personal by referring to elected officials I dislike as “douchebags,” “stupid,” or “idiotic.”

Additionally, my Facebook friends come from many walks of life. They are from different states and countries, they have a variety of political and religious views, and they don’t all know me well. My choice to not post political comments has been made for the purpose of not offending people who feel differently than me. I consider myself a fair-minded person, and I want those around me to feel comfortable. I dislike the idea that my words, expressing a viewpoint that might offend or upset others, might cause discomfort in my friends. Although I would like to think that those words could change minds, I think it is more likely that some words could cause those who disagree with me to simply dismiss my ideas as being “other” and not worth reading.

I want to be a bridge-builder, not a bridge-burner.

Over the past few days, I have engaged in a great deal of political conversation on Facebook, in response to my governor’s proposed Budget Repair Bill. This has been extremely difficult for me to do. I have been in tears a couple times. I am terrified by this bill and the potential harm it will cause to my family’s budget. We have already been through financial hell the past few years. Experiencing the cut in take-home pay that would result from this bill’s passage would be one more thing keeping us from keeping our heads above water. This is personal for me in a way that most political issues are not.

Many of my colleagues have posted the letters they have written to their representatives. I borrowed heavily from their letters when I wrote mine. But I cannot share it. It refers to things that my family has gone through recently, and I don’t want to air my dirty laundry to all I know on Facebook. The letter is my voice, desperately begging for reconsideration. I feel like I am on my knees, clinging to the robes of the lawmakers and begging for alms. It shows a desperation that I strongly feel, even though it is not something I want to parade in front of my friends and colleagues.

I am making an effort not to personally attack the governor. I simply cannot bring myself to do that, although I find that I want to. I confess, too, that I enjoy seeing my friends’ status updates and the groups they join that label the governor as a dumb-ass or a douchebag.

Never before have I felt so conflicted about what I am posting there.

Blizzard!

I love storms.  There is something so primal about experiencing the full force of earth and sky, even from within a heated and insulated home.  Tuesday night I was lying there listening to the snow hit all sides of the house.  We woke up to a winter wonderland.  Front and back doors were drifted shut.  The garage door opened to reveal and three-foot-deep driveway.  Hubster used the snowblower to clear the driveway and sidewalk, while I shoveled the four-foot drift in front of the front door and the three-foot drift in front of the back door.