When two large cities like Lexington and Louisville – one with 350K people and the other with 600K people – each set up only one polling place for their entire city, and it closes at 6 pm, many people can’t or won’t vote.
That’s called voter suppression.
Very simply, thank you Wikipedia, voter suppression is a strategy used to influence the outcome of an election by discouraging or preventing specific groups of people from voting.
It sounds like something that would happen to other people in other countries. Countries that aren’t democratic. Countries with rulers who rule by force or nefarious practices. But it’s happening in America. Here. It happened literally yesterday.
People who can’t take the day off or work from home, who punch a time clock, who rely on public transportation, or who can’t stand in line for hours are less able to participate. That means the people we’re electing don’t really represent all of the American people – they represent the vote of the privileged population. And that’s one of the reasons our government is so out of balance, and also out of touch with much of America’s people.
Every single citizen deserves the opportunity to vote. While the state of Kentucky did allow votes by mail they – we – have to do much better. We have until November to figure it out.
At least a thousand times in years 1-21, I heard my Dad say If you hang around with dogs, you’ll start barking like a dog. Even now at 46 years of age it sort of makes me want to roll my eyes.
I hadn’t thought about that line in years until I recently heard this gem:
You catch what you’re close to.
It’s true for children and it’s true for adults. It’s true in our personal lives and in our professional lives. It’s true with the virus the world is watching right now. It’s true spiritually, regardless of what faith you practice. It’s true with belief systems and morals – the tendency to follow the belief systems of our families in our youth. You catch what you’re close to.
Dozens of studies tell us that if we surround ourselves with people who focus on positivity, we’re more likely to find ourselves focused on the positive. If we surround ourselves with people who are committed to living with certain principles we are more likely to maintain commitment to principles. If our close friends commit crimes we are more likely to commit a crime.
So it turns out, the old southern “you can’t waller with pigs and not get dirty” and “you can’t sleep with the dogs and not get fleas” are based on some science and more than just naggy parentisms. (The latter sleeping with dogs and fleas example makes me laugh more than it should for a variety of reasons.)
Father’s Day has me thinking about the things that make my Dad my Dad, and the most important things I have learned from him. In contrast to evidence that you’re likely to hold the same belief systems as your parents, I do not think John Wayne is one of the greatest actors of all time.
However, even though we tend to vote differently, on most of the really big things we agree. And it’s his example and his words that have been a lighthouse on every day with rough seas.
One of my earliest memories of my Dad is of us kneeling in prayer. It’s so funny now to think about him in that environment, surrounded by Barbies and next to a frilly Holly Hobby canopy bed. He was showing me what is most important while also showing me that location isn’t important – we can spend time together and with God in the tiniest or the messiest of places. On a beach, in a car, in a fast food restaurant, in a parking lot, in a small apartment, in a church, on the steps at school…anywhere and everywhere my Dad has always made the most of his time with me.
More than three decades later, when Audrey was about 3 months old, we received some concerning news about the cancer she was battling. One of my favorite moments with my Dad, which is also one of the biggest moments of learning from him, happened as I rocked her to sleep in her nursery. He stood next to me, again in a place surrounded by pink little girl things, with his hand on my shoulder, praying for me as I prayed for her. I was praying test results would show Audrey was cancer-free, while he was praying that I would have joy and peace.
The job title parent doesn’t end when our children reach adulthood. That day I learned from my Dad what I had read about dozens of times but never really grasped – that peace is what guards our hearts and minds when we are struggling, that peace is how we are not alone, that peace is the path to authority and control, and that peace is the path to victory.
Peace is what my Dad has passed to me over and over and over again. In his actions. In his words. In his prayers.
You catch what you’re close to. Thanks, Dad, for Peace and peace. In my life, and in the lives of your granddaughters.
My Dad. Fierce protector of teenage daughters, and even today at almost 80, questioning his teenage granddaughter about boys.This is the look that my Dad has when he thinks I’ve lost my mind, as I tried to explain that this was a way to get us both in the picture while standing apart for social distancing.
My most important learning of the last week was in those five words, spoken by a woman I admire and look up to and care about.
I’m always wearing a mask.
My heart sank. How can that be? I work closely with this person, and am in multiple meetings with her each day. I think she knows – I assumed she knew – that everyone around her recognizes how smart she is and how capable she is and how funny she is and how dedicated to her job she is and what a wonderful person she is. And on and on and on I could go.
She knows all that, although like all of us she likes to be told sometimes. The issue is that she can’t bring her whole self to lots of places because she’s worried about how that will be perceived. How she will be perceived.
She must remain calm. She must hide strong emotions. She must temper what she says. She must do everything perfectly. She must overachieve.
How exhausting must it be to live that way? To not be able to be yourself. To not be able to relax. To always hold back and hold in. And even worse – to have to watch others who don’t have to wear any masks live and laugh and react freely.
Remember those Halloween masks from the seventies? Those plastic face coverings that were held in place by tight rubberband-like pieces around the back of your head. Comfortable breathing was impossible and after just a few minutes they were full of condensation and became uncomfortably stuck to areas of your face. At least in today’s COVID world, we have cloth masks made of soft fabrics, and still we hate them. They’re itchy and hot and stifling and we don’t feel like ourselves when we’re wearing them.
This week I’ve been following the posts of a couple thousand women in a private Facebook group – women who are trying to have real dialogue about race and equity and love and hate and bias. I have not yet posted anything; I’m simply consuming and absorbing the content. These are things that are resonating most with me right now and as I process the words I’m always wearing a mask.
And finally these words, the rules a nervous Mom has undoubtedly repeated to her son dozens and dozens of times. Rules such as:
Don’t put your hands in your pockets. Don’t put your hoodie on. Check in with your people, it don’t matter even if you’re down the street. Don’t touch anything you’re not buying. Never leave the store without a receipt or bag, even if it’s just a pack of gum. Never leave the house without your ID.
My Momma heart is grieved as I think about the fear that other Mommas clearly live in.
Exhausting is the word that keeps rattling around in my head. Fear is exhausting. Masks are exhausting. The list of rules this young man – millions of people – in this country live with is exhausting. Oppression is exhausting.
The last few weeks have – or should have – forced all of us to ask questions about ourselves and the people in our lives. About what makes a good human. About what makes a good citizen. About what makes a good person of faith. About what makes a good American. About unjust laws and unjust systems and unjust humans. About why people must wear masks. About what I have said and done, or not said and not done, that has caused pain for another. About what I can do to create space where no masks are needed.
I can’t fix everything, and I don’t even know how, but I can work on me. And as I’ve been thinking about that I’ve been humming an old song the last few days…
Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me. Let there be peace on earth, the peace that was meant to be.
A mother supporting protestors while supporting her child while feeding her child.
A mother, doing what she can in this moment, investing in the next generation in multiple ways.
Genesis 3:1 tells us Adam named his wife Eve “because she was the mother of all human beings.” Perhaps it’s because of my stage in life, but mother is the lens through which I process video after video and photo after photo, wanting more than anything for our nation’s children to get home safely each night and to have lives filled with peace and trust and love and opportunity.
I think it’s ultimately the mommas who will have to make it so. Who will have to have the critical conversations to make it so. Who will have to lead this nation through anger and grief to healing. Who will raise children to love one another. It’s up to the mommas, and we can’t leave such a critical task to others.
Read the full article and see all the photos from this series, here.
I keep reading commentary about the protests that involve looting and property destruction, and while I understand that people are frightened and frustrated I also can’t stop thinking that we’re here because peaceful protest hasn’t worked. We’ve had years of peaceful protests and they’ve accomplished nothing.
And I recalled this photo from a few years ago and it’s been a big part of my thoughts for days. It’s a serene woman, who’s clearly a threat to no one, being charged by men in scary gear. I could not recall any of the details, but after a few quick searches found she was protesting the death of Alton Sterling in 2016. And I found the photo was pretty famous, and many articles were written about it or included it with their coverage of protests after Sterling was shot and killed.
REUTERS/JONATHAN BACHMAN/FILE PHOTO
Here were the words of the serene woman: “I’m human. I’m a woman. I’m a mom. I’m a nurse. I could be your nurse. I could be taking care of you. You know? Our children could be friends. We all matter. We don’t have to beg to matter. We do matter.”
Peaceful protests didn’t work, and they were never going to. Innocent and peaceful people have continued to die under that plan.
Perhaps the only way Americans are going to really pay attention is because property is now being destroyed. And yet how incredibly sad and just heartbreaking that Americans care more when we watch property being harmed than we do when we watch people being harmed.
My heart is heavy.
May every demonstrator and officer facing danger this night make it home safely to their mom or dad or sibling or spouse or child or friend. We desperately need change in the hearts of people that fill this country and in the processes that govern this country. We desperately need peace, and genuine regard for the value of life to prevail. It’s going to take hard work by all of us, and while we’re accomplishing that work may every just person on both sides of the protest/police lines make it back into the arms of those who love them.
Brave, Anyway 