A Moment of Grounding
Two unsatisfying truths:
People are not going to learn the lessons I want them to learn.
People have the right to not care about what I think they should care about.
The news cycle has been a real firehose lately, most of it intentionally alarming. Much of it bringing real difficulty and harm to people just trying to live their lives. There is my trans friend who has seen the legal recognition of their gender identity be quashed. There is my student who is in grad school thanks to his military veteran education benefits who has not received scheduled payments because of the funding freeze and is wondering if he will be able to continue his education. There is my dear friend who is Native American and has been told by her tribe to make sure she always has her ID on her in case she is stopped by ICE. There is my colleague whose research funding is suddenly on hold and unclear whether they will be able to continue. There is my student’s spouse who is a federal employee whose job security is uncertain, and who wonders if they will need to drop out of school in order to work.
It is easy to be weighed down by rage at the people who use their power to sow chaos and cruelty to no meaningful end. Rage also toward those with real power who do not use it to fight for good. I am interested in channeling my energy in productive ways, in doing the important work of caring for my community, even when that feels so small and insignificant in the face of oppressive and unjust systems. I am interested in welcoming in, drawing together, showing up. I am interested in a posture of problem solving, of leadership, of the hard work of building something worthwhile. I am interested in seeing the good in your side, and acknowledging the problems in mine. I am interested in leaving “sides” behind. I am trying to recognize the good work where it is done, regardless of who is doing it. I am trying to look for the problem solvers, the thoughtful do-ers, the ones identifying a problem and working to build good and useful solutions. I am trying to absorb, listen, and analyze rather than react.
When they want my rage, my overwhelm, my apathy, I will give instead my action. What we do matters. How we interact with the world matters. How we think about, talk about, treat people matters.
Here are some things I am doing to keep my feet on the ground, to meet the need in front of me:
Give blood
Feed families with new babies
Support local businesses
Donate to our student food drive
Pass along our gently used things to families who need them
Check in with my friends who are being marginalized
Call my representatives
Teach my students about patient centered care
Teach my students about social and systemic determinants of health
Continue my research focused on diversity and equity in physical therapy
Participate in the local group working towards improving access to childcare
Continue my work on the daycare Board of Directors ensuring both staff and families are well cared for.
Read, listen, educate myself
Change can be good. Change can be necessary. Change can be painful. But the pain is best tolerated when there is a clear end goal in mind, when those in positions of leadership say “hey, I know things are hard right now. It’s going to keep being hard for a little while. But here’s what we’re working towards on the other side.”
I do not see any clear end goal being articulated by the administration that is currently tearing down and inflicting this pain. I do not see thoughtfulness. I do not see care. I do not see leadership. I see only power for the sake of power. I see poorly considered slashing where intentional carving may be warranted. I see no vision for where we are going besides “not this!”. “Not this” is not vision, it’s not creative, it’s not a solution to what may be very real problems.
Ah, but this brings us back full circle to the frustrating truth: Not everyone will care about the things I care about. Some will even laugh in my face.
And so I am left with planting my feet firmly on the ground and returning to the work in front of me. I am left with the quiet, persistent mantra: “I cannot do much. But I can do this.”