political perspective

I went to my first ever County Committee meeting this past Monday night, thrilled to be participating with hundreds of other newly elected or appointed people, ready to dive in and make change happen.

That’s not what happened. The meeting was disorganized, contenscious, with little to no context given. We basically rubber stamped votes that had been set up beforehand with shouts and screams and chaos at times. I, along with many others, walked out feeling that we were puppets in a show we didn’t understand, that our time had been wasted, and if this was how the Democratic Party worked, we were forever doomed.

Disheartening and despair pretty much covered my take aways.

But then I heard and read feedback from people who’d been in the system far longer than me and they were thrilled. Energized. Excited. It seems the messiness that left me so frustrated was actually different and new. That convening another meeting to attempt to clear up messes of this first one, was unheard of. That we were experiencing democracy in action even as we thought we were watching a sham.

Nice to know there’s another side in this.

And now I’m left with a “we’ll see” instead of “there’s no hope.”

acts of activism

I've been hitting the wall often lately. Bursts of intense activist energy, followed by crashes that are deep and hard. There is so much going on in the world these days, so much to be angry about, so much to be frustrated by, so much to expend energy on . . . sometimes/most of the time I forget that the resistance is not a sprint, it's a marathon.

Today I put together a weekly emailed newsletter for United Thru Action. I spent hours untangled and reconstructing lists and emails and contact info so I could send out a first official notice for newly elected and appointed County Committee members in Manhattan. I worked on t shirt designs for Rise and Resist's soon to be online store. Started putting together info for a website meeting this week. Dealt with a request to an emergency response team - all this after a 20 plus mile bike ride. I'm also finding that expending physical energy is helping me hold it together in this insane juggle.

Tonight a friend texted and asked if I wanted to meet up to chalk in Washington Square Park. While part of me was happy to take a break, it was hard to turn down rainbow chalk and artistic activism. We sketched out healthcare messages between the arch and the fountain, colored them in, and then watched as people took photos. 

Whatever it takes to get the word out works for me. 

activist burn out

There are times when I'm so steeped in activism it's how I breathe. Planning, texting, emailing, designing, messaging, meeting, marching, marshaling—the energy is profound. The solidarity energizing. The commitment extreme and more than slightly obsessive at times. 

And then I hit the wall. 

That happens faster and faster these days. 

It's getting harder to sustain the drive, to remain completely immersed without completely depleting. 

And yet, there is more and more to protest, more and more who need support, more and more tragedy in the world that deserves attention and care. 

Yes, this is a marathon, not a sprint. But I hadn't been training for a marathon. Hey, I hadn't been training for anything and here I am, thrown in this whirlwind of constant and chronic action. 

I'm tired. 

I'm tearful.

I'm overwhelmed. 

I'm scared. 

But I'm taking a deep breath and leaping back off the cliff. Because that's what needs to be done right now. 

blowing off steam

Today Rise and Resist, the NYC direct action based group that has become my home away from home, staged "The Emperor Has No Clothes" bike ride/march with participants decked out in flesh colored unitards, long red ties, messy blond wigs, and orange face paint. While there are far clearer photos, I love this one—standing on the subway platform, after a long day out on the streets, delighted with the event and what a difference it made to my state of mind.

After receiving an invitation to participate, I had bought my unitard online, enthusiastic about being in the midst of things. But, the juggle has been particularly challenging lately, and when the suit came and I tried it on, I quickly changed my mind. No way was I brave enough to ride and walk throughout Manhattan with jiggly bits on display for all to see. 

In fact, I bowed out. I missed a protest last night and was mostly ok about sitting this out as well. 

But, messages started coming in and I decided to go as support, to ride along to make sure all went ok, and I felt like that was doable in my current, overwhelmed state of mind.

I got to the LGBT Center on 13th Street and as everyone was changing and face painting and gearing up, I started wondering why I was holding back. Shame? Embarrassment? Body discomfort? Fear of the unknown? Of exhibitionism? Of letting go? No one seemed to understand my reluctance and after awhile, I wasn't sure what was holding me back. I went home, pulled on my body suit, took a deep breath, and headed out. 

We strolled over to a Citibike station, strapped protest signs on bikes, and headed off - first through the west village and then up the bike path along the West Side Highway, shouting THE EMPEROR HAS NO CLOTHES, blowing whistles, and waving at the mostly enthusiastic people who crossed our paths. That led to a walk through Times Square, where we were filmed and photographed with enthusiasm. We climbed up the TKTS steps and the police soon kicked us and everyone else off, choosing to close the steps rather than let us stay. So we then marched over to Rockefeller Center, took some awesome photos, and hopped on the E train back downtown. 

It ended up being a great day. How fabulous and grounding, as the world seemingly gets crazier every second, to be with like-minded people, to be able to make a political statement while being ridiculously silly at the same time. The people I've met have been, and continue to be, my silver lining. 

hitting the activist wall

Tonight Rise and Resist staged a protest against the White Supremacist values of this current administration. I was supposed to marshal, but hit the wall. 

I'm finding, the longer I'm part of the resistance, the more I get to that point. When there's nothing left to give. When I have no words, no energy, no inspiration. 

I generally have more than plenty of all of the above. But this constant, continual, chronic fight is frying my soul.

Some days I am so on it and in it. Other days tears sting my eyes and I can only quietly sit, recharging for the next meeting/protest/action, wondering if I'll find my way back to the fight. 

Instead of heading to Grand Central, I went to yoga. I breathed and moved and balanced a bit. After class, I turned on my phone to find 10 marshals had been arrested. I spent the next hour and a half texted and messaging whomever I could, to get answers and trying to help, feeling guilty the entire time that I wasn't there. 

This activist life is so many things. So many layers. So many possibilities. So many personalities. So many things taken for granted to now reexamine. So many questions. So many unknowns. So much stress. So much frustration and angst and pain at times. 

But, I'm hoping tomorrow I'll wake up with my inner activist back on track. There's work to do.

post election mess

This morning I spent three hours checking through absentee and affidavit ballots in a District 1 NYC Council election that was too close to call - 200 votes separating the top two candidates, precipitating a closer look at election results. A bunch of wolunteers waded through stacks of papers that the Board of Elections had already vetted, double checking to make sure nothing was missed.

My takeaways:

ALWAYS write your name clearly on forms. Legibility matters.

Yes, use your middle initial.

Know what party you're registered for. If it's a Democrat primary, you have to be a registered Democrat to vote. You'd think that Republics, and Independents, and Green Party, and Working Families, and undeclared voters would know better. But many didn't and submitted ballots in the Democratic primary anyway. Straight to the trash can.

If you don't live in NYC, you can't vote in a NYC primary. That means people who live in Connecticut. What were you thinking?

Registered voters are assigned polling places. You can't pop in to any voting place and vote there because it's more convenient or you happen to be walking by.

The behind the scenes election system is crazy complicated. Thumb print recognition would be a great addition.

FAR TOO PEOPLE VOTED. Less than 15% of registered Democrats showed up on Tuesday. And that is infuriating and heartbreaking. One would hope, after the last election, people would have learned a lesson and would have been showing up in droves.

Nope.

Facebook rants and coffee shop conversation don't cut it. People need to show up and vote to make change happen.

This isn't a spectator sport anymore.

digging for answers

The one constant that I continually come up against, as I'm diving into activism and local politics, is how little I know.

Truly. I know almost nothing.

Actually, I knew almost nothing. The learning curve to all this can be fast and steep when necessary. And in times like this, expanding bandwidth and knowledge should be mandatory.

Sadly, it isn't. Even while countless people watch MSNBC and write angry posts on Facebook, not  nearly as many are voting in primaries, coming out to protests and/or meetings, or educating themselves about how to make change happen.

Change can happen. But it'll take initiative and involvement.

I'm finding too, as I delve in, that I have tons of questions about how things work. Local politics is messy and often confusing, with much happening behind closed doors. I'm  thinking, from this vantage point, it's because not many actually pay attention or care. But, perhaps by putting info out into the world, more people will ask questions, get interested, and start participating.

One can hope.

Ben Yee and I put out our first Real Politics: The Show video up on youtube last week. We'll keep making and posting them and perhaps will make a tiny dent:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=15&v=66Eodds31v0

I'm also hoping that we can slightly up production value, not shoot at such an unflattering angle, and perhaps manage to not have tree branches shooting up out of my head.

low hanging fruit

not voting for myself

I ran into my sister on the street today and she wished me congratulations on my newly elected position as NYC County Committee Member.

I responded with my usual: I ran unopposed - it's not a big deal.

And she said that yes, it was a big deal. That I'd heard about it, figured out what needed to be done, and then made it happen.

She was right. Actually, we're both right.

Running for the entry level position in NYC's Democratic Party is no easy feat. Regardless of the fact that in Manhattan alone there are 2000 seats and about half of them aren't filled, it was remarkably challenging to figure out how this all worked and then to get the ball rolling. As soon as I heard about the gig, at a Downtown Independent Democrats meeting this past January, I contacted the Open Seat Project, something I'd heard about, that was put together by Manhattan Young Democrats.

No response.

Over and over. I was left wondering if, since I'm not young, they weren't going to help.

I went to local democratic club meetings and for months got nowhere. A friend, who was planning on running as well, managed to get all her paperwork in, as part of a subcommittee, which frustrated me even further, as I was still clueless and without help or direction.

Here I was, so enthusiastic about participating, and no one would even respond, let alone answer my questions.

Eventually I spoke to Ben Yee, a local elected official, and put together a County Committee one sheet, to both get the word out and explain how things worked, because I couldn't find the info anywhere. At all.

I finally submitted my paperwork, after hearing back from the Village Independent Democrats, my local club that I'm now a member of (they serve pizza at their monthly meetings) and found that I couldn't run in my tiny 2 block or so district. Those positions were already filled. So I "ran" a few blocks away, where I know no one. It would seem the point of having an elected representative of where you actually live wasn't taken all that seriously. It's more about filling empty seats.

I picked up my petitions. I was instructed not to get signatures where I live, as that would negate people running in that area, and so I stood on steamy corners, asking strangers to please help me run for office.

This was not an easy task either. The vast majority of people who passed me pretended I wasn't there—I had no idea I could be that invisible. The apathy of the general public was disheartening. But, I got my share of signatures, submitted my petitions, and was good to go.

Fast forward to primary day.

As I was unopposed, I wasn't on the ballot. No one knew that I was running. And therefore no one knew, except all my friends on Facebook, that I was elected. Not only that, there was no word from the Democratic Party itself with a congratulations or welcome.

And then I found out that County Committee members can be appointed, you don't even have to run. You just have to know someone.

All this to attend one meeting every two years.

Something, or actually many things, need to change.

finding words

As of 9pm last night, I am an elected official in the NYC Democratic Party – a County Committee member in good standing. If you’d asked me a year ago if I’d consider running for office, I would have rolled my eyes. And months ago I’d never even heard the term “county committee."

But here I am.

This past presidential election galvanized me. I’ve become a full blown, almost full time activist, finding my way to places and groups that feel like the right fit, where I can contribute and help.  

Trust me, none of this was easy.

I remember being at my first rally, a support for Muslims, in Washington Square Park, feeling uneasy and uncomfortable, not knowing what to do or say.

Walking into my first democratic club meeting I was painfully aware of how little I knew, and wondered if I’d ever be able to catch up.

I had poster anxiety, feeling what I was putting on signs wasn’t fully expressing my outrage and frustration. Those days of painstakingly cutting letters out of glitter paper are thankfully long gone.

I created Trump Puppet Theater and almost daily put images and then videos into the world. I started the Shame Campaign and provided ways for people to share and write. I founded a secret facebook group, as a place people could privately vent and panic.

And while I often felt inadequate, uneducated, insecure, I kept showing up. 

Even with all that, and until now, I was frozen inside, not able to write anymore. Writing was the way I’d processed major experiences in my life: publishing my dream book, donating a kidney, surviving parenthood. Words on paper (or on screen) helped me cope and handle situations that were otherwise overwhelming. But this time I couldn’t.

Instead, I acted. Protested. Attended countless meetings and rallies. I phone banked, got signatures on petitions. I do a weekly events newsletter for one action group. I’m on another's communications committee and emergency response teams and am working on their website, an online store. I help with signage, marshal at protests and rallies. I design for the my local democratic club. I put tougher a one sheet sharing info about County Committee.

I even filmed an inaugural You tube video about local politics with elected official Ben Yee – we’re hoping to make this a regular thing.

And I woke up today, ready to write again. Part of me regrets not having chronicled all that got me here. But more importantly, I’m grateful to have found my voice, and to have been able to find a place in the resistance.

Welcome to my so-called activist life.