Election Day 2016 I was blown away by the crowds at my polling place, waiting for what seemed forever to vote. I ran from there up to the Javits Center - I scored tickets for that night - and again waited online for hours more, meeting excited, hopeful people from NYC and around the world, ready to celebrate. 

Once inside, the mood shifted. Jack and I ditched, once we learned we’d be waiting at least another 4-5 hours to hear Hillary speak. That night I gave up at midnight and went to sleep, dreading what was seeming was inevitable at that point. 

I woke up heartbroken, angry, scared, lost, frozen with no idea what to do. 

One year later I’m a County Committee member, Secretary of AD66A to be exact. We’ve already reached out to party leadership about how things work and have opened a dialog to hopefully create transparency and make change happen going forward. 

I joined the Village Independent Democrats and am going to run for their executive board in January. I designed primary and election literature for them, which actually were super helpful - I brought them with me to vote. 

I work with United Thru Action: sending out their weekly newsletter and helping with their website. 

I’m a member of Rise and Resist. I’m on their emergency response team, their comms working group, am working on their new website and online store, and have designed countless posters and postcards for them. 

I’ve met politicians, phone banked, stood on corners getting signatures on petitions, attended debates, mc’ed a protest, and have attended/been a marshal at more actions than I can remember. 

A year ago I had no idea these things even existed. In fact, not all of them did. I’m still angry and scared and frustrated. But I am also heartened and inspired by the remarkable people I’ve met and the work we’re collectively doing. 

As people who’ve been doing this for the long haul keep telling me: this is a marathon, not a sprint. I’m getting that. I burn out regularly and sometimes hit a dark part I’m not sure how to get out of. But then I go out and fight. 

Fighting back, however you choose to do it, can be a lifeline in all this.

in fighting

With any volunteer group who works together there’s bound to be infighting - at least I’ve found that to be true. People come in with different experiences, different goals, different levels of commitment. Hard for all that to come together into a cohesive, well oiled machine without some blimps, both big and little.

I’m finding that’s holding remarkably true for both local political and activist groups. Power plays, backstabbing, passive aggressive maneuvering, fighting, accusations. belittlement, straight out ignoring - all part of the day to day.

Not to say positive, constructive things don’t happen. There’s also solidarity, shared goals, hard work,  sense of community, but often/too often drama gets in the way of the greater good.

I’ve been a victim of and an instigator, more on the polite side, but I’m not above getting stuck in the fray.

Wish there was a better, kinder way of being involved and making a difference. I haven’t found it yet.

the mess of protesting

At this point, I've been to 30 plus protests since last November. Must be closing in on 40 at this point.

I used to go to as many as possible, feeling the need to lend my body and voice, but am now more discerning. I'm not entirely sure what my litmus test is, but often it has to do with whether or not I've got the band with and energy to be out on the streets.

I used to write about every march, protest, and rally, but gave that up too. Hoarse from chanting, fighting a new kind of exhaustion, they started to blur and blend together. 

Yesterday though, a rally caught my eye. It was protesting HR36, a bill that just passed in the House, imposing new abortion restrictions. With everything that's been going on lately, women's rights have fallen a bit off the radar while they're still as under attack as ever. I made the sign above (although the real version didn't have an asterisk in it) and headed to Union Square Park.

I met a friend at 4, the called start time and turns out we were it. We ran into a photographer who asked if we knew what was going on. A couple more women with signs quietly ambled over, asking if we were the organizers. Eventually some more press and more protesters turned up, everyone trying to figure out who was in charge, what was the plan, were we marching, were their speakers? No one knew and so we took it upon ourselves to move things along.

We chanted, set up in a semi circle we'd haphazardly formed. A couple of Trump supporters showed up and that ramped chanting up to drown them out. At times I even wore a marshal hat and quietly encourage people to not engage in shouting with them, but to walk away instead. There were moments people wondered if the event was a ruse by the other side, to get people to come out and then target them. The whole event had a questionable vibe that veered into sad and angry - mostly that so few people actually turned out to support women.

Someone wrote slogans and phone numbers of congressmen in chalk on the ground in front of us. People took photos of us, some stayed to shout with us. For a small group we made a stand, but at the same time were trying to figure out how we all got there, since no one took ownership of the event. 

Photos appeared on the events Facebook page and someone named Mary responded to me, via messenger, that she'd just had surgery, was unable to attend the protest, that she was the only organizer and thought about cancelling, but chose not to. 

And then, later in the day, the event page disappeared, along with all traces of invites, interest, photos, posts, questions, and nebulous answers. 

My take aways: not all protests are created equal. Feeling safe on the streets is becoming more important to me. Organization makes all the difference. People are tired. And perhaps it's time to think of other options besides shouting and signs. 

government efficiency

I'm on day one of jury duty.

Our jury duty tour guide, a lovely man who's been talking basically nonstop since we got here, has mentioned the term "government efficiency" several times.

It always gets a quiet laugh mixed with groans.

I get it.

But I have to take a moment to seriously shake my head at the lack of potential juror efficiency as well. The number of people who were:

• in the wrong building
• in the wrong room
• came on the wrong day
• left to postpone after more than an hour of sitting here
• didn't fill out paperwork that had been explained in detail countless times
• are sitting on their phones despite the DO NOT USE CELL PHONES IN THIS AREA signs (I have to say I've been guilty of this)
• asked questions specifically about information we'd be told over and over again

Jury duty isn't hard. I even had a moment, as the informational video we watched talked about jury duty being as important as voting, about how important it is to do your civic duty, thinking wow, I should be as enthused about this as I was about voting in primaries a couple of weeks ago. 

But nope. I'm not. 

Maybe if they had a fresh juice or muffin vendor stopping by, my opinion could be swayed. 10 minute massages. A manicure station. Make up lessons.

Spa Jury Duty! I'm sure that would entice more people to participate. 

Oh, and I'm on government wifi. Am hoping this passes muster and is ok to share with the world.

Lastly, knitting is prohibited. A quiet, mellow, stress reducing, creative, constructive activity that would certainly help me pass this endless wait. 

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.