Category: sage advice Page 1 of 2

I’ve seen a few posts going around along these lines, and I want to pull them together here.

The first is How to #StayOutraged Without Losing Your Mind, Self-Care Lessons for the Resistance by Mirah Curzer.

This is not going to be an easy four years. We’re going to be subjected to constant gaslighting by the President and his administration. We’ll be dealing with a ferocious, multi-front attack on the entire progressive agenda, without exception, and a lot of it is going to succeed. We’re going to helplessly watch institutions we care about and depend upon destroyed. The Trump years are going to be emotionally exhausting and deeply traumatic for all of us, but particularly to those dedicated to protecting the vulnerable and preserving democracy.

Most of us are not ready to take on the mantle of the resistance. There are things we can do now to get ready, but if we don’t, the ranks of would-be activists and resisters are going to thin out very quickly.

She goes on to make four main points, summarized here (but as always, read her whole post):

1. Don’t Get Used to Trump — Get Away From Him – So when it gets to be too much, it’s ok to unplug for a bit. Stop refreshing Twitter and reading the news. Stop feeling guilty when someone asks you if you’ve been following the latest story and you have to say no. Go a week or a day or even an hour without talking/reading/writing about the dumpster fire smoldering along in Washington. It will still be there when you get back, I promise.

2. Focus Your Energy on One or Two Issues – You can’t show up to every march and donate to every cause. You can’t write treatises on every issue and argue with every Trump supporter on your Facebook page. If you want to be effective on anything, pick an issue or two that matter most to you and fight for them. Let the others go.

3. Make Activism Fun – Don’t let anyone tell you that humor has no place in the movement, or that you aren’t allowed to be proud of your contribution, or that it’s unseemly to have fun while you’re doing serious work. That’s all bull, and it’s counterproductive to boot.

4. Take Care of the Basics – It’s obvious and mundane, but this stuff is even more important when you’re living under the strain of an oppressive government. You need a strong foundation from which to fight, so take care of the basics [sleep, mental health, physical health, nutrition, friendship, me-time].

Next up: Andrew Sullivan’s post for New York Magazine: The Madness of King Donald. One of the main points of this article is the brazen lying that has already become commonplace from this Republican administration, and the toll that takes on us, individually and nationally.

One of the great achievements of free society in a stable democracy is that many people, for much of the time, need not think about politics at all. The president of a free country may dominate the news cycle many days — but he is not omnipresent — and because we live under the rule of law, we can afford to turn the news off at times. A free society means being free of those who rule over you — to do the things you care about, your passions, your pastimes, your loves — to exult in that blessed space where politics doesn’t intervene. In that sense, it seems to me, we already live in a country with markedly less freedom than we did a month ago.

This struck me as another good reason to follow some of Curzer’s unplug-for-self-care advice. We can’t put our heads in the sand and pretend there aren’t political problems to know about, worry about, and fight. But when we can, taking a break to “do the things you care about, your passions, your pastimes, your loves — to exult in that blessed space where politics doesn’t intervene” will recharge us, and remind us what we’re fighting for.

A key theme to remember is pacing ourselves, settling in for the long fight. Mark Popham wrote this pep talk Twitter thread after the confirmation of Betsy DeVos as U.S. Secretary of Education (again, this is just an excerpt):

Hey! If you’re a Democrat in a red state and you’ve spent the last month screaming at your Senator about DeVos – thank you

With all of your calls and faxes and letters you might have thought your Senator was going to listen to obvious, obvious reason

And right now it feels like it didn’t do anything – that they were able to just tune you out, without fear of consequence

But let me absolutely ASSURE you – they heard you. They know you’re there.

And they’re absolutely scared shitless. They’re fucking terrified.

This is not some piddly letters-to-the-editor bullshit right here. You all have been absolutely inundating them!

They’ve been shutting down voicemail! They’ve been RUNNING FROM TOWN HALLS

They have never – NONE OF THEM – seen this level of engagement from the public. Ever.

And the only thing that is keeping them from pissing their khakis right now is the assumption that you will get discouraged and go away

They think that if they can just get through until the spring everyone will become dejected and give up and tune out.

If this is just the crazy spring of 2017, they can go back to gutting our nation like a fish. But if it’s the new normal…

If this is just American Political Life, 2017-???, then they’ve got a huge problem

All right, here’s the last thing to share here, and then I’m off to sit and watch Liverpool lose to Tottenham Hotspur for two guilt-free hours. I won’t give a source link to this, as it was a shared post on Facebook, and besides, I’m quoting the whole thing (cheers, Eric!):

Sometimes band or choir music requires a very long note. We are taught to mindfully stagger when we take a breath so the sound appears uninterrupted. Everyone gets to breathe, and the music stays strong and vibrant.

The administration’s onslaught of bad executive orders may be a strategy to cause “protest fatigue” – we will literally lose our will for sustained fight.

Take a breath. The rest of the chorus will sing. The rest of the band will play. Then rejoin so others can breathe. Together, we can sustain a long, beautiful song for a very, very long time.

You don’t have to do it all. BUT YOU MUST ADD YOUR VOICE TO THE SONG.

This is it. January 20, 2017. I’m sitting in the waiting room of our dentist’s office, waiting while my son gets his twice-annual checkup. I’m more grateful than usual to have dental insurance through my employer, after hearing and reading stories this week of people who will lose their health coverage if the ACA (“Obamacare”) is repealed with no replacement. But I’m not grateful for the waiting room TV, with CNN showing live coverage of Inauguration Day. “OBAMA LEAVES OVAL OFFICE FOR LAST TIME”, and “TRUMPS DEPARTING CHURCH FOR WHITE HOUSE”, it’s making my stomach hurt.

But it’s not all grim despair, thanks to the Indivisible Guide and the growing resistance to this incoming nightmare regime. Their simple but powerful guide, available at indivisibleguide.com, lays out the basic tools and framework to organize in an effective way and fight to protect what Trump and his party of feckless grifters would rob us of.

Some stories of what has already been happening – and this all 1 hour, 23 minutes, and 50 seconds before the swearing-in ceremony (according to CNN’s countdown ticker) – from Bustle: To Actually Drain Donald Trump’s Swamp, You Should Go Local:

In the wake of Donald Trump’s presidential victory, Democrats have been left without control of any branch of the federal government. But in the face of this hopelessness, grassroots Democrats and progressives have launched “Indivisible Groups” all around the country to hold Congress, Trump, and his cabinet appointments accountable. These groups are small in size, but they’re creating national change, one cabinet appointment confirmation hearing at a time.

…Indivisible Oregon started as just six women gathered in a living room on New Year’s Day. It now has over 800 followers on Facebook. On Jan. 9, they called their senators, urging them to postpone consideration of Trump’s cabinet nominees until they had finished the ethics vetting process. Ultimately, they crashed Sen. Ron Wyden’s office’s voicemail.

The story has been similar in Austin. There are a number of Indivisible-based groups popping up here, thanks to the gerrymandering that split our city into six(!) different congressional districts, but the umbrella “Indivisible Austin” group started with a couple of guys getting together to commiserate about the election. With the Guide to, umm, guide them, they found themselves the nucleus of a movement. A movement that this past week sent fifty of us to the downtown office of Sen. John Cornyn, to relay our concerns about recklessly repealing the ACA with no replacement in place.

Having something to do, actual action that might have actual effects, especially if there are people all over the country getting involved, too, has been the best remedy imaginable for the despair I felt after the election. For all the half-joking talk of moving to Canada, or even just to a blue state, I’m more sure than ever that the right response to that insane election result is to stay and fight.

Yes, even in the red state of Texas. Especially here, as this Texas Observer post points out:

We are the largest state in America governed by a Trump-aligned regime. Trump’s government will have the support of the state Capitol as our leaders act to dismantle public education, destroy our social safety net and tear apart families.

There are many of us in Texas who will likely be their first targets. Our state is home to more refugees and undocumented immigrants than almost anywhere else in the nation. It’s for this very reason that Texans must take center stage in the Trump resistance.

…The progressive movement in Texas, more than ever before, can take the bold action necessary to inspire the residents of our cities to become a part of the Trump resistance. This is a movement moment. Fighting for expanded workers’ rights, immigrants’ rights and environmental protections may sound risky in the face of Abbott, Patrick and Trump. But our families will face greater, long-term risks if we do not expose the Republican Party for the discriminatory, misogynist, anti-democratic, anti-American institution it has become.

So on a dark day, when a clownishly unqualified con-man settles into the highest seat in the land, this is the clouds’ silver lining: I, and many others I’ve met in just the past month, are waking up and starting to fight for what’s important. I’ve called my members of Congress multiple times, I’ve visited the office of one of my Senators, and I’m going to the Women’s March in Austin tomorrow – I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have done any of that if we were ringing in President Clinton’s first term today.

If you’re similarly stressed, joining in on this kind of activism is better therapy than making jokes on Twitter (though those can be good, too). If you’re not sure where to start, the Indivisible Guide is great. They have a new tool on their site where you can look for an Indivisible group near you. Or follow the same techniques by yourself; that will help, too. Or subscribe to one of the regular action newsletters, like re:act or My Civic Workout. Start now, and keep it up the rest of the year, and the next year, and the year after. Pace yourself. Don’t try to do All The Things, it’s too much. It doesn’t have to be every day, it doesn’t have to consume you. But every little bit helps, and if enough of us keep working against this administration’s agenda, maybe we’ll get through the next four (not eight) years with minimal damage to our country.

From a Yale history professor’s powerful guide to defending democracy under a Trump presidency:

Americans are no wiser than the Europeans who saw democracy yield to fascism, Nazism, or communism. Our one advantage is that we might learn from their experience. Now is a good time to do so.

It’s not that long, and it’s great stuff. Read the whole thing.

I followed a link to this post from Twitter, and found it to be really profound: After the Election: Wrestling the Angel of Fear. As usual, I recommend you read all of it, as I have a half-dozen times just today. I normally wouldn’t quote this much, but there’s a lot that’s good here. I hope(!) the author won’t mind.

To give up hope is not to accept things as they are. I am appalled by the president-elect and the renewed license for intimidation and violence that has shown itself since the election. But I also must accept that things are as they are. As I drove down the road years ago, screaming at [President Bush], I was having a moment of non-acceptance, propelled by fear that turned quickly to despair. I was insisting that George Bush be different from the man he had always shown himself to be, and I was furious to be living in a country that would make him president. And I responded as if personally betrayed, as if it wasn’t fair, an outrageous violation of some law by which such things are not supposed to happen.

It makes sense to feel overwhelmed in the face of [Trump’s win]. We are only human, after all, and we have not been prepared. Instead, we have, for generations, been encouraged to see ourselves as passive consumers rather than active citizens, our minds distracted and pacified and colonized to accept the status quo or to pin ourselves to the hope for something better.

We have been trained to be easily overwhelmed and immobilized, dis-couraged with little awareness of our responsibility or power.

We have been desensitized to the pain of others, and hypersensitized to our own, taught to see pain not as a message, a wake-up call, but as something noxious to be escaped, silenced, anaesthetized.

But we cannot afford to be overwhelmed or swallowed by despair. Like the parent of a desperately ill child, we don’t get to disappear into not knowing what to do. For a day or two, perhaps, but then we have to step in and give it up and reacquaint ourselves with the courage of faith.

At first I thought the usage “dis-couraged” was a typo, or misplaced hyphenation. But on subsequent readings I decided it was purposeful, with a meaning like, “removed courage”.

[It] occurs to me that being able to choose between hope and despair comes of the freedom to sit on the sidelines and watch from the relative safety of being white. And when things go badly and we sink into despair, hope comes riding to the rescue, promising to lift our hearts, that things will work out, somehow, someday, against the odds. Whether we do anything or not.

Hope is better suited to feeling than action, for it does not so much galvanize as soothe, a refuge from despair, that does not hold us to account.

Faith, on the other hand, comes of having to wrestle the angel of fear, whose power faith would harness into action. Faith is what turns a crowd of individuals into a march and then a movement. Where hope is passive and content, faith has an agenda and makes demands.