Tag: election

More than Voting

Featured ~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

It’s been a politically charged few weeks — an assassination attempt on a former president followed by the Republican National Convention followed by the withdrawal of the current president from the presidential race followed by the nomination for president of the first women of color ever followed by the Democratic National Convention.

If you missed any of that, you certainly have not been on the Internet.

The country is fully engaged (at least virtually) in the conversation around who will be our next president. I’ve seen mentions on my social media streams supporting Trump, others supporting Harris, others bashing Trump, others bashing Harris. This seems to be the way we do politics in America now. It can leave a girl feeling a little icky, if I’m going to be honest.

I sat down the last two mornings with my journal to do some processing around where I am in this conversation and it turned into a recounting of where I started as a voter, where I am now, and why. When I finished with my journal, I intended to write a post called “Evolution of a Voter”, but before I did, I did a quick search of previous posts to see if I had ever written about voting, and boy was I shocked! Almost everything I had written in my journal yesterday and today I’d already written before the election in 2020, and I’d even called it “Evolution of a Voter”!

I read it through and thought, “wait, has my view expanded at all since that time? Has anything shifted further?”

And I think the main thing that has become more a part of my everyday life since 2020 is a deeper commitment to doing something.

For a long time, I was a citizen who voted. And, full-disclosure, I voted almost exclusively pro-life. Other than that, I carried on with my life not really making the connection between what I do with my time and my money and how those choices impacted those in my community. Politics seemed very removed from my daily reality. I voted in every regular election and typically even primaries, but I was not making intentional moves that aligned with my vote, other than to once a year attend a pro-life march in my community.

It was probably in my graduate studies from 2002-2004 when I began to question some of the choices I was making. I started to dig into my motives and to begin to understand the impact of my actions. For example, our decision to place our children in parochial schools was intended to “bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord” (Ephesians 6:4), but an unintended consequence was that they were isolated from children from different backgrounds — not only religious, but socioeconomic, racial, and cultural. We wanted our children to be raised in the Christian faith, but we also wanted them to have a diverse group of friends. We wanted to have a diverse group of friends. Our choice to work for the church and send our children to a Christian school was keeping us in a silo, oblivious to the complexity around us.

Our move to St. Louis in 2004, where our children attended public schools — both in an affluent suburb and in the city of St. Louis itself — and also two parochial schools, and where I taught in the St. Louis Public Schools and then a racially diverse suburban Lutheran high school, exposed us all to more complexity — a broader view of the culture within which we lived. We regularly interacted with Christians, Jews, and people of other faiths or no faith tradition at all. We had friends, classmates, and colleagues who were white, Black, Hispanic, and Asian. We encountered people who were in the top 1% financially and those who struggled to feed themselves from day to day. Our church was attended mostly by white people who drove in from neighboring suburbs to the mostly Black neighborhood in which both our home and the church were situated.

Our ten years in St. Louis were transformative. If we had once been siloed, we no longer were. We regularly witnessed financial and racial disparity and the ways in which those disparities were tied to education, health care, crime, and the general quality of life.

That exposure and my current role teaching in Detroit and residing in Ypsilanti have broadened my view of the sanctity of life. If all life is holy, why are some lives devalued and others elevated? And why are those valuations tied to income, race, education, and gender? I’ve come to the conclusion that the best way I can continue to vote “PRO-life” is to get behind candidates that support ALL life.

Now, I hear some of you shouting at me, “What about the lives of the unborn? They can’t speak for themselves! We must speak for them!”

Well…

First, we must speak up for ALL of those whose voices cannot currently be heard — the orphan, the widow, the sojourner (Deuteronomy 14:29) — but also the immigrant, the child in foster care, the homeless, and the felons who are no longer able to vote.

But also, outlawing abortion doesn’t necessarily protect the unborn, in fact, since the Dobbs Decision which overturned Roe v. Wade, abortions in this country have actually increased (source). I suspect a better way to decrease the number of women who obtain abortions, 75% of whom are low income (source) is to do a better job of providing sex education, affordable (or free) mental health care, affordable (or free) child care, and other resources such as paid maternity leave.

If the goal is demonstrating that every life has value, perhaps simply voting pro-life isn’t the best strategy.

Maybe we need to go beyond voting to taking action. Some donate to a local food bank, to women’s shelters, or to pregnancy clinics, and that’s a great start! I wonder what is next. Are any of us committed enough to valuing the lives of others that we might be willing to advocate for policy change, to participate in a demonstration, or to write a member of congress? Even more, are we willing to engage with communities of need, to come alongside those who can’t find affordable housing, who struggle to put food on the table, or who can’t go to work because they can’t afford child care?

I’m wondering if we are willing to go beyond disparaging remarks on social media to actually doing something with our money, our time, and our lives.

I’m just wondering. I’m not doing a great job at the moment. I’m not really going out of my way.

I vote, of course, and we’re making contributions to support our preferred candidates and their initiatives, but I think its time to look for ways to increase my political engagement, my activism, my involvement in the community that might demonstrate my belief that ALL life is valuable.

It’s a little scary. Most things worth doing are.

Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves,
    for the rights of all who are destitute. Proverbs 31:8

What World Are We Living In?, A Re-visit

~ Kristin ~ 6 Comments

I wrote and posted this piece just about a year ago, when the death toll from Covid-19 in the US was merely 200,000; now we are closing in on 700,00. A year ago we were waiting on a vaccine, anticipating an election, and hoping for financial assistance from the government. Now, we’ve got a different president, an opportunity to be vaccinated, and many are back to work, but the wide disparities in wealth, in access, in opportunity have not disappeared. I am re-sharing this post today to reflect on what has changed and what has not and to remind myself to continue doing what I can to re-shape the little corner of the world that I live in.

Each morning at 7am, I lug my lunch and laptop-crammed tote bag to my car, leave our home on a beautiful college campus in affluent Ann Arbor, and begin my journey to a different world thirty-five miles due east. I travel through a few small bedroom communities thick with half-million dollar homes and thriving school districts and take my exit into a community populated by run-down rental properties and struggling schools.

Each day on my commute I view the reality of disparity in our country.

In the community where I live, people regularly drop over $100 for dinner without batting an eye. Filling a grocery cart aisle by aisle, paying little attention to price tags and discounts, is just another Saturday morning.

In the community where I work, families count on the fact that they can pick up free food two times a week at the school — without it, they won’t make ends meet.

In the community where I live and others like it across the country, kids get their first Smart Phone around age 10, grow up playing games and watching movies on an iPad, and have access to one or more computers in the home. They are digital natives, able to easily navigate the internet, digital platforms, the Google suite, and spaces that I am sure I know nothing about. Some are social media pros — they have their own YouTube channels, have a thousand followers on Instagram, and are regularly exploring and even creating new media. They have a strong Internet connection, and if that should happen to fail, no problem — they have a personal HotSpot on their phone,

In the community where I work, most teenagers have some kind of cell phone. (Although one did admit to me this week that his flip phone would not be able to download the app I had displayed on the shared Zoom screen.) However, of the over 100 students I have met in the last two weeks, very few have had little more than limited access to computers. How do I know? Because they have difficulty copying and pasting a URL, they struggle to navigate their way to the six different Zoom rooms in which they find their teachers and their classmates. Google Classroom, Google Drive, Chat Box, and navigation bar are new vocabulary words. Their Internet service is spotty, and they get kicked off sometimes in the middle of class. HotSpot? What’s a HotSpot?

The kids in the community where I live have their own bedroom where they have set up a virtual learning space with the support of their parents. They have a desk, a MacBook and Airpods, an iPhone, a comfortable chair, and possibly even a printer. They can close the door to shut out distractions and then open the door to walk out to a fully-stocked kitchen complete with convenient snacks.

The kids in the community where I work often share a bedroom with a sibling, often one (or more) who they are charged with helping to connect to their virtual learning. As far as I can tell, the bed is the only piece of furniture in the room, and I often see two people sitting or lying in that bed, still in pajamas, sometimes looking at the screen, sometimes not.

When I say, “The expectation is that your camera will be on and I will be able to see your face,” I am asking a lot. Many have not had their hair cut in quite some time, and it’s a personal — even a cultural — matter of pride to look fresh if you’re gonna be seen. But in the times of Covid, when people may not have had work or a paycheck in six months, haircuts aren’t really a priority.

When I say, “I recommend that you find a space where you can sit up, minimize distractions, and fully engage in your learning,” I see students look back at me as if to say, “What world are you living in, lady?”

Indeed, what world am I living in?

What world am I living in where the richest most well-resourced country allows this kind of disparity? Where affluent — mostly white — folks in suits sit in a chamber and determine to send just ONE relief check in six months knowing that for most families that money was spent long before it was received? Where, with an election less than 50 days away — 50 days that families who are struggling beyond what we have ever experienced will have to find food for their families, gas for their vehicles (if they have them), and money to keep the power on — the suits refuse to come to an agreement over how to help our citizens who don’t have don’t have two homes, three cars, a time share in Florida, and a 401K.

What world am I living in where this story — the story of inequity that impacts not only education but health and lifespan and civil liberties — isn’t the number one headline, the number one problem, we are trying to solve every. damn. day.

Instead, in the midst of a global pandemic, where almost 200,000 Americans have died, many from communities like the one I work in every day, some people are still debating whether this pandemic is serious — or even real! Our president, who could be signing executive action to help the most vulnerable among us, spends his time and energy gathering large groups of supporters, flouting local laws prohibiting such gatherings, refusing to mandate that attendees wear masks, and spreading misinformation about the danger of Covid-19 and the timeline for a vaccine. And — and!– he stands on national television belittling those who would challenge his approach — calling them names and mocking them.

Is this real life?

What world am I living in where the nation’s leaders, instead of rushing to find solutions that will help those most in need, sit in climate-controlled rooms, six feet apart, freshly coiffed and smartly dressed, debating the political impact of an aid package? where in the moments following the death of one of our most loved Supreme Court Justices, a politically-charged debate about when and how to select her replacement reestablishes the political divide between us?

What kind of world am I living in?

I’m living in a world where I can do something, and so are you.

So what are we going to do? Are we going to stay in our comfortable communities sipping $5 coffees, debating the efficacy of masks, and throwing shade at the ‘other side’ from the safety of our Facebook and Instagram pages? Are we going to reduce our agency to a meme-fest bent on self-gratification and self-aggrandizement? Or are we going to take a long critical look at the world we are living in and decide if this is the best that we can do?

Is the best that we have a position where we consider our own lives to the exclusion of the lives of others?

I believe we are better than this.

The kids in the community where I live and those in the community where I work are counting on us. They need us to be better than this.

And we can be; we can change course at any time.

We can re-shape this world that we live in.

We can open our hearts, our minds, our hands. We can stop clinging so fiercely to our own ideals, our own ‘sides’, our own resources. We can love our neighbor — even the one we don’t agree with — as ourselves and determine to do all that we can for the least of these. Then we might be pleased with the world we find ourselves living in.

I was hungry and you fed me, I was thirsty and you gave me a drink, I was homeless and you gave me a room, I was shivering and you gave me clothes, I was sick and you stopped to visit, I was in prison and you came to me.’

Matthew 25:36