Joy is a Form of Resistance

"Last night, Jim and I, along with co-hosts Beth and Michelle, welcomed people into our home in an intentional effort to process (or begin processing) this cascade of horribles while reminding each other that we can and must maintain our fidelity to JOY despite it all."

The husband of a friend has worked in international aid for years, right up until the Trump admin shuttered his agency a few weeks ago. His work involved providing nutrition for pregnant women and children under two. "Kids can survive a bout of famine once they're two and over," he explained last night, "but being malnourished before the age of two does permanent damage." Now their facility is shuttered, food left to waste. People will starve, babies will die. He hopes someone will break into the facility and distribute the food before it goes to waste. Eliminating USAID will be a death sentence for millions of people. This is not hyperbolic. And for what? Foreign aid accounts for less than 1% of the federal budget.

Meanwhile, we're witnessing the largest job cuts in American history from all across the government, including the IRS, National Park Service, Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, and the departments of Agriculture, Education, Energy, Health and Human Services, Homeland Security, and Veterans Affairs. It may be we in this country are about to discover that while the government is not perfect, it does a lot of good. Or at least it did.

Last night, Jim and I, along with co-hosts Beth and Michelle, welcomed people into our home in an intentional effort to process (or begin processing) this cascade of horribles while reminding each other that we can and must maintain our fidelity to JOY despite it all.

We opened up the floor so that our friends - new and old - could give voice to their pain. We interspersed every personal story and every uttered concern with a poem that pointed us back to joy. If it sounds cloying, it wasn't. The poems - fierce and powerful as they were - kept the night from devolving into a bitch fest. We acknowledged reality and voiced our despair, but also, as a friend said, we kept our cortisol levels from spiking. No small feat.

That the night never once devolved into a partisan affair is a testament to the company we keep. More than once, our friends cited the importance of reaching across the political divide even now. Especially now.

There will be a lot of boots-on-the-ground activism in the coming weeks, months, and years. I'm gonna to need all the community, all the artists, and all the poems to make it through.

Thanks to all who came out. If you’re in the Chattanooga area and you'd like to join us in the future, holler! We'll add you to the list.

Love,

Sara