On a beautiful spring Sunday, March 23, I was not having brunch outside.
I was in Abingdon Square Park watching my neighbors stage a Die In to protest cuts to Medicare and Medicaid and Social Security. Senior citizens lay down on the asphalt in front of the Doughboy statue holding tombstones and playing dead. Others stood at the park entrance with signs “Medicare Cuts Killed Me” and Make Democracy Great Again.”
As I took photos, I flashed back to November and contemplated how we landed up here- with seniors planted on the ground next to the daffodils.
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“It doesn’t look good,” said my therapist Dr. R. during our zoom session right after the election. “If the Republicans don’t step up, we’re screwed.”
I was scared and wondered about the best course of action. Should I get politically active again? Should I bury my head in the sand for four years? Should I become a hedonist and enjoy the years I have left? Should I get my EU citizenship and escape to Europe? I qualified because my mother was born in Ireland.
“Giving up is never a good idea,” said Dr. R. “But hedonism is a possibility.” We agreed it would be hard for me to move because I loved my life here. I loved living in the Village in Westbeth Artists Housing and looked forward to escaping every summer to the vintage beach bungalow I’d inherited at the Jersey Shore.
My family and friends were in New York and New Jersey. I had great neighbors who brought me soup and fruit and chocolate when I had covid. I’d worked hard to create this life. I refused to let Trump take away my joy.
Dr. R. was not that shocked with the election results. I was blindsided. She always thought there was a good possibility Trump would win. Maybe she had a different viewpoint because she doesn’t live in liberal New York City. “There’s a lot of unknowns,” she said back in November. “You can’t know what to do yet.”
At the end of February, I spoke to Dr. R. for the last time before her long vacation in France. By then we had a much better idea what was going on: Trump and Musk were turning the United States into an oligarchy. The Republicans were scared and submissive and the Democrats were in disarray.
I updated my shrink that I was upset and had trouble sleeping. The situation was much worse than I’d expected. I was angry. My life had been going so well until our government was overtaken. “It’s a total nightmare,” I said.
“It’s very scary,” said Dr. R. “There’s no way you’re not going to have those feelings. It’s infuriating and horrifying.” And then she said something really deep: “We can’t control our place in history. We’ve been lucky until now and this makes you realize how little control you have.”
I had been talking to Dr. R. for many years. She helped me get through the death of both my parents. She helped me get over being dumped from my 26 year lesbian relationship. But could she help me survive the destruction of our country?
When I asked my therapist for coping strategies she said, “Be politically active.” I told her I was already doing that and would continue to resist. I was now on duty. I knew the assignment and would report back to her when we spoke again in April.
In the last session before her trip, we also discussed my news consumption and if I was overdosing from reading several hours a day. I don’t have a TV so I get my updates from newspapers and substacks and watching videos on the Internet and listening to NPR. I had to find a balance. I needed to stay informed without going crazy or getting sick.
Dr. R. asked, “Do you feel upset or energized?” For sure, I didn’t feel energized from reading all that bad news. If anything, I felt depleted. So I decided to cut back on my news media consumption. I started by cancelling my subscription to the Washington Post, (long overdue). But taking action with others was energizing.
I joined protesters on March 1 outside the Tesla dealership on Washington Street in the Meatpacking District. Over 350 people crowded the street chanting “Arrest Musk” and several people got arrested for going inside the dealership.
On March 5, I attended an early morning outdoor service Glitter + Ash Wednesday at the Stonewall National Monument. Led by ministers from Middle Collegiate Church in the East Village and St Lydia’s Diner Church in Brooklyn,
we prayed, we received ashes (mixed with glitter) and we sang, “We bear witness. We will not look away. See our resistance. We will outlive them”
“Glitter +Ash Wednesday claims and transforms a historically Lenten ritual as God’s holy affirmation of Queer existence,” explained the flyer. “Glitter +Ash is a powerful reminder of St. Augustine’s teachings that we cannot despair, because despair paralyzes.”
That reminded me of what Senator Bernie Sanders said, “At this particular moment in history, despair is not an option. Giving up is not acceptable. And none of us have the privilege of hiding under the covers.”
I sent Bernie a donation to fund his “Fighting Oligarchy” town halls. He and AOC were packing in crowds around the country. If the Senator could be out there doing this at 83, I had no excuse not to be in the streets or on the highway.
On March 25, I stood on the median of the West Side Highway at Christopher Street during evening rush hour. I was holding a sign that said “Honk if you Love Democracy.” The local event, Honk ’N Wave, was my favorite protest because it was fun and interactive. We rang tambourines and bells and hoisted our signs as cars and trucks drove up and down the highway. The reception was great- lots of honking from cars and trucks and Ubers. Many drivers waved at us. We got excited and shouted “Woo Hoo” whenever they honked.
But a man in a white car yelled out, “God bless Trump” as he rode past. And a car with two women was stopped at the light when one of them looked at me and said, “Long Live Trump.” I gave her the finger as their car pulled off.
A protester next to me had a sign “Freedom over Fascism.” My friend Ken was waving his cane. Runners and cyclists thanked us as they headed to Hudson River Park. “This is much more fun than the die in,” said my friend Susan who was at both events organized by Greenwich Village for Freedom.
Would my protesting make a difference? I didn’t know, but it made feel better. I was gearing up for the Mass Mobilization on April 5.
I read somewhere that we had six months to save our country or it would be too late. If so, that gave us until July. I pumped myself up by listening repeatedly to Laura Nyro’s gospel infused anthem, “Save the Country.” Written in 1968 after the assassination of Robert Kennedy, the song now sounds eerily prescient. The Bronx born singer-songwriter (who died too soon at 49), pounded on the piano and pleaded, “Save the people! Save the children! Save the country!”
In the middle of March, I had a scary dream. I was walking along the main road near my beach bungalow when a neighbor told me my house was on fire. I ran up the street to my home and grabbed the garden hose to put out the fire. I’m sure Dr. R. would interpret it this way: Your homeland is on fire, and you are desperately trying to save it.
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Want to get active? Check out these groups.
Greenwich Village for Freedom, An Indivisible Group [email protected]
https://www.RiseandResist.org.
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