Nov 20, 2020
I Did Not Expect Bananas
I spent last Tuesday observing the polls for the Democratic party in my very red hometown. I came prepared for intimidation. I did not expect bananas. Here's what I saw: I was asked to defend my support for Biden by a White man with a haircut that says, "I'm the pastor of a church I invented myself". A different old White man leaving the polls turned around, pointed to my co-observer Kamila and me, and called our table "a waste of space". My Republican counterpart at his poll observing station turned to us and said, "I don't agree with him." Then he shared his hand-warmers and bananas with us. Later, a man arrived wearing - no joke - Trump leggings, holding a flagpole-sized Trump flag in each arm. My friend Joey, who is a hothead, charged him, shouting that he wasn't allowed near the precinct. Trump Leggings pleaded, "As long as I stay 40-feet away, I'm allowed to be here!" For the only time that day, I raised my voice -- at one of my guys --- telling Joey to leave it be. Joey walked right into his chest, and they hugged each other and laughed. They are neighbors. I do not understand this place. The day was filled with that kind of senseless nonviolence. Cheery “good mornings!” from all sides. Election officials emerged blinking from windowless school gyms, speaking proudly of the smooth process. A chipper Republican poll observer in his 80's had a uniquely-tailored greeting for every voter who walked past him. At the end of his shift, he approached my spouse and me and said "I'm not sure what to say, but I hope that this day is good for you!” This week on a post-election podcast, the host, a White person living in a blue state, said, of Trump voters, “Who are these fucking people? I literally don’t know who the fuck these people are.” I cringed; not because she’s wrong. But because her words sounded familiar. I spent a year Ireland just months after the signing of the Good Friday Agreement. Those memories have been washing up on the shores of my dreams lately. Have you ever been in a fight with someone, and you desperately want it to end, but you don't know how? That's what sectarianism feels like. The most surreal moment last Tuesday happened with Will, a Republican poll observer with a MAGA hat. Joey had spent half the morning debating Will, while my dad – who'd swung by to drop off sandwiches - swapped Vietnam stories. The Republican sample ballot kept toppling over in the wind, and Will’s knees aren’t what they used to be. After several solo attempts, Will consented to let my dad and Joey help. I watched these men set about creating a three-legged structure, rigged with wire and spare pieces of wood from Joey’s car. I didn’t know how to feel about this – why were we helping them? In my psychology training, I learned that our first instinct as infants is connection. We are hardwired for it. After the 2016 election, Sikh civil rights lawyer Valerie Kaur asked, "What if this darkness, is not the darkness of the tomb, but the darkness of the womb? What if the story of our country is one long labor?" If Kaur is right, and we're in the darkness of the womb, what does it mean to labor for a new nation? I get excited about the big, FDR-style projects that put millions of people to work capturing Appalachian music and building national parks. But I’m just as interested in what Eleanor Roosevelt called small places, close to home. A few weeks ago, I volunteered at an event to register first-time Black voters in our community. It was organized by two elders: Edith, a Black leader in our county’s NAACP chapter, and Elsa, a White woman whose grandfather, Major Giles Buckner Cooke, was the military assistant to Robert E. Lee. Yes, I wrote "grandfather". The event was held at Elsa's ancestral home. At some point during the event, I noticed Edith and Elsa sitting together, drinking tea on the front porch - old Giles's front porch - while Edith's grandchildren registered voters in the front yard. I mentioned this to my dad that evening, and he said, "oh, yes! We all met on a project to save the lighthouse!" Of course. A lighthouse. The fighting may be long, but the need for building will be longer. I understand that any democracy can crumble into a failed state. But I believe in three countervailing forces.
Political organizing and advocacy - fight like hell for a future you believe in.
Nation-building - work on concrete things with people who are different from you. Lead a Girl Scout Troop. Save a lighthouse.
Our primal instinct for connection.
I believe these can buttress us against the winds of sectarianism and failed statehood, like the three-legged structure, rigged with wire and spare parts from Joey’s car. But they take work.
Organizing for equity takes work.
Saving a lighthouse? Work.
And we may have a primal instinct for connection, but that doesn’t make it easy for us to live on this complicated, contested land together.
But what’s the alternative? We hole up in our factions and await the darkness of the tomb?
Let's get to work.
P.S. If you're interested in learning how Northern Ireland, South Africa and other countries are working through sectarian conflict, I recommend this interview with Karen Murphy from Facing History and Ourselves.
P.P.S. If you would like to hear what historian Tim Snyder has to say about sectarianism and failed states, check out On Tyranny.
P.P.P.S. But if you do one thing, please listen to Valarie Kaur's speech up top. It's worth 6 minutes.