I recently worked to design and facilitate a workshop on “organizing people in a crisis.”
There’s a lot in that statement. First of all, let’s talk about how, when you are organizing, it’s due to a crisis. I mean, people don’t typically organize because stuff is going well. Organizing, protesting, marches … they all stem from some sort of trauma and/or pain.
Yesterday morning, as I was reading through my notes before we started, I was busy with messages from people losing financial childcare assistance. Promised that there were funds to last a year, families and programs were stunned to hear that September 30 was the last day they could receive this benefit. Six months in and the money was gone. So, there I was, preparing to help educate a group on how to organize folks in the middle of a crisis, when I found myself standing right in the middle of one, taking names and phone numbers.
I read messages from women whose husbands had lost their jobs and lost their businesses due to the COVID-19 shutdown and, because they’re the “working poor” now, felt as if it was manageable because they at least had childcare paid for. Story after story from women, demanding and asking that someone fix it. Childcare in West Virginia is a crisis anyway, but Rona has taken it to the next level. I think I’m going to start labeling them as “Day (x)’s Crisis” because it seems as if every new day brings with it a new crisis.
COVID-19 hit and there was a school crisis. Then there was a feeding crisis. Then, because we hadn’t experienced weird yet, a toilet paper crisis. Healthcare crisis. Unemployment. Housing. George Floyd. Coin shortage. Small businesses. Sports. Band. Sports again. School reopening. Black Lives Matter. Childcare assistance … it’s like a never-ending list of crises. All of this in six months! How much more can we take? Or, maybe the better question is, how much more will we take?
During the workshop, we were discussing resilience. A participant pointed out that our case study did demonstrate resilience, but it was a kind of “forced resilience.” Someone elaborated and said that it wasn’t like the resilience that comes with running a marathon but was, rather, a resilience that you didn’t choose. The words “exhausted,” “stressed,” and “breaking point” were mentioned. The phrase “forced resilience” hasn’t drifted too far from my mind since I heard it. There’s so much truth in those two words that I can’t escape it.
We have been forced to dig deep within, haven’t we? I mean, we talked a lot last week, on the anniversary of 9/11, that we needed to behave as if it was 9/12 again; we need to love one another and nurture ourselves and our communities again. But we can’t, can we? I won’t even be a Debbie-downer and say that it’s because we’re too divided because I don’t think that’s the truth. I think the reason why we can’t return to our 9/12 state again is because we’re all in it now, up to our eyeballs.
I had never even been to NYC when 9/11 happened. I had no idea what the Twin Towers were, or even where they were for that matter. I learned a bit about them when I watched the news, but that was the whole of my understanding. I could turn off the TV and walk away from it. I didn’t know anyone there. I didn’t have any emotional or physical attachment to it, which made it possible for me to be kinder and gentler; I wasn’t dealing with the tragedy and recovering from the tragedy at the same time.
That’s what’s different with COVID-19. There isn’t one of us who hasn’t been touched by this! We are emotionally, mentally, and physically invested, which means everything is personal. Stores closed? I need to go to the store so I’m mad. I work at the store so I’m mad. Restaurants closed? I want to eat out so I’m mad. I own the restaurant so I’m mad. I worked there so I’m mad.
And it’s not just anger, right? We are mourning.
We are reaching our boiling point because of trauma and pain and hardship. Some of us scream and yell with each other in person. Some of us scream and yell on social media. Some of us don’t scream and yell at all because we’re crying or filled with anxiety. We’re protesting, marching in the streets, screaming at the governor. We’re starting Facebook groups and signing petitions. We’re reaching our boiling point.
We’re realizing that we aren’t alone in this. And we’re organizing. We’re ready to move from pain to power. And it’s about damn time.
Onward,
Amy Jo
