Gladracketing
Other titles: "Songs to Make You Cry//Songs to Make You Laugh," or "Tiny Ways to Fight"
Here at Songs to Make You Laugh, Songs to Make you Cry headquarters, as we enter the fourth week of the new America, we are laughing and we are crying, just as our name suggests. Sometimes within the same breath we are doing these things - sometimes not knowing which is which because it’s all so overwhelming. I am figuring out a way to protect my sanity. With each sad story that is real and tangible and not just a news headline consumed among a pile of scandalous horrific headlines, each sad story that is spreading across everyone you know like the beginning of Covid - first it was a faraway fear and it wasn’t really our problem, and then all of a sudden you found yourself on your back for two weeks straight, struggling to eat or breathe. You found your loved ones in the hospital, fighting for their lives. So I take each story, and I balance it with gladracketing. I stoke my fires of hate and fear with hope and love equally, so that I can rise every morning on two feet, breathe in the mess and the flames and breathe out the calm and the gratitude.
Gladracketing is a term coined by one of the most beautiful writers and thinkers of our time, Ross Gay. In his Catalogue of Unabashed Gratitude, he says, “Thank you, what rackets us glad / what glad rackets us / the rusty brass band of gratitude not quite dormant in my belly.”
A friend who is trans is pulling down her pronouns from her professional email signature and all online account profiles because she feels like she needs to stay quieter about her identity in order to stay safe. // I watch the eyes of eager restaurant goers breakfasting at a local diner. Their stomachs empty, they are breaking fast! The plate is set down with so much precision, warm in front of them. Thank you, I watch their mouths say to the waitress, and mean it.
People in our country who think of themselves as patriots who love America somehow also support someone who is stomping on the Constitution, the rule of law and American Democracy. Someone who is allowing an unelected, unvetted and unconfirmed puppeteer to have access to the Treasury payment system. Someone who is purging the government of everyone who may not support him. // I take in a moment when the sun and the moon are both in the sky at the same time. The arch of the blue stretching between them across the enormous overturned bowl above me. I spread my arms wide, wondering what it would feel like to hold both orbs in my hands at once. I think of a phrase a coworker once told me: "the moon is beautiful, isn't it?" which is another way of saying "I love you" in Japanese culture.
During and after the election, the stories I heard of young girls being shouted at by young boys in school: “your body, my choice.” // I sweep the soot from the kitchen floor, then shuffle the pile into the dustpan, wet the mop in the sink, add a bit of soap, twist it, and run it over the smooth tiles. I light a candle. I turn out the light.
Childcare facilities and schools are grasping for solutions as their funding is at risk of being slashed. If they specialize in anything from early childhood intervention, speech therapy, mental health, or have foundational programs like art, gym, choir, there are jobs within those sweet, sacred buildings that are at risk. Not to mention the children who rely so much on these outlets and this support. // The way the sky stays bright when it’s snowing at night - quiet and cordial, not disturbing anyone because we’re all crawling into bed. So beautiful that I don’t want to pull down the shades, I want to sleep watching and listening to the lullaby of the snow.
People who work for businesses very near and dear to my family have legal status and have permission granted by the US government to work here as asylum seekers. To qualify as an asylum seeker, you have to prove that you are fleeing a dangerous situation. Their lives and their basic human rights are at risk in their home country, for religious or political persecution. Educated people from the Democratic Republic of Congo and Angola and Rwanda who had lives and families and friends and neighbors, people who were tax auditors, car mechanics, architects and nurses who are now here working ten hours a day for an hourly wage, doing a better job at something that small and large businesses have a difficult time finding qualified American workers for. These people are sincere and hardworking and incredibly grateful for the opportunity to have a job and to start their lives over here. They live a terrified and fragile existence now because of Trump's new policies and executive orders. These are documented immigrants. We see the fruits of their labor every day: in everything that we buy in a grocery store, every hotel room we stay in. They are caring for our children and our elders, doing hard and uncomfortable work in every state and city across the country. We rely on them so much and at the same time we don’t give them a chance at citizenship. Somehow, Trump is going even further: he is vilifying them. // I walk one morning along an icy sidewalk, seeing a cafe employee outside in her apron, sweeping off the entryway and carefully adding salt to the sidewalk in front of her shop. A man walks up and almost slips. She says ‘be careful! It’s slippery’ with earnest concern. He thanks her. I walk past a few minutes later after completing my errand, and she says it to another passer by. Be careful. We care about one another, we want them to take heed of the dangerous ice beneath their feet - we don’t wish harm on them, we wish a positive experience, a safe step, an unblocked road.
People who work for non-profits are suddenly stopped in their quiet, humble tracks. A woman we know who works at a nearby university, has a grant to consult for small businesses to help with efficiencies and waste. Her work, to simply help small businesses save money, energy and natural resources, is halted. She is unsure and uncertain where their path will lead next. // Gathering around a table. With friends or family, it doesn’t matter which - as long as you hug before and after you sit at said table. Laugh, discuss, rest. I don’t take it too seriously and I don’t dare think about touching a cell phone. The food, the roof over our heads, the warmth of the light inside and the stars and the moon as I walk back out to the car in the snow.
My company’s CEO, a second generation immigrant himself, wrote a message about our Diversity, Equity and Inclusion program. His response to opposition to these initiatives is that these are not political issues. They are moral, human issues. It breaks my heart that we may need to call them something else for the time being due to the targets that the sheer nomenclature pose for our current administration. Our CEO stated boldly, reassuringly, that we remain fully committed to these principals as a foundation of our culture and success. // Hugging a dog. Walking him, feeding him. Caring for another being.
Homes destroyed by fires and storms. New policies and funds and grants to figure out ways to slow this freight train of a mother of an earth rebelling and raging against us at risk of being slashed, shattered, uprooted. // I make a big pot of tea. Not just for myself, but for everyone in the house, even if they didn’t ask for it. They’ll want it. With honey, too, please.
A friend who underwent a hysterectomy the first week in January. She made the choice to do this so that in the case that the current administration follows through with the plan to continue to remove so many reproductive rights and freedoms for women, no matter what their situation, she is already taken care of. She and countless other women are living in constant fear that if they were to have to make a difficult decision regarding their bodies, the decision will already be made. // Giving all of our extra warm blankets and pillows and sweaters and wool hats and sweatshirts and socks to the local homeless shelter. Donating directly and immediately, to our community members who are so cold this winter.
Removal of the $2,000 out-of-pocket drug spending cap for Medicare patients. This means that multiple people who I love dearly, who have taken care of me throughout my life, will stop being taken care of and will continue to have to hemorrhage money because of diseases like cancer, rheumatoid arthritis and other serious conditions that call for high-cost drugs. // I pause to breathe. I breathe in and I breathe out. Through the nose I hear is best. Breathe in and stretch my arms all the way up, I breathe out and wash it all away. Breathe in the light, the clean air, the gratitude and the gladracketed items, the gifts of my precious life, and so so slowly, breathe it all out.
I am working on a project to gather unfiltered, firsthand stories from individuals directly or indirectly affected by the Trump administration's early actions. I want to tell stories rather than shouting headlines on social media or via iMessage. The goal is to create a safe, anonymous space for real, true stories. These stories will be treated with respect, and contributors will be notified and given the option to opt out if they are selected to be used in a larger context. If you or anyone you know would be willing to contribute, please send me an email at lcmshep@gmail.com.