Only a couple months ago, I arrived at my sister’s house for our family’s Fourth of July party with a fruit salad and the seemingly inescapable feeling of dread. All of the adults shared in the lackluster vibe of the moment, subdued by the passage of Trump’s nightmare budget bill and the realization that Republicans were all living up to our worst expectations. But what can we do?
My preteen niece showed off her festive outfit and decorations, as the ultimate party planner, she had planned it all flawlessly. After she showed me the ribbons for her hair, she kind of shrugged. “Mama said we don’t have much independence left, but we can celebrate anyways.” Not quite knowing the right response, I shrugged, too.
Later that day, the Guadalupe River flooded and killed at least 138 children, some of whom were spending their summer holiday with friends at camp.
All through the summer, an uptick in measles continued, with kids sickened and hospitalized by a disease that was once eliminated, but is now killing in the US.
Meanwhile, school funding was frozen, putting critical resources for students and their families in limbo.
ICE pressed on, forcibly separating parents from their children, sometimes by crashing treasured school and community events, and sometimes by violently breaking into homes.
And then there were the mass shootings. So many we can’t remember them all, but each disturbing and prevalent in the news. A church in Kentucky, a bar in Montana, a skyscraper in NYC.
Now, an elementary school in Minnesota.
It’s hard to think of a thing I wouldn’t do to protect and shield the kids I love in my life. Yet now, I can’t think of a thing to do. I shrug sheepishly.
I know they must see some of what is going on. They must feel it. They must yearn to feel secure and protected as they walk into school with a backpack and hand sanitizer as their only armor.
They must, with their whole lives ahead of them, wonder why the old suits with nothing to lose play roulette with their future. Why all the adults in their lives just shrug, or cry, or ignore the threats that shake them.
I wonder too. How do I let go of those little hands on a day (on a week, in a time) like this? How do I, and everyone I know, not drop everything and stand on the streets with a bullhorn and demand their immediate and constant safety?
I don’t have a good answer. This world makes no good sense to me. I see our freedom slipping away and I can’t grab it. I see our kids suffering and I can’t soothe them.
But as much as I feel responsible for their safety and yearn to have control of preventable threats to their well-being, I know it’s a fantasy. I can’t take the blame.
Despite the fierce denials of Republican electeds and appointees, they hold the lion’s share of responsibility for these things. They block everyone else’s best efforts to make the world better for our kids. They rip away protections. They promote institutions and industries that do them harm. And they refuse to use the power they have to immediately change the course of all of this.
I hate to admit it, but Republicans are playing a big part in raising our kids. They’re doing a horrible job of it, but they are shaping, most profoundly, the world that shapes our young people.
So, to all the Republicans claiming ownership of this responsibility during ideological campaigns but denying it when it comes to tangible threats to kids’ lives: yes, we are going to make this political. It is inherently political, and you know it. Your absurd abdication of the duty to protect the most vulnerable and beautifully innocent among us is nothing short of criminal.
We’re done taking the fall for your failures. We’re already having to do the agonizing work of repair in their aftermath.
Last night, I watched my niece as her mom briefly filled her in on the Annunciation Church shooting. She didn’t ask questions or cry, she just listened. Her eyes flickered about as she just kind of took in the information. A new fact of life, something to know about her world. No independence, no safety, no sign of change.
What should I say? Acknowledging my limited influence and the callous indifference of those with power, how can I respond? What do I tell my little loves with their big, curious eyes?
I give the best peace I know right now:
No matter what, we are always independent—free in our thoughts, able to imagine something better, something innovative and wonderful for the future. We are safe and secure in our love with one another, something that can never shake. From that haven, we are powerful and brave, even when we feel scared. And even though you are all of those things, the burden is not yours to change the world.
The world is changing, and I have no doubt that you will change it, just where you are, just as you are. Because when this world is cruel, you are still kind. When it is stifling, you still create. When it is heavy, you remain light—leaping and running and impossible to pin down. You only need to hold on to that.
I’m searching for a way to help our world along, to join with the millions of others working to make changes that make you safer. We haven’t found it yet, but we will. And we won’t ever let it go, because we love you more than you will ever know.
With love and hope for the future,
Stephanie
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How do you show up for our next generations right now?
Great article 👍🏻✌🏻
Well said, Dr. L. It is past time to take a stand. We must, for the generations that follow to have a future of promise.