March

“If your voice held no power, they wouldn’t try to silence you.” ~unknown

My drawing of Renee Nicole Good.

We attended a protest this past weekend. When it was originally scheduled, it was against war in Venezuela, but after what happened last week, we were there for Renee Nicole Good, too. The horrors pile up so quickly, there’s an onslaught of relevant themes.

It occurred to me that each protest becomes increasingly dangerous as ICE becomes more emboldened. ICE agent Jonathan Ross murdered Renee Nicole Good for noncompliance, so even saying “no” (politely, peacefully, unarmed) seems to be a capital offense, with ICE empowered as judge, jury, and executioner. The killer was not arrested. As far as I know at this time, he has suffered no consequences. Since then, agents are breaking down doors, forcibly entering private homes. Masked, armed. Still no warrants. The Constitution does not enforce itself, nor do our laws.

I usually make a sign for each protest. We both do. I couldn’t land on anything that felt right, so we went sign-less. We would be bodies in the crowd, showing our support. (In fact, there were signs there for borrowing, and we each grabbed one. Mine said “Justice for Renee Good” with the “ice” in “justice” all caps with a red circle and slash over it. My husband chose one that stated: “Equal rights for others does not mean fewer rights for you. It’s not pie.”)

Earlier, I flippantly suggested that I could make a sign with a target on it that said: “Here. Making it easy for you.” My husband frowned and said: “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

It’s weird to know that I could be harassed, arrested, harmed, or killed now by government sanctioned representatives just for showing up in a way that angers them.

I don’t know how many losses will accumulate before something finally breaks, or in what direction it will go. At that breaking point, either millions will take to the streets or everyone will be cowed into submission and protests will stop. If it’s the latter, we will cede our government to Trump and the oligarchs and find a way to live under this brutal regime. There are other countries who’ve done it, with groups of people oppressed for generations.

I guess it’s a question of what’s worth fighting for. Some people want to avoid conflict and will never be motivated to visibly dissent. And I understand the reluctance. I despise conflict. But as my neighbor Connie said: “We do what we can and must!”

I feel compelled to participate for myself and for all of you. And I know that I’m not alone. It isn’t enough to live, it has to be a life worth living.

Losing the freedom to speak my mind and to exercise agency makes me queasy. I grew up that way. It was hell. The road we’re on feels eerily similar.

I’ve been carrying Renee Nicole Good around with me. In my thoughts, in my art. I’ve done other memorial paintings and drawings for past tragedies. Sometimes, I don’t have it in me. Sometimes, it’s a comfort. Spending time with her sweet face was my way of honoring her. Art as prayer. I became absorbed in the mechanics, hyper-focused on light and line and shadow. Connecting with her while also maintaining a bit of technical distance. The drawing is lying on my kitchen table, so I see her every day.

The signs at the protest gutted me. “Be good. She was.” “Good vs Evil.” “Stand for Good.” “We saw the videos.” “Believe your eyes, not the lies. She is us. Fuck ICE.”

She IS us. Someone who gave a damn. Someone who put herself in harm’s way to protect others.

There was a sea of exceptional people gathered for her, for all of us. They were creative, considerate, and warm. Like always. Literally always at every protest I’ve been part of.

There was an animated character dressed as a shark. Someone wearing a bug costume. A man dressed as Lady Liberty. A young woman in a red handmaid’s outfit. There was a joyful minister—Pastor Lauren—smiling at everyone, blowing bubbles. I thanked her for the goodwill. She replied: “Gotta bring the positivity.”

Upside down US flags (the symbol for a country in distress) and Venezuelan flags rippled over the crowd. There was a man playing a guitar, a DJ blaring infectious music. Aretha singing Respect. The Dixie Chicks singing March (which gives me chills). Helen Reddy belting I Am Woman. I couldn’t help but sing along. Loudly. I didn’t care. Neither did anyone else. We came across 3 neighbors and hung out with them for a while.

I was on the verge of tears the entire time, but that’s normal for me at these events. I become filled with emotion when I’m surrounded by kind, brave people. Showing up requires more courage than ever. And still they were there. If I’m going to be massacred, I want to be standing next to people like that when it happens.

I hope I don’t die. I don’t want to die. I love my life. But fuck this shit.

If enough of us say no, maybe we can still turn this thing around.

“…it will take everything you have to steer the future away from endless war, from the annihilation of the earth’s treasures and the grinding down of the poor and marginal... To hope is to give yourself to the future - and that commitment to the future is what makes the present inhabitable.”

Rebecca Solnit