mother. daughter. semi-reformed punk rocking girl drummer. also, somebody's wife. i like loud music and comic books and the sound of my sons laughing and cool crisp autumn mornings with leaves crunching under my feet. i like cooking, but i am a...
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When my children’s eyes look at me and they ask me to explain
It hurts me that I have to look away
The powers that be are in for shame and comeuppance
When Generation Lockdown has their day
They’ll throw the bums all out and drain the swamp for real
Perp walk them down the Capitol steps and show them how it feels
Tramp the dirt down, Jesus, you can pray the rod they’ll spare
Stick it up your ass with your useless thoughts and prayers
Like, I’ve legit mostly checked out - though I’ve thrown a little bit of cash at a few - because I’m tired of having my heart broken and I’ll hold my nose and vote for whomever is the nominee.
But God I hate Bernie Sanders. Look at his record, his actual record, look at the way his surrogates are empowered to act in his name, and tell me how he is possibly the guy.
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When Trump got elected, I sat down and took the time to write down what I considered norms - not just the things I believed in, but where the country seemed to be relative to issues I felt important. Before you jump on me about setting him up for failure, I did the same thing for the previous president. I've tried to do it for any elected official for whom I have strong feelings and who based on the climate in which they were elected has the potential to really move the needle - good or bad.
Here we are in 2020 and while my personal list hasn't budged (unsurprising, because I started out in a position of distrust of the current administration), who we are and what we believe as a country certainly has. You can discredit my position as biased if you're a fan of this administration - and I'm willing to entertain that - but I'd rather have that conversation in a venue other than the comment section. I do have receipts.
Whatever you think of what's happening in the U.S. Senate right now, I'd urge you to think about what it means to have a fair trial. It's a sham, it's rigged? Well, as much as I love the law, and as much as I love the justice system, we agree that it is frequently rigged. The thing is, the system is generally rigged in favor of exactly the type of person who is currently on trial. The trial is being held in a Chamber wherein the majority are his own party. The presiding justice is, in fact, an appointee of his own party.
Mostly, I find myself wondering - if he did nothing wrong - why witnesses aren't welcome to tell that story. Surely his attorneys have witnesses of their own.
I am no fan of John Kelly or John Bolton. I do not trust them. Let's be clear on that. But it's both fascinating and terrifying, as I think back to that exercise of writing down my own truths and norms and the lines I wouldn't cross, to watch the very people who cheered their presence in this administration, lifted up their service and intellect and praised them as having the best interests of the country at heart, now vilify them.
The beauty of this country is that it is supposed to be bigger than any one person. We have a tricameral system of government that is supposed to ensure that. The Founding Fathers, oft glorified by conservatives as forward-thinking and right, were pretty specific that they wanted to avoid the consolidation of power in the one over the many.
But here we are. There is more at stake on the Senate floor than the current occupant of 1600 Penn. So much more.
I first met John in 1996, as a student representative on Macalester’s Alumni Board. I was a sophomore who had made it through my first year by the skin of my teeth. I had no idea what I wanted to do, wasn’t sure if Mac was the right place to be, and yet somehow found myself sitting at a table with a bunch of alumni who seemed to have figured it all out. We went around the room introducing ourselves, and everyone was so interesting and accomplished and I was just this kid from the southside of Milwaukee. I blurted out that I’d been campaigning since I was three and I was probably going to major in political science. John’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, and the trajectory my life was forever changed.
Over the course of the next few years, I spent a lot of time with John. We worked on campaigns together. I interned for him in Bruce Vento’s office, where he set the gold standard for and taught me the importance of constituent services. Whether the person on the other end of the line or the other side of the desk was a supporter or foe, they owed everything we could give them because that’s what public servants do. I helped paint – albeit poorly, sorry Betsy – the walls of their house on Ashland.
John taught me that all politics is local is more than a cliché. Every lunch we had included an introduction to the restaurant’s owners and a history lesson about the neighborhood. John seemed to know everybody, and took great joy in playing matchmaker of a networking sort. He had a knack for connecting people who could help each other. He knew how to draw out strengths, nurture those around him to do and be more.
The third time I moved back to Minnesota after college, I had to admit – a struggle for someone who is a Wisconsin native – that maybe John was right and maybe Minnesota was God’s country. I asked him for school district recommendations, because of course John was the guy I was going to ask for school district recommendations. He was the guy you asked for statistics or analysis or obscure trivia because he knew Minnesota better than just about anyone.
We snarked about politics and the Mac Today and traded headlines from the our local papers. I saved most of those emails, and looking back at them as I was trying to think of what to say I was struck by how smart he was, and how incredibly funny. I imagine many of you have folders of the same exchanges. The man sure could write.
The day after the 2016 election I emailed John, completely and utterly defeated. We met for lunch, pho as comfort food. What do we now? I asked him. You know what to do, he told me. You get back to work, you keep going. People out there need you now more than ever. If anyone among us had reason to be cynical John sure did, but he never was. Pragmatic, sure, a realist? Definitely.
When people ask me how I can still believe in government, in good public policy and the ability of individuals to move the needle to make this city/state/country/world of ours somehow better, I think about John. John’s why. He taught me what it means to be a public servant, because he was one of the best.
John was the best at brainstorming, knew when to encourage and when to suggest course-correction. Working on a school referendum this fall, I sent him a post I was working on. Good stuff, he said, but you know better than to give oxygen to the taxes argument, and you might want to revisit all those commas. As usual, he was right. He’d probably red-pen the heck out of this piece.
John was a mentor, he was a teacher, he was a friend. I am so lucky to have learned from him and worked for him, to have spent time in his orbit. He wrote – eloquently as ever - about waiting for a heart – the right heart – and part of me wonders if it was even possible that there was a heart out there that could have been up to the task. But even as I say that, I can hear John in my head, taking me to task for excess sentimentality.
Sorry, pal, you’re just going to have to deal with it this time.
Betsy, Jack, and Kate – I know you don’t need me to tell you how much John loved you, how proud he was of you – but I’m going to say it anyway. When he talked about you, his whole body changed. You were the joy and purpose of his life.
If there was anyone who understood how finite our time is here, it was John. He was a planner and so he left pieces of himself behind. When I look out over this room – at his family, at his friends, when I think about all those that couldn’t be here in person but are in spirit, I can’t help but smile. He may not be here physically, but those seeds he planted in each of us those will continue to blossom and grow.
There’s a hymn we sing in my church on All Saint’s Day, and the last stanza goes like this:
They lived not only in ages past; there are hundreds of thousands still; the world is bright with the joyous saints who love to do Jesus’s will. You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea, in church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea; for the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too.
Sometimes, you’re lucky to meet one of those every day saints for lunch on University Avenue on the regular, and you don’t realize just how lucky until he’s gone. John touched so many lives even though his was far too short. The world is a little darker today without him in it, but in the same breath I know how much better the world is because of his time among us. As John told me in 2016, you get back up, you keep going. There’s work to do, and a passed torch to carry.
Godspeed, my friend. May the Lord hold you in the palm of His hand until we meet again.
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But probably can’t because of who all is in attendance...
“As devastating as it is to say goodbye, I take great comfort knowing that John left us before the NYT endorsed AKlo. The resulting stroke would likely have been a far more painful way to go.”
My pal John died yesterday. I call him my pal because that's how he always signed off his emails. In reality he was a dear friend, a mentor, and without question one of the people who had the greatest influence on the trajectory of my life. He was so smart, and so funny, and everything a public servant should be. The world is a little darker today without him in it, but in the same breath I know how much better the world is because of his time among us. I am going to miss him very much.
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So now as I'm leavin'
I'm weary as Hell
The confusion I'm feelin'
Ain't no tongue can tell
The words fill my head
And fall to the floor
That if God's on our side
He'll stop the next war.
baratheonpilled
stormborns
jacobvanloon
yousharknotpass
2087
