It’s Political

On a recent boring evening, I turned to social media for a bit of entertainment. I scrolled through my friends’ posts: rows of elegant masks crafted by creative folks, pictures of my sons’ trip to Michigan’s Upper peninsula, a few requisite cats, and a tiny knitted Joe Biden. Still bored, I checked in on page for moms who are physician assistants. I feel old here, as far more people are discussing pregnancy and the toddler years than menopause and college COVID plans, but I need community right now, and these nearly 7K women are at a safe social distance, so I started reading the newest post.

Disclosure: I’m not just a PA tasked with coaxing people to reach for more celery than chocolate; convincing patients who don’t want a flu shot that, for the love of Grandma, they should get one; and clarifying that that cocaine in their urine drug screen probably means they actually used cocaine. I also teach composition, argumentation, and rhetoric to gifted middle- and high school kids. I could count the ways that supporting these two populations require similar skills so support and manage, but let’s save that for another essay.

The original post was a mixture, I believe, of honest angst coated in Trumpist rhetoric about COVID 19. It was a version of a meme-like list of questions about the pandemic, some that we all ask: When and how will this end, should we worry so much? It was sigh-worthy, especially coming from a medical professional. It started with this line: Please keep politics out of it.

So, as I was bored and looking for a bit of excitement, I replied. I waxed about We versus I attitudes and the tendency of the US to value individualism over community. We went back and forth, others joined in, and it took up more hours over several days than I like to admit. (I told myself and my husband that, as part of my new rhetoric class that starts this week, I needed to examine the rhetoric of others and practice my own. Did I also mention I was bored?) It went on for days.

All this is mundane, of course, this social media storm. So is is this line, found early in her screed: “Please leave politics out of it.”

I’ll not bore you with the minutiae of the back-and-forth, nor the devolution of her rhetoric, or even the very minimal support she received. There was a bit of sadness in that. I like a good argument (not the yelling kind, as I tell my students).

But that line stuck with me: Please leave politics out of it.

I couldn’t get through my first response without noting that omitting politics when discussing this pandemic is impossible. She was concerned about people losing their small businesses, something that’s happening all over the nation and is definitely troublesome for the business and their owner as well as the community, but that’s political. Small business loans were diverted to large companies, leaving less for those who owned those small business loans. Politics was central from the start — our government’s denial that <gasp!> Americans would (in droves) fall sick and even die of COVID-19 was the major driver of the pandemic’s strength. Doing nothing isn’t benign, after all. It’s lack of action that got us to this place: disease deniers and charlatans, inadequate PPE, lack of leadership, poor testing protocol, a dismantled government pandemic plan, income inequity, and so much more.

And it’s all political.

It’s political when Congress can’t manage to settle on an supplemental unemployment package that gives a hoot about the poorest of those unemployed. It’s political when we don’t have the PPE for anyone who needs it to be safe at work. It’s political when governors are making (or not making) the calls for masks and lockdowns while the president sits silent. (And it’s political when blue states act more prudently than red states). It’s political when people reject masks for “free will,” a phrase that has been so abused that we should retire it for at least a few generations..

It’s political when people of color die at a higher rate than white folks. It’s political when insurance is attached to employment and that only some of us can pay the COBRA bill or manage the deductible and premiums for an ACA policy. Iit’s political when we keep a worker’s hours under the full-time threshold just to save money on those benefits. And it’s of course political that, as the wealthiest nation in the world, that we still don’t have healthcare for all.

It’s political when we count on schools to feed our children. It’s political when we damn those same children to underfunded schools staffed by overworked, underpaid teachers. It’s political when our Secretary of Education is undermining our underfunded public education program, and it’s certainly political when that Secretary of Education holds schools financially hostage and threatens cutting funding if those schools plan to teach remotely rather than in person. (Walking that back doesn’t make it less political.)

It’s political when the person in the highest office of the land spouts nonsense about a not-cure. It’s political when that same person refuses to wear a mask, thus encouraging millions to do the same. (And it’s political when we can tell someone’s politics by their willingness to wear a mask correctly or at all.)

COVID-19 itself is just a virus doing what viruses do: trying to stay alive. It’s unconcerned about your healthcare insurance, socioeconomic inequity, immigration status, race, ethnicity, education level, or shoe size. It has no compunction about the wake it creates and the havoc it wreaks. And yet, it’s political. We shouldn’t be surprised that a virus can be political. AIDS was political, and highly so. But most diseases are. Political bodies, local and national, make choices that are, at their root, based on the politics surrounding the disease. Who gets the disease? What is their race, their gender, their power? What price does the disease carry? Could any of us suffer or die, or is it those on the margin who have the most to lose? Is it a disease that starts from “other” — China, Africa, the gay community, the poor, the immigrant? What chance is there that the white and wealthy will suffer? These are the questions of people, policies, and politics, not of the disease.

It is, therefore, the task of the people, by the people, and for the people, to find a path forward through this pandemic. That path includes political, there is no doubt. Politics brought us to this disastrous point, as we have a president who is reckless, foolish, and incompetent and a Senate majority that uses that leadership vacuum and associated chaos for their own personal financial and political gain. This tragic reality is literally killing us. If we decide, as a nation, that our health and wellness and wholeness depend on smart, clear-headed, logical and compassionate leadership working with cooperative community members, all accompanied by science and expert analysis, we just might find our way out a bit sooner, and with politics that value “We the People.”

So what can you do? Start with the personal: Wear a mask, and if you can’t, stay home. Wash your hands. Keep your distance. Skip the crowds. Have coffee outside with friends or online with your favorite meeting platform. If you’re exposed, quarantine. If you’re an employer, make your workplace as safe as possible by following CDC recommendations and allowing sick leave.

But also be political. This isn’t a time to sit out on election day or delay submitting that mail-in ballot. Our only way through this pandemic is through strong, sane, and compassionate leadership that is focused on the We. So vote. Exhort others to vote. Help them register. Talk about the hard issues — racism, classism, and sexism. Ponder parties and power together. Support the rights of those whose voice isn’t heard. Amplify voices of power and privilege who are working for a more equitable nation. And use the word We. It’s a powerful first-person plural pronoun that we should all use more often. And together, as political people, we CAN make change.