Showing Up, Etc
I went to Costa Rica and all I got was this reminder about humanity
Before I tell you a brief story about travel and citizenship and showing up, I want to share a few of the sources I’m currently looking to for news + information. I have radically shifted my media intake habits (i.e. no longer default listening non-stop to NPR in the car; limiting looking at NYT on my phone; no cable news on TV; etc) and am really appreciating being able to follow smart, focused independent journalists on Substack, especially those who manage to sift through the absolute chaos and offer concise, measured, and consistent reporting. The zone is SO flooded, hateful chaos is an actual political strategy, and it’s all just incredibly terrifying and overwhelming. These are just some of the minds that I’m looking to in order to stay informed, engaged, and relatively sane:
Like so many, I really appreciate Heather Cox Richardson’s “Letters from an American.” She is sharp, steady, staggeringly consistent, and resolute in her critical position as an historian documenting these times.
“Reframing America” from Antonia Scatton is very smart and helpful and super-focused on language and framing (tagline: “Changing the way the American Left engages in the public debate”)
Anya Kamanetz’s newsletter “The Golden Hour” is ostensibly about “coping with the polycrisis” and I’ve especially been appreciating her weekly round-ups of What Really Happened This Week
Similarly, I really like Jessica Yellin’s “News Not Noise” (tagline: “We give you news, not panic attacks.” EASIER SAID THAN DONE, but I appreciate the intent)
I deeply appreciate reading veteran civil and voting rights attorney Sherrilyn Ifill’s newsletter
I always, always recommend my friend Garrett Bucks and his newsletter “The White Pages.” I honestly don’t know how he manages to turn around such thoughtful, rich, and nuanced essays so damn quickly, but I love it.
Jessica Valenti has been covering abortion and reproductive justice for a while now with “Abortion, Everyday”, and her work is SO critical and consistent
My friend Caro just recommended Erin in the Morning for “news and discussion on trans legislation and life.”
I always love Rebecca Traister. She’s not super active on Substack, but when she writes, it’s always A+
Anyway, I hope those recs are useful to you, and I know there are SO many more good smart hardworking folks busting their butts to ensure that good true journalism thrives and democracy DOESN’T die in darkness. Please share your recommendations!
And now here’s a story:
I left America for 10 days with my family and I loved every second of it. We went to Costa Rica, a long-planned dream trip for all of us: two 11 year old boys, one 15 year old daughter, two lesbian moms. We rented a car, we explored the beaches and the jungles. We swam and snorkeled and rode horses and swam in waterfalls and made chocolate and soaked in volcanic hot springs and released baby sea turtles and hiked (ok, I hiked—the kids refuse to hike). There were monkeys and sloths and toucans and scarlet fucking macaws and dolphins and deer and poison dart frogs and iguanas and crocodiles and a massive blue morpho butterfly that floated past my face like a dream. There was gallo pinto and patacones and camarones con pollo and fresh coconuts. And of course: the ticos. The nicest people ever. Endless, endless pura vida. I know that this is A Thing people say about Costa Ricans, but I really felt it to be true. We felt safe and at ease and welcomed.
It felt so good to take a break from the United States. To navigate a Spanish-speaking country with our kids, for them to see us speaking Spanish (my wife’s Spanish is much better than mine, let it be known, but I try!), for them to practice their own Spanish. It felt so good to meet and connect with locals, as well as the travelers we met who were from all over the world. It felt so important to remind our kids, in this particular moment, that the world is really big, and that it’s filled with fascinating, cool, kind humans. People like Giovanni and Vannessa, who run a tiny magical place called Guapote Lodge in the town of La Tigra, who made us meals, showed us sloths, and insisted that we not pay until the final day of our trip. Our kids were flabbergasted by this display of trust. And people like Melvin, a friend-of-a-friend, and Jorge, a complete stranger who drives a shuttle, who came together to save our idiots asses after, ahem, we left our passports in an Airbnb and didn’t realize it until we’d driven 4 hours up into the cloud forest. Long story short: our kids witnessed the utter kindness of a series of strangers who came together to get five Americans their precious passports. There was a trusting kindness, a notable ease, a kind of pride in place and country that felt expansive and positive, not possessive and exclusionary.
After almost two weeks of pura vida vibes and mostly ignoring the news from back home, the flight home was a rude awakening. As we approached the departure gate I immediately clocked a contingent of men and their intense, unmistakable non-pura vida American vibes. I eavesdropped and learned they’d traveled to Costa Rica on a work trip to visit a plumbing parts manufacturer and wow were they straight outta central casting: burly and white and thick-armed and dressed in the traditional American regalia: a “Fauci for Prison” shirt. A water bottle covered in “Let’s Go Brandon” and “#FJB” stickers. They were pissed off about flight delays. They were rude to the harried, hardworking employees. They radiated aggression. They felt so…American. It made me feel mad and gross and deflated.
We boarded the flight and they were in front of and next to us and one look at Fauci bro and his scowling CrossFit wife and all their dumb American flag stuff and womp womp. I felt my face harden, my nostrils do their involuntary bitch-flare. My daughter was like what the fuck and my son was like “Why would someone want Dr. Fauci to go to prison?” All the happy chill I-love-humanity energy I’d been cultivating seemed to sizzle and evaporate, like drops of water on a burning hot radiator. I felt so angry at them. It was such a shitty feeling to have. I tried to focus on organizing a Google photo album of adorable sloth videos. Our flights got rerouted and a bunch of dumb travel stuff happened and we ended up having to fly to Houston and then Denver and the five of us sprinted through the Denver Airport, “Home Alone”-style, to barely make our final connecting flight home. The plumbers were not on that flight, though. Flights back to Oakland always feel better.
The day after we returned I got an email from a woman I hadn’t heard from in years. She’s a veteran political activist, and after the 2016 election she began organizing groups of people to register new citizens to vote immediately following their new citizen swearing-in ceremonies. For years the swearing-in ceremonies were held every so often at the historic Paramount Theater in downtown Oakland. I had joined her contingent a few times, and it was always an incredible experience. Hundreds of humans from all over the world all sworn in at the same time inside the theater, and we would be waiting outside on the sidewalks for them, clipboards in hand, offering to help them register so that they can exercise one of the glorious benefits of this new citizenship. Apparently the ceremonies had moved to a different location for the past many years, but she had just learned that they were back at the Paramount, happening the next day, and she was organizing a last-minute effort. Can you show up?
I signed up. And then immediately I didn’t want to go. I was tired from our travels, a little crabby and disoriented from the vacation reentry. And also: I feel so fucked up about America. Did I really want to go celebrate nationalism? Does voting even matter? Is this the end of the American experiment—will there even be an election for these new citizens to participate in? I found myself asking the questions I normally try to tell others to let go of: Will this action actually do anything? Does it matter? Also: will anyone actually show up? Will it be awkward and weird? Blah blah BLAH! The self-defeating mantras! I am admitting to you that I, a person who has long been a loud cheerleader for other people to show up and take action, have been feeling shitty and cynical about showing up and taking action!
But! Something my friend Garrett Bucks recently wrote really stuck with me. His list of “Thirty lonely but beautiful actions you can take right now which probably won't magically catalyze a mass movement against Trump but that are still wildly important” is SO GOOD. He offers a big beautiful array of actions you can take, and the entire point is really to JUST SHOW UP, even if you’re not sure/intimidated/think it might be lame/etc. Just get over yourself and your excuses and try new things and take some risks and SHOW UP. “Show up for and support other people’s efforts, even when you’re skeptical about them.” That really got me. I sucked it up and I showed up.
And I’m so glad I did.
I drove to downtown Oakland and walked up to the Paramount theater and joined a tiny group of volunteers: four other white women, all about 20-30 years older than me. I listened to a brief review of the voter reg process and then we took our spots and waited for the ceremony inside the theater to end. There were vendors selling all kinds of celebratory items: candy leis and red white and blue beaded necklaces and special frames to preserve and display the certificates of citizenship. A guy selling those bacon-wrapped hot dogs with sizzling peppers and onions that smell so good even to a vegetarian like myself.
When the doors of the Paramount opened the people began to pour out. The energy was incredible. Families hugged and cheered and took pictures. You could tell the new citizens because they all held packets containing their certificates and paperwork and they also all had tiny American flags. Many help bouquets of flowers. They were dressed up fancy, they were smiling, crying, making phone calls. And for the first time in months the sight of the flag didn’t make me cringe. I held my clipboard and I smiled and made eye contact and greeted people as they hustled by on the sidewalk: “Congratulations! Felicidades! Would you like to register to vote? Quieres registrarse para votar? Es muy facil y rapido!” It a little chaotic and a little awkward—I felt like one of those eager 20 somethings, canvassing for the ACLU or Greenpeace outside the grocery store. I tried to tell people with my smile and my eyes “I’m not selling anything! I’m here to help!”
Many people smiled and waved and kept going, but many people did stop, excited to register to register to vote. For about an hour I stood there, handing out clipboards and pens, assuring people it was a quick (and free) process, guiding people through the process. I think my favorite part was watching people answer the very first question on the voter registration form: Are you an American citizen? The way their faces lit up, the one or two seconds it took some people to process their answer. The huge smiles that crossed their faces as they proudly checked YES. The absolute pride I witnessed—the kind of pride that doesn’t make me pissed off and afraid. The kind that feels open, generous, collective. I have all kinds of fucked up feelings and opinions about nationalism and citizenship and borders but also?! I felt SO damn happy for each and every one of these new American citizens.
I registered people from Germany, Mexico, El Salvador, Canada, the Phillipines, Brazil, France, Myanmar, and more. A father and his two daughters, all from Peru. A woman dressed up so fancy in her traditional Guatemalan trajé with her wide-eyed tween daughter and wiggly baby in the stroller. An elderly Irish man all alone in a stunning three-piece wool suit. An older Canadian lesbian with a guide dog and a whole crew of friends there to cheer her on, who told me “I’ve waited 42 years for this moment!” People holding tiny newborn babies, people with tantrum-ing twin toddlers, grown children helping fill out the form for elderly parents. I answered questions about how American elections work (and successfully reframed from being sarcastic or cynical). I helped an elderly woman who only spoke Cantonese fill out her passport application. I used my phone to find the closest Walgreens that does passport photos without appointment for a young Ugandan man. I let an Argentinian woman use my phone to call her son, who was late to meet her. I offered to hold other peoples’ phones and took many family portraits.
I wanted SO badly to ask everyone their story—how long have you lived here? How long has it taken you to get to this moment? What does citizenship mean to you? Is American home? Are you worried about this country? Do you feel safe? But that wasn’t my job—my job was to be there, to help, to make sure they answered the questions on the form. To welcome them to a country currently hell-bent on being unwelcoming, on acting like we’re not a massive amalgamation of immigrants. To be a nice fucking human who smiles and says congratulations!
In addition to talking and writing about the hellscape we’re living through, people I know are also talking about joy—finding moments of it, appreciating it, cultivating it, acknowledging it. I felt joy registering new citizens to vote. I felt joy just watching and bearing witness to the pride and excitement. I didn’t cringe when I saw the American flags—tiny flags fluttering, clutched in hands, lapel pins on clean crisp suits. When I saw someone carrying what appeared to be an American flag sheet cake, I smiled. In addition to joy I feel like we also talk a lot about holding multiple truths at once: It’s not lost on me that if I’d seen the Fauci bro from the airplane with a jingoistic dessert I would’ve lost my shit, scowled, said something rude and snarky under my breath. Context matters. (Are you worried that I unfairly judged the airplane plumbers? Should I look inward and examine my assumptions and not make up such limiting stories? Maybe they weren’t homophobic! Fine, maybe, but also?! Blech. Not right now. I saw what I saw, I felt what I felt. The toxic manosphere is real, the danger is real, and I don’t have to be curious about it right now.)
Sigh. I don’t have good answers for any of this right now. I also don’t have a neat or clever way to wrap up these anecdotes, to slide into a satisfying conclusion or tie it all together. I just know that I’m glad I’ve had these recent experiences to help shake up and shift around my perspectives. I’m grateful that I have the privilege to travel, and I’m grateful to have access to writers, thinkers, and organizers who keep me informed and engaged. And I’m really glad I showed up, and I plan to do it again, even if it might be awkward or weird, even if I don’t know anyone else there, even if I’m not sure it will “work” or move the needle or “make a difference.” It matters.
In his “20 Things” essay Garrett also says this: “Again, whatever you do: broadcast it. It doesn’t have to be on social media, but that’s fine, too. Is that performative? Absolutely, but you’re not doing it for yourself. You’re doing it to model it for somebody else. Do you know why human beings attend artistic performances? To understand ourselves better through somebody else “performing” humanity in front of us. First comes the performance, then comes the repetition, then comes the integration into all of our lives.”
So! This is me broadcasting going out into the world to show up for others. Tada! You can do it too.
XO
Kate
p.s. I’m still off social media! It’s great! I recommend it! My brain says THANK YOU!
