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These days most things are upsetting if you’re paying any amount of attention. Since my last essay on the heels of Inauguration Day, I have felt buried. Both by the day after day onslaught of complete federal insanity as well as by the sheer amount of effort and energy it takes to continue to survive it. It’s absurd that while federal agencies are dismantled and my neighbors are kidnapped and troops are deployed to my city and the government shuts down that I still have to show up for work. I still have to organize my community and do everything we can to obstruct the rise of fascism. And I still have to drink water and do the laundry and brush my teeth. Frankly it’s a miracle that any of us are getting anything done at all. But we mostly seem to be managing, and that's amazing. Two weeks ago I was buoyed up by Saturday’s enormous protest march. It started on the bus. A couple seats behind me a small group discussed their recent employer’s choice to replace their jobs with robots. "I can't fund that product now, not if it's produced in that way." How nice to overhear labor organizing on the bus. I glanced slightly to the side to look out the window and saw an anti-swastika social media image scroll by. How nice to sit next to someone with that social media feed. At every stop, more folks boarded the bus with signs and sassy tee-shirts, talking jovially and clearly headed to the No Kings protest. Meanwhile the bus vibrated so intensely while stopped or at low speed that I couldn't look at anything without scrambling my brain. So I closed my eyes and practiced some internal Taiji Qigong Kung Fu stuff. I was fully in my body, enjoying the ambiance of solidarity around me. It felt like an incredibly Portland bus ride. I felt a profound sense of belonging and I love every second of it. Downtown, I got off the bus with everyone else and we walked together toward the protest. Along with all the other busloads of people just arriving. There were so many of us we were like a mini march all on our own. Hundreds of people streaming along blocks and blocks of sidewalk carrying signs toward the waterfront. At one point a pro-OrangeMenace march went by and we stopped to let them pass. There were... tens of people. Chanting vapid slogans in flat passionless voices. It was a remarkably tense moment, everyone around me seemingly holding their breath and unsure what to do. Then I laughed out loud. Heartily. Because it was just so absurd. We weren't even there yet - we were still just on our way - and we already outnumbered all the president's supporters 10 to 1. Once I broke the silence, others began booing at the backs of the maga group and we carried on. A few blocks later we blob merged with the main march and I was enveloped by the sea of people and signs and inflatable creatures. It was the most joyful protest I've ever attended, it felt more like a festival than a political action. There were people from all ages and demographics, coming together to be loud and resistant. There were so many good signs! I laughed, I cried, I rolled my eyes. I felt called to action and I felt inspired. The photo highlights were all over social media in the days after the protest, so the witty reprimands and sick burns will live on indefinitely online. Thanks, internet. After we crossed the bridge it was my time to go. I stood at the bus stop watching the crowd pass. It went on and on and on. I was not at the beginning of the march, somewhere in the middle, and there was so much more march behind me. 15 minutes later my bus arrived and the march was still going strong. Like it was never going to end. I felt hopeful in a way I haven't very often this year. Not naively hopeful that a protest alone will stop tyranny in its tracks, but hopeful that as I resist the rise of fascism it will be in solidarity with more people than have shown up before to fight for justice. A few weeks ago as I went by on the bus I saw a some words painted on a wall: still here It reminded me that one of my great contributions to the revolution are these words. My loving and insistent call for everyone everywhere to heal themselves enough to see themselves, so they can see the humanity in others and then treat everyone humanely. It is my gay agenda. And at this point it's not optional. We can't not get our shit together. The alternative is what’s happening right now: fascist psychos who think they can fill the deep dark void within themselves by taking away the right for other kinds of people to exist and controlling everything and everyone else (and also amassing all the money even though they have plenty and there's absolutely no point). Those of us who have been on our healing journey for more than five minutes understand that it doesn’t work like that. There is no way to fill an inner void with external input. And there is no way to take your fulfillment from others. There is no way to take your security from others. All it does is cause suffering and trauma. And we don't have time to keep traumatizing each other, especially with the looming future catastrophe of climate change on our doorstep. Also, in the end, when this is all over - when we have suffered and then overcome and we kick the fascists out of government and we fix the planet and we equitably redistribute all the resources - I’m still going to be here. And they’re going to have to look me in the face. All those people who caused this catastrophe by voting for it and enacting fascist and racists and bigoted policies are going to have face me and everybody else. They are going to have to go to the grocery store and take their kids to school and show up at work alongside all the people they tried to legislate out of existence. It’s gonna be so awkward. But not for me. Because I was paying attention to what all that terror and injustice was doing to my heart and soul and body. I was mitigating and expelling and healing as we went about the business of making change and seeking justice because otherwise I would not have survived. So in the end, I will still be here. We will still be here. And we will demand accountability. Information and Inspiration
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AuthorJaydra is a human in-process, working to make the world a better place. Sharing thoughts, feelings, and observations about the human experience. Archives
November 2025
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