Nourishing Politics

Near where I live, there’s a small, tucked-away forest that dips down into a shady little wooded canyon. I can walk there from my house. I’m lucky to have this pocket of nature nearby, and I go there often when my soul needs nourishment. I’ve been needing more nourishment these past couple weeks.

The Kavanaugh hearing. The buildup, the hope, the anguish, the apprehension. I’ve been riveted. Christine Blasey Ford’s words made me weep, and her seeming dismissal within hours by Senate Republicans left me numb. The whole thing has starkly highlighted our country’s flaws and divisions in a way that feels personal.

Once again, there is the infuriating, daunting reminder of the great distance women have yet to travel in this country to be equal and heard.

Walking to the forest, my feet carry me through my neighborhood in the sun, around corners and up and down hills till I reach a dead end, where I enter the trail. Time slows down in the forest. The path winds beneath tall Douglas firs and redcedars, descending to the edge of a babbling stream that drowns out city noise. Last month, I saw an owl swoop down here to perch at eye level. We watched each other for several minutes before other hikers disturbed us.

Beside the trail, a small concrete structure nestles into the hillslope, topped with a manhole cover. Normally it would be just an incongruous reminder of the vast city infrastructure nearby, but this manhole cover is different, because a local woman has taken it upon herself to decorate it with flowers.

She often comes multiple times a week, clearing out the pieces that have grown mushy with rain and starting her artwork anew. You can see it from far away—colorful petals and whole blossoms, seeds, berries. Sometimes there are Japanese lantern pods, orange and incredible, their berries inside their papery walls.

The woman arranges it all into brilliant concentric circles, each item placed with purpose and care. Lately, feathers have formed an earthy bouquet behind the main piece.

I always pause in wonder here, taking in the exquisite colors and shapes. Once, I watched in fascination as a giant banana slug sailed lazily through the arrangement. I often see others pause here, too. It’s hard not to feel a sense of reverence. This small offering, this woman’s ever-changing art, nourishes the soul as much as the surrounding forest does.

I’ve been longing for such nourishment in my civic life. Perhaps, if I lived in some smaller community, words like “society” and “politics” would mean different things, feel different from how they feel. If society was made only of my friends and neighbors, decisions might be made through long discussions, perhaps over food.

But the world is so big and anonymous these days. It’s so easy to harden.

I recently pinpointed that hardening as the reason I sometimes avoid political activism. I believe in activism—I understand now, as never before, that in a democracy complacency leads to tyranny. Democracy only works if We, The People are engaged. We must be vigilant.

And yet, I do often avoid engagement, not just because I’m busy, but because I sense that political action will deplete my soul. I like myself best when I’m soft. Even the thought of calling or writing my own liberal Members of Congress makes something rise up and tighten within me.

So I’ve made a recent deal with myself. From here on, I will only “do politics” if I’m also nourishing my political soul, the way that flower artwork nourishes me in the forest.

And for me, political nourishment comes from fostering civility.

Civility—the art of respectful disagreement and exchange—nourishes me because it connects me to the humanity behind the factions. When I remember that the other side is made of human beings like me, when I remember that I don’t know everything and they may have things to teach me, when I remember my faith in the basic goodness of most people, my heart opens. I can forgive. I can be more curious. I can be soft.

I don’t want to be misunderstood here. This isn’t about tolerance—civility isn’t about giving up the good fight so we can all get along.

It’s just about remembering the humanity of everyone involved, even and especially those you’re fighting against. It’s about still fighting, still showing up to protests or calling your Members of Congress or signing petitions, but meanwhile also finding space in yourself to still love. To not close your heart to those on the other side. 

Because you can love someone and say “no” to them at the same time.

My deal with myself works both ways. I will only “do politics”—activism—if I also “do civility,” because when I think about civility, it nourishes my soul and sustains me through my activism. And also, I will only “do civility” if I’m also “doing activism,” because civility doesn’t mean tolerating the intolerable.

So this week, my activism is writing postcards to purged voters from Georgia. I’m joining the Atlanta NAACP in contacting potential voters who were purged from the voting registry, encouraging them to re-register to vote.

And because thinking about voter suppression depletes me, I’m also taking time to write this blog post about nourishment.

The solution is sometimes to take breaks from politics, but I’m glad to have found this, as well: a way forward that helps me to engage with love. I will strive to carry with me, always, the softness of my feet along the dirt path, and the beauty of the ever-changing blossoms in their circle, and the quiet strength of the steadfast trees.