This day in history

Today was the day the veterans stood between the water protectors and the militarized police.

Today was the day the Army Corp of Engineers denied the easement for the Dakota Access Pipeline.

Today was the day we who have stood up for #NoDAPL made history.

Today is a good day.

I want to thank the Sioux of Standing Rock for their long struggle for justice; for this stand that they have made not only for their future, but mine as well. You have been asked to endure more than anyone should be. You have taken so much abuse and you returned mercy. Everyone said this would turn into a riot, but you showed the greatest courage in your nonviolent protection of the water. Thank you for making your stand and thank you for allowing me to stand with you.

I want to thank the veterans who went Standing Rock, and those veterans who couldn’t go in person but were surely there in spirit. Thank you for putting yourselves on the line, for risking the cold, and triggers for PTSD to take a stand for your brothers and sisters of the Sioux. It never should have gotten to the point where this sacrifice was nessecary…but once again, we called upon those who have already given so much. Your courage in answering the call once more is inspiring and humbling.

I’m so proud to be the daughter of a veteran. Dad, I love you. I’m proud of your service, your kindness. I saw how you cheered on your fellow veterans, even when you couldn’t go yourself. I don’t say it often enough, but I love you.

Yes, today was a good day…the best I’ve had in a long time. But this struggle does not end with this sunset. When the sun rises again in the morning, we must keep on doing our best for each other and for this earth. We have achieved so much, more than they said was possible….we cannot afford to grow complacent now.

Mni wiconi. Water is life.

Why I Stand With Standing Rock

Today is December 1st. It’s the start of a new month…the last month of 2016.

It is also the Global Day of Action for Standing Rock and #NoDAPL. For those who don’t know, Standing Rock is a Sioux tribe reservation that has been protesting the construction of an oil pipeline (the Dakota Access Pipeline) that will disturb their burial lands and run under Lake Oahe, their sole source of clean water. They have been blocking the continued construction of the pipeline for months now with unarmed protests and prayers. They have been clashing with a militarized police force that (among other things) has held protesters in dog crates and used water cannons in below-freezing conditions.

If you are wondering why there’s been very little of this in the news…well, that’s the funny part. And by “funny” I mean concerning. You would think that Standing Rock has all the pull of a major news story: It’s got politics and environmental concerns, human interest, militarized police and race concerns. It’s got the little guy standing up against big corporations. Maybe the news black-out has something to do with those big corporations being oil companies and the little guy being Native American. Maybe it’s got something to do with this pipeline having been originally having been planned to go near Bismark, but being rerouted due to concerns about contaminating the drinking water.

Whatever the reason, the main stream media is just now starting to really pick up the story. The silence is, finally, over. And this month looks to be critical in terms of #NoDAPL–on December 4th, a group of veterans arrive at Standing Rock to act as human shields to protect the water protectors. There is a financial deadline of sorts on January 1st for the pipeline. I know I must be a bit irritating, constantly reposting stories about Standing Rock on Facebook and Twitter…but this is truly an issue that I feel deeply and strongly about.

So why do I feel so strongly about Standing Rock and #NoDAPL?

Well, it touches on many of my own “crusades”  about respecting the dignity of all people and upholding the Golden Rule. (Fun fact, I first heard about Standing Rock through my church, which responded to the request for help sent out by the Episcopal churches on the Standing Rock reservation.) The Sioux tribe has insisted on the tone of these protests being peace and pray. I am not advocating civil disobedience or violence of any kind.

I am standing with Standing Rock because the thought of an oil pipeline running through a cemetery where members of my family are buried, disturbing their remains sickens me and I cannot ask the Sioux of Standing Rock to quietly accept what I would not.

I am standing with Standing Rock because I would not want an oil pipeline to run under my source of potable water, risking both my health and well-being of my community.

I am standing with Standing Rock because I believe that this Earth is our home and we have a responsibility to take care of it.

I am standing with Standing Rock because I do not think the coming generations will thank us if we choose cheap oil over clean water, and corporations over communities.

I am standing with Standing Rock because I believe that the suppression of the rights and voices of Native Americans has gone on for far too long.

So during this month of action, I will be calling my representatives and authorities in North Dakota every day, and doing everything I can to support #NoDAPL. I ask everyone reading to considering doing the same.

If you wouldn’t want an oil pipeline to disturb your family’s cemetery, please join.

If you wouldn’t want an oil pipeline to contaminate your drinking water, please join.

If you wouldn’t want your family to subjected to systemic suppression, please join.

Thank you and God bless you!

A Conversation With a Republican

I had a conversation this past week with an older woman who is more politically conservative than me. We got along well, however, in spite of our differences: besides our political differences, I’m young and healthy while she’s older and in chronic pain. It’s always good to talk to people who do not share your exact views: conversations like that always seem to shape and sharpen perspectives more than a continuous chorus of agreement…as long as everyone remains civil, that is. I just wish I had initiated the conversation in a more graceful way.

A TV was on in the background, and of course, the news of the hour was Donald Trump’s transition team. More specifically, they were discussing whether or not Trump’s appointment of men with close ties to white supremacy movements means that this administration will be racist. I don’t remember giving my mouth permission to open, but nevertheless, a certain comment that has been ringing around inside my head somehow made its way outside.
“Well,” said the woman, “I guess I know who you voted for.”
Damn. Way to be subtle there, Hannah. I sighed and trotted out the explanation I’ve been using since the November 9th (the very same explanation I would have used had things gone the other way): “I voted for clean energy initiatives, the preservation of the environment, and for the dignity of all people to be respected and upheld. I felt that those values, at the very least, stood a better fighting chance with her than with him.”
“That’s probably the best argument I’ve heard for voting Democrat this election, but I just couldn’t stomach her,” she said in reply.
There was silence for a few moments…and then the news switched to coverage of the Hamilton/Pence/Trump on Twitter drama.
“I just don’t understand,” she went on, “why all these people are so frightened. I just want to tell them not to be afraid; there’s nothing to be afraid of. They should just calm down. Everything is going to be alright.”
There’s three possible answers to that kind of statement.
1. Make some non-committal sound, and change the subject.
2. Disagree violently: “Don’t you dare tell me it’s going to be okay!”
3. Try to explain your viewpoint in calm, respectful tones.

Of all the above options, I think #3 is the hardest…which is of course why it is the option I committed myself to.  You know, that pledge I’ve been struggling to keep.
“Well,” I said slowly, taking in deep breaths around the word and willing myself to be calm, “I guess it almost doesn’t matter.”
Judging from the puzzled look she gave me, I guessed I wasn’t doing a very good job explaining, having been so focused on staying calm.
“I mean,” I hastened to add, “that whether or not there is actually something to concerned about, you can’t just dismiss someone’s fears out of hand. It’d be…it’d be like me, a young woman who hasn’t lived a single day in non-stop pain, telling you not be depressed by the chronic pain you live with. ‘Keep your spirits up, you’ve got to remain cheerful! That’s the important part!’ You’d probably stop listening to me, because I’ve just demonstrated that I really don’t know what it’s like to be in chronic pain. It would seem like I’m just not interested in putting forth any effort into understanding what it’s like for you to be in constant pain––I’ve just offered a glib little cliché. I’ve basically just told you that you don’t have the right to your feelings about your own body and the pain you suffer.”
“I hate it when people do that,” she said, very quietly.
I nodded. Working as a CNA has given me front-row seats to the way people react to another’s pain, and the anguish that many of those approaches leave on the one who can’t walk away from the nursing home…or walk at all. If I’ve learned nothing else in my six years in Long-Term Care, I ‘ve learned just how damaging it is to deny people the validity of their own pain. “Telling people not to be afraid, or concerned,” I continued, “isn’t going to erase or ease their feelings of fear. It’s just going to make them feel ignored as well as threatened, angry as well as afraid. What we feel is very real…at least to us…and to just dismiss those feelings…”
After a long pause, the Republican turned to face me fully and asked: “So why do you feel concerned? What is it that makes you react as strongly as you do?”
“I’m just afraid he’s let the genie out of the bottle,” I replied softly. “This was a very emotionally charged election on both sides, but the rhetoric he used was pretty fear-based…and the fears of one particular group over all others. I just worry that now the vindictive expressions and extremist attitudes have been, well, normalized to an extent they weren’t before…Genies don’t usually want to go back into the bottle. Once they get out, they tend to run amok. Hate-speech is hard to control, once it has got a foothold. And I don’t like what I’m seeing, where compassion is being equated with weakness. If we can’t be kind and show empathy towards one another without being labeled a security risk and a dangerous flake…God help us all, but what do we have left?”
“We won’t let that happen,” she said firmly. “Even if he tries to do all that, which I don’t think he will, we won’t let it happen. You’ll see.”
I smiled back at her, a bit sadly. “I hope so,” I said.
The conversation was over and we each had to go our separate ways. During my drive home, I wondered if I should have made her stay longer, cited historical precedent for the populace allowing acts of oppression against minorities to be carried out by their government. Argued longer, better, more forcefully. Perhaps I should have––after all, those who don’t know their history are doomed to repeat it. But talking about genies and bottles put me in mind of another myth: Pandora’s Box. In that story, the last thing to be released from the box was Hope. Hope was smaller than everything that had been trapped in the box with it, but Hope was also the only one that could make the new world bearable.
Among my many flaws is impatience: I want things to change, and I want them to change now. That’s the crusader part of me, wanting to be united with the dreamer; the two extremes of my being desiring to be reconciled, knowing they can only do so in a world where justice and mercy dance in harmony.
But change, lasting change…that doesn’t usually happen overnight. It doesn’t happen in a single conversation.
In all the great stories, the ones I turn to for both solace and strength, there is a common theme. What is it that defeats the darkness, that turns back the tide of hate? It’s never just one single act of defiance. It is always the innumerable tiny acts of kindness, the little loves and minute mercies we offer to our fellow human beings every day. When it comes to kindness and courage, there’s no such thing as a wasted effort or insignificant gestures. All our small gestures run together into a stream that trickles through the dam until finally, one more act, the culmination of all that came before, smashes through.
Nothing I do, say or write is ever likely to be that culmination. That’s not an excuse to shut up, sit back and swallow my words. I may never be the culminating act…but I might be the catalyst for other small gestures of kindness. Ending that stimulating conversation with hope…doesn’t feel wrong. I gave her something to think about. You can’t really expect more from a fifteen minute conversation.

Misunderstood Millennials

This is a post originally published on my old blog. However, I feel like it is appropriate to bring over here, to this blog. 

Two days after the election, I found myself on my mother’s bathroom floor, trying to put words to the anguish churning within me. I had just seen the break-down of the vote, that showed that the majority of Millennials had voted for Clinton, but that Trump had the vote of the majority of the Baby Boomers. Then I had read a social media post from a person over 65 mocking my generation for our protests of the election of a man who believes global warming is a hoax.
I was shattered.
I am a caregiver, and I have sacrificed so much of my youth to care for my elders. I have given so much of my heart and my energy to making sure that the dignity of their sunset years is respected. And I am shattered by the blatant disrespect that so many (but not all) Baby Boomers hold for Millennials.
“One day soon, a lot of these people will have depend on Millennials to be their caregivers,” I said–or sobbed. “They will entrust us with their dignity and their bodies…so why don’t they trust us with the planet? The long-term environmental repercussions of this election will left to the Millennials to deal with. In fifty to a hundred years from now, when the environmental debt comes due…the Baby Boomers won’t walk this earth. But my generation will. We will be the ones who are stuck with a consequence that we voted against…and we are mocked for the horror we feel. We are called stupid kids. How is that right? How can I be okay with this?”

The next day, my mother published a post on her blog. Among her beautiful, raw words I found this:
“I am publicly apologizing to my children and the children of the world for an older generation who seem not care that we are leaving a desperately ill planet full of problems for them to sort out.”

And I am reminded that among those who come before me, there are those who have fought bitterly for the environment all their lives. I am reminded that they have been mocked and belittled for daring to turn their backs on what was easy and “making life harder than it has to be”. They have been made fun of all their lives, far longer than I have been called a stupid kid.

I say no more. I say enough. Preservation of the environment is not the stance of one political party or one generation. Climate change is not an opinion. Responsibility and sustainability are not optional.
To all those who have fought for my future before I was born, I say, “Thank you for your work.” I honor the sacrifices you have made and I promise, your struggles will not be forgotten. I am building off the foundations you helped to lay. Without your struggles, my future would be bleak indeed.
To all those who do not understand my passion and my protests, I say, “Thank you for your respect.” I get how I may seem strange, out of touch and consumed by things you do not understand. The life I live is so different from the style of your youth. I understand. But please do not mistake my passion for my future as a rejection of the memories you hold most precious. I do not believe that we should sweep aside the past, but I cannot live in the idealized dream of an age gone by. When I am your age, I want be able to enjoy the same beautiful planet you do now. I want to be able to go to the ocean without seeing large, floating islands of trash. I want to be able to walk outside without choking on air gone foul with pollution. And I want to be able to go to a zoo and not have to tell my grandchildren: “What you see in front of you is the last of its kind”. I just want the same things you have enjoyed all your lives and I know these things will not happen on their own. The pictures I see, of islands of trash floating in our waters, of the ice-caps melting, of dying polar bears…these pictures break my heart. They motivate me to vote the way I do, to think the way I do, to act the way I do. I want to grow old on a planet as beautiful as the one you have grown old upon. To do so, I believe there must be short-term sacrifices so that there can be a long-term future where my grandchildren can enjoy both a pristine natural world and clean energy.

So that is why I am standing up for what I believe in, why I am involving myself in the politics and direction of this country. And I promise I will still be there in the end for you, even if we do not see eye-to-eye. Even if you cannot understand why I am upset, I will still be there, as your compassionate caregiver. I will always fight for your dignity, even when you cannot. Especially when you cannot.
Trust me then and trust me now. I swear to you that I will always strive to be intelligent instead of ignorant, respectful instead of resentful, compassionate instead of cruel. All I ask is for you to listen to me, to hear me out even if you disagree. I promise to do the same for you.

To all those of my generation, I say, “Don’t give into complacency.” This is our fight now, this fight for the future of this fragile bouncing ball that we call home (God, I love Five For Fighting). We cannot afford to sit idle, to grow complacent, to sit on the side-lines. It’s our future, our planet, our lives.
We are the generation raised on Harry Potter and we have no excuse to forget these words that we absorbed in our childhood:

“Dark times lie ahead of us and there will be a time when we must choose between what is easy and what is right.”

If we must be Dumbledore’s Army, then let us remember to seek out the Order of the Phoenix. Let us not forget the wisdom and struggles of those who have come before. I promise: not all of them are going to shame us for being young and full of passion.

And even if some of them do, than let us consider this our chance to prove, once and for all, that we Millennials are not stupid and self-absorbed. Let us be compassionate as well as passionate.

 

Poem for a Safety Pin

So, yeah, this just happened. And unlike most of my other attempts at poetry, this one actually rhymes!

I want to help but don’t know how.
And so this safety pin is my solemn vow:
I shall not engage in any act of hate
Nor by my silence allow it to perpetuate.
And it’s only tokenism if I fail to act
In a manner consistent with this pact.

Update 11/15: I could still hear this poem in my head, even after I posted this. Usually that means it’s not quite right, so I kept at it. Here’s a new version.

When all around churns with fear,
I want to scream, “what’s happening here?”
I’d like to help but don’t know how
And so this safety pin is my solemn vow
I shall not engage in any act of hate
Nor by my silence allow it to perpetuate
And it’s only tokenism if I fail to act
In a manner consistent with this my pact

A new beginning

There’s something about beginnings, isn’t there?

Beginnings mean hope: if you start something, it’s a declaration that you hope to finish it. At least, that’s what beginnings mean to me. But then again, I’ve never had trouble starting something, and my hopes have always been stronger than my doubts.

No, it’s not beginnings that I have trouble with. It’s the follow-through where I struggle. In so many ways, I am a classic INFP: my brother calls me “a force of chaos through his otherwise orderly world”. That’s a compliment…or so he tells me.

Who am I? How to answer that?

I could give you a list of attributes, I suppose.

I’m Hannah Hedges. I’m a writer. I’m a CNA. I’m the devoted sister of a wonderful man with Asperger’s. I’m a daughter of two wise and kind people. I’m an Air Force brat. I’m an INFP. I’m an Episcopal. In politics I am liberal but in lifestyle I am conservative. I am the tempest in a teacup, a bundle of contradictions and confusion. But the sum of all these things still does not quite make up me. I suppose the quickest way to answer that question is I am a dreamer and a crusader.

I am driven to write by the voices in my head: stories that won’t leave me alone, words that pound on the inside of my skull, day and night. There is no peace in silence for me. I write because I must; I write to make sense of the madness that is both within and without. I write to understand myself and my world.

But I still have trouble with the follow-through. I have been writing for years, and yet I only have one book published. There are probably two dozen stories that litter my iPad and my room, spilling out in all directions from my life…all unfinished.

This new blog is a promise to myself, a promise that there will be endings as well as beginnings. This is a place for me to share the words that haunt me.

Welcome all to the journey.