A Letter from a Weary Albertan

Hello, friends and readers,

Politics in my province of Alberta is truly a growing concern in my life and in the lives of those around me. Our government has used the not-withstanding clause to force teachers back to work without any concrete steps to address the issues they are facing and strip the rights of trans people, and is now trying to introduce a 2-tier healthcare system. They are so out of line of what Albertans want that there are currently 17 MLA recall petitions gathering signatures at this moment, with 7 more initiated and organizing (operationtotalrecall.ca).

I am in total shock at the actions our current government is taking. What I don’t understand is why we, the people, would pay taxes for the government to effectively do nothing for the people? Along with ramming through bills without due process (because they know they won’t hold up), they are also allowing our healthcare and education systems to fail and drastically reducing funds for social programs and arts and culture initiatives. In Red Deer alone, I’ve heard that numerous agencies need to completely change their operations, start fundraising campaigns, or have shut their doors altogether—many of which have been serving those who are most vulnerable in our city.

Government exists to serve the basic rights of all people, not just those who look and think like them. And certainly not those who use power and money to perpetuate their gain of power and money. In its highest iteration, government should be by the people, for the people. But now, we have UCP MLAs that actively avoid the people (driving past striking teachers outside their office, sending auto-generated responses, or not being responsive, period) because they don’t want to be accountable to the fact that they aren’t listening to their voices.

What do we do when our voice seems small, our influence inconsequential, our efforts ineffectual? What do we do when the powers of the place we find ourselves is not acting in the best interest of the collective, but rather the vocal and power-hungry minority? Here is what I’m doing. Whether it’s right or wrong, I don’t honestly know. But it’s the best I’ve got right now.

1. Keep talking
   Every week, I hold various groups for folks of all ages—children, RDP students, mamas, and seniors—and I’m thoroughly convinced that coming together to talk about our lives and what’s going on is crucial. Not only is gathering together the only way to mobilize for change, but it’s also a way that we grieve, find hope, and inspire courage in the midst of what feels impossible.

2. Be community
   This isn’t about putting on big, perfect events or endlessly doing for others—it’s all the small ways I show up to let my people know I care: checking in with them and supporting them in the big and small things; gathering together to eat; watching each other’s children and sharing the load; sending a text to let someone know I’m thinking about them; scheduling a coffee date for next month so I don’t forget; playing games together.
   But community is also about recognizing when I’m not okay and asking for support when life feels like too much. It’s saying I need a hug because I don’t know what else will help. It’s recognizing that giving without receiving isn’t mutual or fulfilling.

3. Gather enough information
   I do my best to stay informed, but I can’t possibly know all the things and keep up with all the news. I remind myself often that, even a hundred years ago, the news I would’ve had daily access to would’ve been from my surrounding community. News from other areas would have made its way, of course, but not in the way it’s happening today. I’ve noticed that awareness of events is different than hyperfixation; one inspires action and the other keeps a person stuck in a loop.
   I’ve practiced noticing when I’m stuck scrolling: my brain goes fuzzy, my body feels shut-down or anxious, and my thoughts are overwhelmed by the need to do more. I get to choose to turn everything off and find safety in the stillness—I often lay on the floor with my legs up on my couch and my hands over my heart and belly, letting myself feel however I feel.

4. Embrace being HUMAN
   I’m allowed to feel stuck, to not know, to try something that turns out different than what I’d hoped. I’m allowed to lose hope altogether and feel the weight and grief of that. I’m allowed to make mistakes, let things rupture, and do the work to necessary to repair. I’m even allowed to feel joy: go for expensive coffee, buy a romance novel, learn to crochet, do a puzzle, play my sax, write in my journal, attend a concert, spend a day in bed, enjoy sex, go to a party, celebrate a small win.

I can come up with a lot of reasons why I can’t do these things: I have to work, my children need me, I’m so tired, it’s not important. But I daresay these small things add up to create the experience of living, and isn’t that what I want for others? When I fight for justice, am I not fighting for a person’s right to enjoy these small things and live a life that feels good and easeful and authentic? It doesn’t make sense to want that for others but then deny it for myself.

There’s probably more, but this is what I have today.

How do you keep going when circumstances feel heavy, or even unbearable?