The whole country knew California had an election this week to recall the governor, an election that failed. The pundit wisdom is that Trumpism gave Newsom his victory, and given that a number of Californians I follow online didn’t seem to get vocally involved in anti-recall activism until after a far-right talkshow host became the leading replacement candidate, I imagine they might be right.
Though only 42% of voters turned out on Tuesday, or mailed in their ballots on time.
For me the message has always been: Don’t vote No because you fear the new guy, vote No because you love democracy, and this isn’t it. The rich people who paid enough money to gather enough signatures never had to make an argument that Newsom was unfit for the office. He broke no crimes. He committed no ethics violations. He just governed differently than they liked, and all they needed for a chance to replace him was the 1.5 million signatures they paid for—and if that seems like a high number to you, that’s equal only to 12% of the last gubernatorial electorate, which is the required threshhold by which California automatically had to begin the process of setting up a recall election. Kansas, by comparison, requires signatures totaling 40% of the electorate.
It’s an enormous and costly process. Tuesday’s recall election cost California at least $276 million to run. If you want to know why that number is so high, I served as an inspector at a polling place on Eureka Street, and I will tell you what we had to do. Bonus: you’ll get to see what it means to hold a fair, functional, and accessible election. And extra bonus: you’ll hopefully see why we need to Vote No Again on 2022’s recall of three San Francisco school board members, and on the likely recall of our district attorney.
Spoiler: you can’t. Everyone’s wrong on Twitter. Well: everyone posting a sincere tweet that’s usually based on anger and/or policies they’d like changed is wrong in and throughout their post(s).
Why? Well, I’m here to figure it out. This idea came to me three minutes ago.
Here’s what happened. I was on Twitter to tweet in anger about the effort to recall San Francisco District Attorney Chesa Boudin. I hate recalls because I love democracy (I’ll return to this later), but mostly I hate that this recall effort, which from all I’ve seen based is in witlessness and failed imaginations, has garnered the signatures it needs and will be voted on in 2022.
I’ve had beefs with the Chronicle in the past, and for sure they’ve been part of the problem in aiding this recall effort, by devoting headlines to crimes that scare people and are easy to share on social media, broadcasting this idea that San Francisco is a crime-ridden wasteland. But also, I’m glad the Chronicle has also provided articles, columns, and op-eds, detailing all the ways that crime is down in the city.
To be clear: if you’ve believed that crime (i.e., robberies, burglaries, assaults, thefts, sexual assaults, larcenies, etc.) is up in San Francisco, you’ve been sold a lie.
I worked for a few mornings on a post I was calling “How to Think From Yourself”, which I was doing my best to convince myself was not a pedantic piece of self-congratulation, but ultimately I couldn’t keep lying to myself. It was. I wanted, the morning after the election, to teach people the difference in thinking from yourself and thinking for yourself—the latter carrying to me an air of abandonment, like “fend for yourself” does. And I wanted to teach people how to figure out whether they’re really thinking from themselves when they say they’re trusting their gut.
It was a mess of a post. Here’s the only bit of it worth salvaging:
There’s a very American idea out there about trusting your gut. I’m not entirely sure what it means, but I imagine it has to do with feelings, which source themselves in your gut. Butterflies in your stomach, a knot of fear, etc. Maybe you feel your feelings elsewhere in your body, but mine are there.
When a person finds their brain at war with their gut (or their heart, where the warmer feelings seem to get sourced), this American idea says to side with the feelings. Feelings beat out the intellect. Don’t overthink it. Go with your gut.
An idea I like to bandy about, particularly on Twitter, is that most people think they’re thinking when in fact they’re feeling. Most tweets poke us in our gut, and we spit up what feels true to us. Most of us spend more time in gutspaces than headspaces, if only because headspaces take work to navigate and are, it’s true, exhausting. It’s not 8-hour-job-on-your-feet-no-breaks exhausting; it’s less a heavy body ache than it is draining and dizzying. A lot of time in your headspace can feel like too many rides on a tilt-a-whirl.
Why is that? My guess right now is that thinking requires linearity and the mind is anything but linear. Consider the sequence in which memories come to you—it’s never chronological—versus what you know your mind needs when you say, “Give me a second to think.” Thinking requires a steady laying-out of steps or ideas, and it asks us to form the mess of living into a chain of cause-effect relationships—all while the brain is continually spinning and processing the moving world around us, and trying not to get distracted by car alarms, campaign billboards, or sexy people crossing the street.
The gut never asks for linearity, and the gut doesn’t get distracted. But I don’t know why that makes it more trustworthy than the brain. I’m trying in this post to figure out how I think, and what kind of thinking I value, and why I value it. When I talk about thinking not just for yourself, but from yourself, I don’t mean this gut stuff. I don’t mean to trust this inmost part of your self’s body. I mean to stop feeling as thought your body is at war with itself. Stop believing that you have to pick a side of your insides.
One pet peeve of mine is when people online tell others Do Yourself A Favor And Learn This Thing I Learned To Do Long Ago, You’ll Be A Lot Happier, and then they don’t even bother to teach you how. Any moment I tried to get into the how, the post was a mess. So maybe I’ll come back to this, but all I can say for now is that the first step is knowing who you are and what your desires are, and to make sure you’ve arrived at those desires independent of your politics.
Which requires the didactic spelling out of another process, so you see how difficult good teaching is.
Where white men have to lead, so I’ve been told, is in conversations about racial injustice and gender inequality, when the audience for or members of that conversation includes other white men.
(Immediate clarification: white men do not have to lead women, trans people, or people of color in conversations about racial injustice and gender inequality.)
Used to be I’d’ve thought the opposite, that white men needed to sit back and shut up and, ideally, listen in such conversations. But as a colleague once explained to me, calls for justice and equality sound different to white people’s ears when spoken by other white people.
Her unspoken implication was that white people, by virtue of our history of being underchallenged on these topics, have developed a knack, consciously or otherwise, of being deaf to POC voices. Or of granting those voices low priority. Or, worse, of hearing marginalized people’s own arguments for equality as “black people once again making everything about race.”
In other words, when white guys make something about race, other white guys tend to finally listen to the conversation about race.
Oh, I remember thinking. My discomfort is an effect unbefitting my intention. (I was probably less articulate in the moment.) I wasn’t racist, and I may not in my lack of action have been a vehicle for racism, but nor was I in my lack of action putting an end to racism. When another colleague of color later spelled out the burdens I put on my already-burdened students of color by waiting for them to tell me of their discomfort with any racist goings-on in the classroom (goings-on I may have been ignorant of), whereas what they were looking for was for me to call it out, if anything as the person nominally “in charge” of the classroom, that sealed it.
I did not want to have to lead in topics and conversations where I felt ignorant or unskilled, and so because not leading in those conversations is a form of violence, I had to stop being ignorant and learn some skills.
What makes me most angry as a member of the public is injustice. Maybe growing up the youngest of three got me attuned to it. I have been angry since watching that asshole cop kneel on George Floyd’s neck last week—sometimes low-level angry, sometimes Unable To Do Anything-level angry—as I imagine you have been.
(If you haven’t been angry, let’s talk, because I can’t understand why and I’d sincerely like to.)
I’ve also been frustrated, and numb, and sad, and confused. My anger at the continuous injustice of cops murdering black people has kept clenching, figuratively, my fists, readying for some fight, but I haven’t been sure what kind of fight. Frankly, I don’t know what to do each day. I wake up mad and unsure.
I haven’t joined in street demonstrations, owing to the virus and a longstanding fear of becoming part of a mass of people. With money to spend right now, I’ve donated to the George Floyd Fund, the Black Visions Collective, and the Bukit Bail Fund of Pittsburgh. I’ve set up a monthly donation to the Anti-Police Terror Project.
And I file my email receipts in the folder I use for tax-deductions and I scroll through Twitter and watch people taking to the streets and I feel once again it’s not enough.
Because it isn’t enough.
Now that Joe Biden is the presumptive candidate running against the President, our battle to secure a more equitable and democratic future just got more uphill. In that spirit, I’m focusing on helping candidates committed to progressive policies—universal health care, social justice for all, and fighting income inequality, among others—get elected to Congress. This is the third in a series.
Zainab Mohsini is a first-generation Afghan American who came to the U.S. as a refugee in 2003. She’s a progressive Democrat running for the House of Representatives in Virginia’s 11th district, which happens to be where I grew up.
She’s got a tough battle ahead of her.
Mohsini is up against incumbent Gerry Connolly in the primary election happening (possibly) in June. Connolly is much loved in the district. He took 71% of the vote in 2018. Also: my best and longest friend worked for him when he was the chairman of the Board of Supervisors for our home county. It seems impossible that he’ll lose. So why put money behind Mohsini?
The problem is Centrism. Connolly is a Vice Chair of the New Democrat Coalition, which is a centrist caucus of “pro-business”, “fiscally-responsible” congresspeople. It’s the largest Democratic caucus, and it is, you can call it, the base of the party.
Pro-business means anti-worker. It means favoring profit/eers over the well being of the people. It means legislating for more economic growth, such that a proposed pipeline which will destroy the environment and nearby communities becomes a cost-benefit issue to be weighed.
Most people are centrists the way most people are average—it’s how those terms mean what they do. And a democracy is rule by the majority. The problem with centrism as an ideology is that it fails to achieve what the majority wants, given the constant presence of radicals.
Often we think that the “two sides” we see of polarized issues are equally polarized. But this isn’t necessarily the case. Take women’s rights and the ERA. One side says that women are equal to men. The other side says men are superior to women. If you’re a centrist or moderate Democrat on this issue, if you seek to find the middle ground between these positions, where does that leave women?
Politics—the workings of policy-making in government—requires compromise, and when you have a radical rightwing administration in power (fascism is a radical ideology), you do not enact change by taking a middle-of-the-road position. Being in the middle of the road gets you stuck once again in the gutter.
The gutter on the right, I mean, in this shabby metaphor.
If you believe these times are unusual, that having a racist president in the White House who seems fully incapable of caring about the 38,000 deaths (so far) caused by the coronavirus is unusual, we will not make a better future by playing politics as usual. It’s not just a matter of getting “more of us” in Congress, it’s a matter of getting the versions of us with a vision of something different.
So I’m giving my support to Zainab Mohsini. She is committed to the Green New Deal and Medicare for All. She’s in solidarity with Black Lives Matter. I haven’t found her position on Citizens United, that rotten decision, but her Twitter bio indicates she’s taking no corporate PAC money.
And I know I’ve said it before, but it’s worth repeating—anti-PAC progressives are immediately at a disadvantage in trying to win elections (thanks, in part, to the Citizens United decision). The game is rigged to handicap such candidates from the start. They need our support more than anybody.
You can read more about Zainab Mohsini here.