fear of abandonment in the US Congress
/To hear Brandi read this essay, click here: https://youtu.be/zj15FBXYuBQ
2020 was a year spent outside. Bike rides, dog walks, scooters, skateboards, hikes, and long runs. This week I ran the dog while the 2 younger kids rode their scooters. I paused while the dog did her business, and then jogged over to a trashcan to dispose of said business. I returned to find my youngest in tears. Big ones. “I was afraid you left-ed me.” I knelt down, held her close and promised to never leave her.
As 2021 begins, I’ve been thinking a lot about our fear of being left behind. I can’t help but notice how pervasive it is. We see teenagers suffer when we don’t let them go to parties. We see grades drop as learning is stunted. We watch grief simmer as we fail collectively to mark the impact of a life. We miss so many moments that seem important to our maturation: from seasons to travel to graduations to marriages to memorializing celebrations. We see colleges not attended, jobs not started, bills not paid and apartments lost.
Every individual has a story about the moment they felt left behind in the last year. It is fruitful to name these losses and fears, but we must also consider how our fear of being left behind rips at the fabric of our communities. The fear of missing our moment, of being excluded, can be consuming. It isolates and diminishes us, but we can battle those feelings by placing ourselves in context. Our moments of isolation do not occur alone, but before a backdrop of communal isolation. Many of us are alone, disappointed, worried. Together.
When we don’t confront our fear of being left behind with intentional efforts to contextualize our experience with the similar (and worse) experiences of others, our fears create a tunnel vision that highlights our own needs, often leading us to take action that hurts others. For those in power, the fear of being left behind can destroy communities.
This week, our Congress will count and accept the votes of our Electoral College. I scoff when I think about naïve Brandi from 60 days ago, who thought elections are daily events, which rarely take a week or more to resolve. We are now painfully aware that American elections were designed to take forever to resolve. Many states legally receive ballots after Election Day. The pandemic prompted a few changes to existing law, approved of in advance by state judiciaries, legislative bodies and executive branches. Every state has laws that preserve the right of watchers to watch and then to complain, laws that trigger recounts, and laws that allow for judicial contestation. States bake in time for these processes to occur, certifying the election days or weeks later, followed by appointing electors, certifying the electoral college vote, and then presenting that vote to Congress. Such a time line exists in order to ensure we get this right.
This year, more than ever before, we had front row seats to watch each line of election law exposed, pushed and prodded. After multiple recounts were executed, affidavits recorded, 60ish lawsuits litigated, resolved or thrown out, accusations and threats tweeted, our electoral college—endorsed with the bipartisan confidence of election officials, governors, state legislatures, secretaries of state, and every court involved—has certified and presented the results. Our current president did not win reelection, and a new president has been chosen by the American people.
The process, divisive and hard—but ultimately fruitful in that it worked, and we had an excellent and just presidential election—will officially end this week when Congress votes to accept the will of the American people, expressed through the ballot box and presented representationally through the Electoral college.
Sort of.
As January 6th approaches, more congresspeople are announcing they will contest the results of the election. Their choices are, I believe, adult manifestations of my 5 year old’s fear: They don’t want to be left-ed behind. Rather than realizing they serve in a representative democracy, they seem intent to act only in their individual interest. Their fear of being left behind, of losing power and prominence, of being called out by their guy, exposed and found wanting, fuels them to act in a way that damages the communal fabric holding us together.
Their self-absorbed, short-sighted decision to reject the results agreed upon by every state and branch of government through due process could have dire consequences. When we let our fears of being left behind motivate our actions, we often hurt those around us.
As we wrestle with our own angst in facing 2021, one hopes we will see the way their fear is wreaking havoc on their communities as a cautionary tale. How are we interacting with our fear of being left behind, 10 months in to this pandemic? How are we handling our fatigue at being alone, with no stability for future prospects, unsure of what is coming next? Are we allowing our fear to isolate and depress us? Even worse, are we letting it guide us to make short-sighted decisions with potentially devastating consequences for those around us? Let’s hope we the people are braver and wiser than our elected representatives.
Our fear of being left behind does not lose power as we grow up. Feeling excluded, and seeing our prospects for inclusion diminished, hurts as kids and as adults. It is up to us to make sure our very real hurt and fear do not negatively impact the way we treat others. Do not let your own disappointment hurt your community; instead, strengthen your belonging by protecting the vulnerable and elevating the voices of others. Acknowledge your fear of being left behind, and then pay attention to so many others facing the same fears. Even when we are scared of what will happen next, we belong to each other, and will only thrive when we remember that truth.
