Recently,
I was invited to a rally in Austin, Texas to protest against Rick
Perry’s apparent refusal of $13 billion in federal money that could
expand Medicaid for 2.3 million low-income, disabled, and elderly
Texans. Apparently, this refusal to add more Texans to Medicaid is in
place in order to reduce state spending overall and to give private
healthcare providers more opportunity to make profits from their
services. Now, instead of receiving Medicaid benefits, those most in
need will receive a voucher of a mere (an entirely insufficient) $500
for their medical costs.
Although
the unconscionable and insensitive nature of this refusal should have
filled me with passionate indignation over a gross social injustice, it
did not, for I initially did not know the details of the decision. The
extent of my knowledge was that it was a “healthcare rally.” Thus, I
hardly thought about what I was protesting or what injustice there was; I
was eager to attend mostly out of curiosity and a desire for a new
experience.
I
attended the event with a person who is deeply committed to helping the
working class and has spent years doing so. He’d spent the 24 hours
before the rally filling me in on what to expect, asking if I wanted to
make signs, and speaking of his plans to interview participants. This,
too, should have rubbed off on me, yet at first it did not.
It
was when we arrived at the Houston office of Good Jobs late Friday
morning, where we waited for the departure of buses and vans which would
transport us and about a hundred and fifty others to Austin that I
began to get into the spirit of the rally. I had previously thought that
the attendees would be middle-class citizens who like to go to
political protests and rallies. I was pleased to see, however, that the
people who filled the Good Jobs office were the very low-income, working
class people who would be most affected by Perry’s decision. Quite a
few of them were in wheel chairs. Quite a few of them looked sickly
and/or otherwise very much down on their luck. Seeing them there in the
flesh did much to engage me emotionally. I thought it was amazing of
them to fight for themselves.
I
enjoyed chatting with a man at the office of Good Jobs who was upbeat
and enthusiastic about his plans to finish a Bachelor’s degree and go
into high school teaching. Although he did not talk about the Medicaid
issue much, I was energized by his positive attitude and hope for the
future in general. It gave me a good impression of the people with whom
I’d be traveling and rallying, and furthermore reminded me of the hopes
and dreams of all the people there. I thought about how, without just
basic healthcare and means to survive, those aspirations would never be
realized.
Before
the buses departed, one of the leaders led people in prayer for a safe
trip to Austin, a mood and spirit of solidarity, and an ultimately
successful protest. I was likewise moved by this, and it was duly
impressed upon me that the protestors were doing nothing more than
trying to save their own lives and those of their loved ones. There is
nothing greedy, demanding, or unreasonable about that.
The
bus ride to Austin was initially pleasant, quiet, and respectful.
Everyone was serious, intently preparing for the important business to
come that afternoon. However, about an hour into the trip, an organizer
began to exhort the crowd with her personal story; she herself has a 14
year-old daughter with Lupus, the cost of whose medication and treatment
per month dramatically exceeds the family’s income after rent, food,
and other basic necessities are paid. Others had unfortunate stories
like this as well. The organizer also led everyone in practicing the
chants that would be used at the protest and reminded them that what
they were asking for was not a luxury or extravagance, but simply a
chance to survive.
At
the rally itself, there were protestors from Dallas and San Antonio, in
addition to the two buses and two vans which came from Houston. All
together, the group converged on the capital building and continued to
sing and chant in protest. I was enthralled by a man in a wheelchair and
a small crowd around him who sang: “Help me…oh Lord…help me on my journey. Help me on my way. Oh Lord, I want you to help me. Help me on my journey…”
Not only was their singing beautiful and highly emotive, but it once
again reminded me of their plight and the simplicity of their request:
Help.
The
crowd had a number of chants, but the one which was most invoked was:
“What do we want? Healthcare! When do we want it? Now!” This was perhaps
the most basic of the six or so chants prepared and practiced in
advance, and perhaps fittingly most iterated because of its directness.
While some of the other chants were critical and hostile toward the
character, or lack thereof, of Perry, this chant was most to the point.
At the end of the day, the concern is not Rick Perry and what kind of
man he is or isn’t, although one can’t help but call that into question.
It’s about what’s needed and when it’s needed.
It
was not at all surprising to me, though, that neither Perry, nor any
representative of his office, opened the door, even with a crowd just
outside breathing down the office’s proverbial neck. The truth is, at no
point did I think I would see Rick Perry, even when I was told that the
protest intended to go to his office door, knock, and force a
confrontation. The cynical side of me, which is unfortunately highly
developed when it comes to things like this, assumed he and his office
would just evade. And that was, indeed, what occurred.
I had thought it would be nice if at least someone
from the office, if not Perry himself, stepped out to make some kind of
statement. Even if it weren’t a particularly pacifying or hopeful
statement (or even if there was an actual scolding of the crowd), some
form of acknowledgement would be a sign, at best, of hope, and at least,
of a lack of indifference. Instead, there was absolutely nothing, and
that, while absolutely expected, was nonetheless disheartening.
The
whole event was a new experience for me, and one which induced
emotional highs and lows. I was happy to see people coming together and
fighting for what they need. I was highly annoyed at seeing them
ignored. By the end of the trip, everyone was tired and irritable after
walking for two plus hours in sweltering Texas heat. The ride to Austin
had been full of anticipation and preparation; in contrast, the ride
home had the air of carping fatigue. Broken down buses and delayed
departures exacerbated this.
In
the end, though, I think everyone was rightfully satisfied with their
highly courageous efforts. It is important to remember that whether a
certain objective is immediately achieved or not, enormous credit is due
for the initiative, strength, and effort put forth. Everyone present
should be endlessly proud of themselves.
The
upshot for me personally is that I would like to participate in more
such protests. While Medicaid in particular does not affect me, a
plethora of other things do, some of which concern health insurance in
some capacity. It occurred to me that the protest may have made a much
bigger impact if it had been four or five times the size that it was.
That means that a lot more previously inactive people like me must get on board. We all need to practice making ourselves heard, whether on behalf of ourselves others, or both.
--Jane Kakutani
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