What They Could

 "What did they do?"

"What they could."

-- Jojo Rabbit (2019)

One of the last movies I saw in a theater, before 2020 did its thing, was Jojo Rabbit.  If you haven't watched it, I'll say what I said a year ago: you should rent it tonight.  

There is a scene that has set itself on repeat in my head the last few weeks.  I literally cannot get it to leave me alone.  It goes like this: Johannes (Jojo) and his mother, Rosie, see people hanged, executed by the Nazis, in the town square.  When Jojo tries to look down to avoid the scene, Rosie pushes his chin back up so he has to face it.  When Jojo asks, "What did they do?"  Rosie simply says, "What they could."

It's important to me for two simple, forceful reasons.  

First, to remember that we never can let ourselves look away from something that is uncomfortable; to try and pretend that it has nothing to do with us or that it's too hard or that maybe if we pretend it isn't here it will go away.  We need to push our chins back up and face it straight on.  

And second, that, in facing something terrible, in doing the right thing, in trying to push back against some rising threat -- there is no guarantee at all that you will get a storybook or heroic ending.  No guarantee that even a single person will listen to you.  No guarantee that suddenly your efforts will inspire the world or your family or your friends or anyone.  That a lot of the time - I might even say, most of the time - doing the right thing will be lonely, at best.  At best.  And that often, the people doing small daily acts against wrong end up nameless and forgotten.  Nameless and ridiculed.  Nameless and executed.

Or, even harder to swallow, that those people end up nameless, forgotten, ridiculed, executed and they didn't even succeed.  

But "What did they do?"  "What they could."

Look.  I wonder a lot if I would have been part of the French Resistance - and I'm pretty definitely sure the answer is, "No."  

I had to hype myself up in front of a mirror before I called my republican grandma today to see if she wanted any help scheduling a Covid vaccine appointment online.  For half an hour afterwards my hands wouldn't stop shaking.  And I know that is, objectively, barely even micro-impactful.  There is a very big chance that it made absolutely no difference at all - that I "didn't even succeed."  But I needed to do something and that was the hardest thing I could think of that was even slightly possible for me to do.  I did "what I could."

The last week and a half, I've called Senators' and Representatives' offices every day at lunch to be a single tally mark on some aide's notebook paper.  There's a good chance that my messages get an eyeroll; maybe I'm a joke now.  There's a very big chance, here in Utah, that I will not even succeed.  But, I'd never called Representatives or Senators before and it sounded scary.  I woke up at 5:30 each morning so I could fit in the time to do it.  I did "what I could."

Yesterday, I sent handwritten thank you notes to the representatives that broke with their party to vote their conscience.  Big chance those are all going to be glanced at and recycled within 30 seconds of being opened.  Survey says they're not going to be the catalyst to some world-changing, feel-good, big movie montage.  But I tried to think of anything I might do to do "what I could."

For 10 months, we have paid attention to the Utah Health Department and CDC recommendations.  Followed the data.  Said no to (quite) a (disconcertingly) lot of invitations that don't fit our must-be-outside-and-spread-out understanding of what is safe.  Wear masks everywhere - even walking in the park.  Grocery shop once a week and that's all we do outside of school and work and our house.  More and more it's done not because I'm as afraid for our own health (though I still am), but because I just want to know that we did "what we could" to make things better, keep things safer, flatten that curve.  You know, not think we're an exception, to listen to what we've been asked to do.  Not be part of the problem.  

It's lonely.  And family and friends laugh at and shame us.  And the curve isn't flattening at all.  We "didn't even succeed."  So, if we're lower risk, why wouldn't we just say "Ah, whatever.  I'm bored and nothing is going to change, everyone else is breaking the rules, so let's go!"  

Because I want to be able to look at my kids when they ask, "What did you do during that time?" And I want to be able to honestly say, even when the things I have done don't seem to be changing anything, that we still did, "What we could."