What Now?

At the State Capitol in Madison, the statues have been torn down and the windows are boarded up. Many of us have been in a mild state of shock, mourning the loss of a familiar world.

It was a world in which protests are (mostly) peaceful, organized by coalitions of groups we recognize, with lead banners and legal observers, where speakers have prepared remarks, and the media are welcome.

This is a world where the issues are well-defined and there is no moral ambiguity. If there is civil disobedience, people are trained in advance, and arrests usually go off without a hitch.

But now all of a sudden (or so it seems to us), all bets are off. In the midst of a pandemic, with most of us sheltering at home, all hell has broken loose. The State Capitol, scene of so many organized protests over the years, now looks like a war zone.

We’ve seen tear gas and police repression in our time. We came of age during the Vietnam War and the civil rights movement. We decided way back then which side we were on. But we haven't seen anything like this.

We’ve seen months of Act 10 protests involving tens of thousands, and even a weeklong occupation of the Capitol, but nothing like this. 

We’ve seen Day Without Latinos protests that made the Rotunda reverberate with chants, but nothing like this. 

We’ve seen a Women’s March that filled State Street from end to end and poured into the Capitol to sing, chant, and present a list of demands, but nothing like this.

Why, we ask? Our first reaction may be to blame the messenger, but that’s too easy. Look deeper.

Or maybe we support the movement, but deplore the tactics. This is tricky, and it’s easy to get stuck here, believe me.

Or maybe we say it alienates people and hurts the movement. Been there, done that. Time to look deeper and keep listening.

This is the hard part, and it takes a while. Prepare to be uncomfortable.

What if the world you thought you knew wasn’t the world at all? I know this sounds like the plot of “The Matrix” but bear with me. Take the red pill.

What if Lady Forward doesn’t represent some vague notion of progress, but something else entirely. What if she celebrates colonialism, westward expansion, and the removal and oppression of Indigenous people?

It’s a hard pill to swallow. I told you this would be difficult.

But what about Colonel Heg? He was a staunch abolitionist and died fighting for the Union in the Civil War. Isn’t he worthy of a statue?

Maybe, but that’s only part of the story. You may need another red pill.

Once we remove the Heg statue from its pedestal, we see that it was blocking our view. The abolitionist movement was led by free Black men and women. Where are their statues? Do we even know their names?

This may be a painful truth, but (for most of us) it’s only temporary discomfort, and I’m including myself in this group.

For Black, Indigenous and People of Color (BIPOC), the pain of systemic racism is generational and unrelenting. The reality has been here all along. Many of us were just unable to see it — or better yet, to feel it.

These events have stirred deep emotions and caused heated debate among people who usually work together. I’ve appealed for unity and urged people to remember that all movements for social justice are connected. But they kept telling me to listen.

Now I can see that I need to turn and face many of those in my own generation.

You may not like how we got here, but here we are nonetheless. We don’t know where this road leads, or what may be around the next curve.

Let’s keep the lines of communication open, but let’s stop trying to call all the shots. 

We need to listen.

We have always believed that another world was possible. 

Now it’s time to work together to make that dream a reality.

Let’s build solidarity and rededicate ourselves to the struggle. 

Let's move beyond statues and start to make a difference in people's lives.