100 Postcards


 Lizbeth. Maria. Windo. Eusra. Shamia. Dezaray. Sarah. Rakeba. Hui. Anika. Catherine. Elinette. These are the names on the postcards I write, one hundred in all.

About a month or two ago, MomsRising sent out a call for people to help write postcards that will be sent to would-be voters. These prospective voters are also mothers. When I read their names, I imagine women of every color, mothers in every stage of that long walk with our children. MomsRising knows that mothers can be especially challenged in being able to vote.

Do they have enough mental bandwidth to keep track of when elections are? I remember those sleepless nights, and always feeling tired in the first years of our son's life. Reminders are good, and personalized ones even more so.

Have they considered child care for the time they are planning to go and vote? We in Oregon vote by mail, but some voters end up waiting for hours, so a lack of childcare can wind up being prohibitive to the voting mother.




 Collazo. Fisher. Dejesus. Kepley. Sword. Ortiz. Jimenez. Chin. Griffin. Morrison. Colon. Hernandez. Jordan. Piceno. The last names printed on those 100 postcards fill me with a happy wonder-- women whose ancestors came from countries all over the world. Some who may have come here to the US in their own lifetimes. All, voting citizens. Now, when we are more challenged than ever in our lifetimes, this variety of last names seems even more precious to me. People who have known me longest know that I grew up with a 'weird' last name, no one expects a white girl to have a Filipino last name, the name of my adoptive father. I wonder how some of the other mothers navigated this, when they were girls in school, trying to imagine who they would be and what their place is in this world. Their last names are proud, a reminder that we are all here together, strength in our unity.

Just the very act of a woman voting seemed almost transgressive back in the day. Women were held in high esteem when it came to the domestic sphere, but were otherwise considered as ignorant in 'the affairs of a man', namely, politics. How on earth would a woman be well-informed enough to cast an educated vote? Surely the feminine mind couldn't grasp the structure of local, state and federal government! Instead of asking what we needed to-- if that were, indeed, the case--to educate women in these matters, the call to deprive women of the vote was very clear. Even some women held to this belief-- that the power of woman must be limited to the home, lest it become too out of balance with the man's power outside of the home. And the gaslighting began. 

From 1903, Lyman Abbot wrote an article in the Atlantic, titled: "Why Women Do Not Wish the Suffrage": "The affirmative reason [why woman does not wish the ballot] is that she has other, and in some sense, more important work to do. It is more important than the work of government because it is the work for the protection of which governments are organized among men." 

Oh well, okay then.

 But seriously, this is an actual reason today which may hinder women from voting-- they have so much to juggle and a lot on their plates. "The Mental Load: A Feminist Comic" by Emma lays out the ways in which women often have to do the work not just of keeping house and raising children, but all of the mental energy which goes behind it. The constructing of stopgaps in times of crises, large and small. The organization of that family's day, what everyone's anticipated needs are and when, and coping with unexpected needs, be they finding a missing BLUE shoe because Sonny only wants the BLUE shoes, or timing out three pots on the stove while making dinner and dealing with already-hungry kids.Or figuring out how the kids are going to be educated during a pandemic. Or how to get to the store before picking up the kids from daycare when your boss says "Oh, just one more thing..." while you were heading out the door. 


That's why I wanted to write these postcards, to tell these moms-- I see you. You are not alone. We are here as an ocean of mothers and we want you to know-- your vote matters.

Maybe that postcard is the one thing just for her on the day she receives it. That she exists outside of being a mother to her children. An acknowledgement that she matters and can make a difference.

Arizona. North Carolina. Pennsylvania. Montana. Arkansas. Texas. Michigan. These are the ultimate destinations for the postcards, far-flung across our United States. I touched each one as I sat and wrote, at the kitchen table where I can look out on the back garden, or more often, in the evenings while we watched our usual nighttime tv as a family, using the nearly-finished volume of Treasure Island as a table. It's beautiful to me, how writing these postcards dovetails so nicely with my own time in my life right now as a mother. There is nurturing and presence in both these endeavors.

Tonight, I'll be done with this task-- I have only a small handful of cards left to finish. They will then be sent back to MomsRising to wait until a time closer to November to be sent out. One hundred pieces of paper will be patient, glimmers of hope steadfastly waiting to be held in a mother's caring hands.





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