My Moral Monday

Everything about the Tennessee Capitol Building is designed to make me feel small.

In this building “of and for the people,” each threshold I must cross in order to see my leaders seems to try to squeeze me back out. The security checkpoint at the entrance is a virtual cattle chute, and the stairwell leading up to the gallery is narrow, tight, and slippery, with no apparent accessibility options anywhere. Monochromatic limestone walls stretch up and up…not in an aspirational way, like a cathedral pointing heavenward, but more like the cold CENTRAL Central Intelligence building, squaring its shoulders to assert dominance and look down on me. An army of larger-than-life busts (85% white men and no women) don’t bother to look down at me at all; these carefully chosen (mostly) historical figures just kind of stare over and past my head, no message to convey other than “Somebody with money decided I belong here.” Even the women’s restroom was clearly an afterthought, a concession made by squeezing two tiny stalls and half a sink into someone’s old closet. I am clearly not supposed to be here.

It’s been six months since my first real foray into local political events, and my feelings around that day remain…heightened. My motivation for being there was largely curiosity (I wanted to see what all the hubbub was about over recent events in our General Assembly) with a generous dash of emotion (my friends and community were in the immediate aftermath of the as-yet-unresolved Covenant School shooting). I had heard about a rally taking place with an open invitation for church workers, so I took a day off to tag along with my very activism-experienced pastor-aunt and see what I could learn.

Answer: A lot. But not as I expected.

The rally we attended was part of the Moral Mondays initiative led and developed by Rev. William J Barber, II. Moral Mondays began as a singular demonstration demanding accountability and transparency for elected officials and their decision-making processes; our event in April was basically the same, but with a particular emphasis on the gun policies being voted on by the House that day. The rally itself was moving, drawing an exceptionally diverse crowd and featuring powerful messages by pastors, lay leaders, community members, and Rev. Barber himself. (I highly recommend looking up Repairers of the Breach for edification and valuable precepts about the intersectionality of faith and love with moral policy making.) After them, we filed into the gallery of the meeting hall to observe the proceedings. Here’s what I saw:

1. It’s not hard to understand.
When I look up Tennessee’s laws and policies, the language is stultifyingly, prohibitively, obnoxiously complicated, so I expected the lawmaking conversations to be the same. I had my phone at the ready to look up sections and subheadings and clauses galore…but no such references emerged. Instead, the language on the part of the presenters was casual and brief, almost dismissively so. The challengers took more time, clearly speaking to the gallery as well as the representatives, but since they were subject to timers, the overall impression was that everyone was in a big hurry. Plus, nearly every time the writer or sponsor of a bill was asked for further information on their work, they demurred with responses like, “I don’t have that information at this time.” Whether they really didn’t know or just didn’t care to answer, I’m not sure, but I was left with the distinct impression that, with a decent suit and some heels, I could fill in for most of them that very day with no preparation required.

2. There were important votes being taken, but no visible decisions being made.
1776 or 12 Angry Men this was not. Everyone on the floor seemed already decided on how they would vote for every piece of legislation cycling through. Maybe they were well read and prepared, maybe they’d been told in advance how to vote and what to think (parties definitely voted together), but no one had a look of thoughtful questioning or active listening about them. Speaking of which,…

3. There’s no such thing as decorum here.
The resolutions against the Tennessee Three which had been filed earlier that session cited their breach of decorum, specifically “disorderly behavior” and that they “did knowingly and intentionally bring disorder and dishonor to the House of Representatives.” Imagine my confusion, then, as I watched rep after rep slouch deep in their chairs half asleep or on their phones, walk about aimlessly through the aisles playing grabass, and congregate around friends’ desks in conversation and laughter we could hear from above – all while fellow representatives were speaking during their recognized allotted times. It was the very picture of disorder and dishonor upon their elected roles and responsibilities. They looked like a group of rowdy children on a field trip (who would have gotten in trouble for these behaviors, by the way), rather than grown professionals holding the literal lives and livelihoods of citizens in their hands. It was infuriating and insulting. (Note: When I got home, I looked up what constitutes “decorum” in our House rules. It says, “The Speaker will have the authority to set the guidelines for decorum.” That’s it. That’s the rule.)

4. Everyone should visit the General Assembly.
I mean it. Literally every citizen of our state has the right to go into this building and these sessions to see what our people are doing. We should all go regularly. Watch how they do the job. Listen to their interactions. Are they respecting us and looking out for our needs? Is this what we sent them there for? Is their behavior consistent with the values they so vehemently profess? Are they the best we can elect? If what I saw in April is the norm, I would submit that for the majority of them, the answer is a hard no. We deserve better. Our history and institutions do, too.

The intimidation factors employed by politicians are many, while our engagement and their accountability once elected are sparse. A good and honest rep will encourage our presence and participation; a shady one will count on our fear, boredom, fatigue, and apathy to keep us away. It helps to remember that they’re all just people who work for us, and we outnumber them 53,000 to 1. They really should be quite a bit more hospitable and prepared for our on-site inspections.