Answering the Call

"We have no guarantee of victory, but if we don't try, we lose by default. 

What we can do is create possibility. 

And after all, lots of things seem impossible until they happen."

~ Katie Davis

Katie Davis had an epiphany after watching Al Gore's seminal film, "An Inconvenient Truth," with some German a few years ago. While discussing the movie, the conversation turned to Nazi Germany. How could ordinary German citizens who opposed the Nazis stand by and do nothing while innocent people were rounded up and killed? What did they say to their children when they asked, you knew this was happening? How come you didn't do anything?

It was at that moment that Katie had her epiphany. What if her own children grew up watching carbon emissions increase and the ice caps melt, polar bears go extinct, and the sea level rise? How would she answer them when they asked, you knew this was happening? How come you didn't do anything?

So Katie did something. She went to a training by Al Gore himself to become a presenter of his famous power point presentation on climate change. She began presenting at churches and community centers around Santa Barbara county. And it was while she was making the rounds sharing Al's slide show that she really heard her calling. She wanted to do more than educate. She wanted to be an activist. She was ready to tackle a local environmental issue head on.

Earlier this year, Katie quit her lucrative job with a local high tech company to devote herself to environmental activism. Specifically, she started working with a team of concerned citizens to draft an initiative for the November 2014 ballot to ban fracking in Santa Barbara county. She worked tirelessly -- collecting signatures, rallying volunteers, attending meetings and hearings. In three weeks, Katie and her team helped mobilize an army of volunteers to collect 16,000 signatures of registered voters which secured Measure P a spot on the November ballot. If passed, Measure P will ban the use of extreme oil extraction techniques, such as fracking, acidizing, and steam injection in Santa Barbara county.

Last week, while planning a worship service for the Unitarian Society of Santa Barbara on the theme of sacrifice, I asked Katie about the sacrifices she has made for this cause:

Why did you quit your job and devote your time and energy to the issue of fracking?

I don't want my children to one day ask if -- I knew about what was happening, if I knew about climate change, why I didn't do something about it? I don't want to be asked how we let this happen.

Secondly, when I learned that Santa Barbara has it's own tarsands-like oil, some of the most carbon-intensive and polluting oil in the world and that thousands of wells are planned that will destroy our local area as well as contribute to the global problem, I felt I needed to join a movement to try to stop it.

We have no guarantee of victory, but if we don't try, we lose by default. What we can do is create possibility. And after all, lots of things seem impossible until they happen.

What are some of the sacrifices you are making to work on the Measure P campaign?

Sometimes I feel like I have sacrificed nothing. The journey is so interesting that I have gained far more than it has cost me. So far, I am doing fine. And if sometimes I am too busy or distracted to eat, the plus side is I actually got down to my pre-pregnancy weight for the first time!

Other times, I feel like I am risking everything -- financially I am not working and was so distracted I let our insurance lapse for a period of time; the oil companies could have sued those of us involved in drafting the Measure; they can and have slandered me personally and seek to demonize and publicly attack. The risk of public humiliation is hard for a private person to deal with. I put my marriage at risk due to the all-encompassing nature of running a campaign like this. I have to live with fear and anxiety knowing that over $5 million is being spent against us (that's over $25 per registered voter.) So sometimes I think I'm crazy for doing this.

On the other hand, we can't not do this. Seriously, we have to draw the line somewhere if we're going to live with ourselves. Apathy is our biggest enemy. If everyone who believes in this votes and gets others to do so, we'll win.

***

Katie has put her career, her reputation, and lots of time and energy on the line to fight for something she believes in. She does not stand to gain anything by the passage of Measure P. That is to say, she does not stand to gain anything that the rest of us won't also gain -- a county free of threats to our environment posed by fracking and other intensive oil extraction methods. The oil companies have poured millions of dollars into fighting measure P. They are trying to turn it into an issue about jobs and tax revenues, employing handsome firefighters in their ad campaigns to tug at our hearts. They are outright lying about the impacts of Measure P on oil production in Santa Barbara county, attempting to make it an issue about anything other than what it actually is -- a measure to protect the county from further environmental threats from the oil companies. Anyone remember the oil spill of 1969?

The oil companies want to protect their profits.

Katie wants to protect our children.

Who are you going to believe?

Please do your homework on this issue. For more information on what Measure P will and will NOT do, I urge you to visit www.voteyesonp.org.

Filed

"While something may come to an ending on the surface of time, 
its presence, meaning, and effect continue to be held and integrated into the eternal."

~ John O'Donohue

I filed for divorce a couple of weeks ago. I'm trying to do it without a lawyer. I completed the various legal documents with the help of a couple of classes with the county Law Facilitator and the 2014 edition of How To Do Your Own Divorce in California. When I finished, and finally screwed up my nerve, I went to the courthouse and handed the paperwork to a clerk who had an affect as flat as a freshly ironed shirt. I guess when divorce crosses your desk dozens of times a day you are no longer fazed by the enormity of it. You stop wondering what the "irreconcilable differences" were. You no longer fret about the children involved or consider who will get the wedding china. You stop thinking about the casualties. Instead, you make sure there are three copies of the petition and that the pages are two hole punched at the top. You line up the various stamps you will imprint in the appropriate boxes on the documents before you, and proceed with the dry, legal business of divorce.

My parents have each been divorced twice and married three times. My sister and my step sister have both been down this road. Divorce is not a novelty in my family. Still, handing over those weighty documents to the legal clerk was surreal. I had been so sure I would be the daughter whose marriage would last. But here I was, taking my place in line to begin a process my sisters and parents knew too well. The man I had married 18 years ago -- the same man who showed me a better way to peel garlic and taught me to appreciate the full range of Miles Davis' career, the man I had two beautiful children with -- was now reduced to a "respondent" on a legal summons. This was huge. I wasn't sure how I would feel when this day was over.

As it turned out, a comedy of errors ensued when I handed the forms to the clerk. I had checked one wrong box. I would not be able to file until it was corrected. I felt defeated and more than a little superstitious all of a sudden. Was fate was stepping in to block my way? The friend I had wisely brought along for moral support saw where I was going with this, grabbed my hand, and quickly lead me across the street to the library. After a frustrating search for an available computer, we finally found one that would let us access the internet for 15 minutes. We quickly located the form on line and started inputting the information from my original, taking care to check all the correct boxes. With minutes to spare, we sent the completed document to the library printing station.

At the printing station we waited for an available computer, conscious of the minutes ticking by. I had to pick up my son from school. Finally it was my turn. I logged on and pulled up my printing job. It would cost 80 cents to print. I didn't have any cash, but this is the digital age, right? Who carries cash? I whipped out my bank card and looked for the slot to insert it in the machine. ... No slot. Apparently library patrons do carry cash. I needed 80 cents in actual U.S. currency. My friend and I rummaged through pockets and purses, but found only pennies and lint. Again, I was tempted to look upon this as an omen, a force beyond my control trying to put a stop to this tom foolery. But my friend intervened again. A quick run to the ATM, a stop in a store to break a $20 bill, a sprint back to the library, and we were back in business. I printed out the form, tracked down a two hole punch, and stapled the appropriate pages together. I signed all three sets and we headed back to the courthouse.

We were lucky. There was no line and I was soon standing in front of the dead pan clerk again. I handed over my forms and held my breath as she checked through them. Without a word, she lined up her rubber stamps and began stamping various places on the forms. The last stamp was the biggest. It said "Filed" along with the date. It made a satisfying thump as she stamped each of the three copies: FILED, FILED, FILED. Without fanfare or words of encouragement (I don't even think she said, have a nice day), she handed me my copies and it was done. I had filed for divorce.

Remember how I said I wasn't sure what I would feel when this day was over? Well, what I felt was what writer and mindfulness meditation leader, Jon Kabat-Zinn, calls the full catastrophe. Sadness, loss, and guilt mingled with relief, hope, and joy; the whole ball of wax that makes up a life. What I felt deep in my bones at that moment was that, no matter how dry and precise those legal documents were, life is anything but dry and precise. It's sticky and tangled and messy, particularly at the intersection of endings and beginnings where grief and hope hold hands. And this is as it should be. We just need to remember to show up for it, to be willing to hold hands with both grief and joy simultaneously. We need only to follow poet Mary Oliver's instructions for living: "Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it."