I Don’t Have Time for Politics. I Still Expect Accountability

I am tired of the lack of accountability in this world.  Not the kind of tired that a good night’s sleep fixes. I am tired in a way that has settled into my bones. I am tired from caring for my mother-in-law, managing aides, watching schedules, listening for changes, making decisions, solving problems, and trying to keep another human being safe around the clock.

My World Has Become Very Small

My world has become incredibly small. There is Mom, the house, the aides, the medications, the meals, the laundry, the bathroom, the paperwork, and the next thing that needs to be done.  I also have to mention the help that my husband has been each and every day.  Some days, I barely have enough mental energy to pay attention to what is happening in Rochester, much less what is happening in Washington or halfway around the world.

There are days when I realize I have gone several days without really knowing what is happening beyond the walls of this house. I don’t know which political fight is happening today.  Honestly, I don’t know what happened in the news yesterday. I don’t know which national story everyone else is discussing.

You would think that would make me indifferent. It does not.

If anything, caregiving has made me less able to tolerate the ways vulnerable people are ignored while people with power avoid responsibility. I spend every day seeing what dependence looks like. I know that when a person needs help, someone has to notice, decide, and act.

That has changed the way I look at almost everything.

Doing Nothing Is Not an Option

In my house, doing nothing is not an option. When Mom needs something, I cannot hold a press conference and wait for someone else to solve it. A strongly worded statement will not get her what she needs, and announcing that I am deeply concerned will not change the situation. Someone has to notice the problem, figure out what needs to happen, and make it happen.

That responsibility falls to me. When an aide does not do what she is supposed to do, I address it. If Mom’s needs change, I adjust the plan. When something stops working, I figure out why and find another solution. Sitting back while a problem grows is not an option when another person’s well-being depends on me.

Government obviously works differently. Committees, votes, negotiations, procedures, compromises, and competing priorities all matter. No single person can fix every problem, and I am not expecting anyone to wave a magic wand and make everything better.

What I do expect is action. That is why I have so little patience left for elected officials who keep talking when their constituents need them to act.

 

Representation Is a Responsibility

We elected them to represent us, not to perform for us. Yet too often, all we get are statements, promises, expressions of concern, and blame directed at someone else.

Meanwhile, the problems remain.

Mitch McConnell who is 84, has now been away from the Senate for roughly two months. During basically that same time period, our lives at home have changed dramatically.

We brought Mom home on June 23. She was 89 years old and dependent on a wheelchair after a fall in December. Since coming home, she has gone from wheelchair-dependent to walking with a walker. She developed pneumonia during that time and recovered from it. None of that happened because we found a miracle cure or discovered some secret treatment. We watched her, encouraged her, helped her move, paid attention to what she needed, and adjusted her care when something changed.

Caregiving requires showing up every day. It requires noticing the small changes that other people might miss and responding before those changes become larger problems. Sometimes progress happens slowly. Sometimes it happens in ways you never expected.

I cannot compare Mom’s recovery to Mitch McConnell’s. His injuries, health, responsibilities, and circumstances are entirely different. That is not the point. The point is that responsibility does not disappear simply because the circumstances become difficult. Someone still has to show up. We still has to pay attention. Someone still has to figure out what comes next.

That is what I have been doing since June 23.

Representation is not a title. It is a responsibility.  That word has become impossible for me to ignore.

Accountability Is Personal

I am angry about the Epstein files for a reason that is more personal than politics.

I am a survivor of sexual assault, I was not assaulted by Jeffrey Epstein, and I have no personal connection to him or the people involved in his crimes. But I know what it means to have something happen to you that you did not choose. I know what it means to carry something other people cannot see. I know why accountability matters to victims.

That is why I cannot look at the Epstein story as simply another political controversy. Victims deserve privacy, and any investigation requires care. A person’s name appearing in a document does not make that person guilty. I have no interest in seeing innocent people falsely accused, and exposing victims to satisfy public curiosity serves no one.

But protecting victims and protecting powerful people are not the same thing.  What I want is accountability. I want the truth to matter more than someone’s wealth, position, connections, or ability to hire expensive lawyers. The victims matter more than protecting reputations. I want to believe the rules apply to powerful people, too.

Maybe that is too much to ask.  I do not think it should be.

When War Becomes Background Noise

Ukraine has been in my mind for years.

Maybe it is because the war has gone on for so long that people are expected to absorb it into the background. Attention moves on, but people are still living through air raids, displacement, grief, uncertainty, and the exhausting work of surviving a war they did not choose.

I do not follow every military development. I cannot tell you what happened on every front line this week or what every negotiation means. But I have not stopped thinking about the people whose lives have been interrupted, reduced, or destroyed by decisions made far above them.

There is something cruel about the way a long war becomes familiar to people watching from far away. The suffering does not become less real simply because it has lasted a long time. Families still have to get through the day. Parents still have to keep children safe. People still have to live with the fear that the next strike could take what remains of their ordinary lives.

Perhaps that is why Ukraine stays with me. I know what it means for life to become small. Living one urgent need to the next gives me perspective.  I know that survival can become a full-time job.

Gaza Is Harder to Ignore

Gaza is harder for me to look away from. I do not have the energy to follow every development, military decision, negotiation, or political argument. Most days, I am barely keeping up with my own life. Still, I know children are dying, and that knowledge does not leave me alone.

My entire day revolves around keeping one vulnerable person safe. Against that reality, the number of children who have been killed, injured, displaced, traumatized, deprived of medical care, or left hungry by a war they did not choose feels almost impossible to comprehend. Each child represents a life that someone loved and a future that someone expected to see.

Caregiving has also changed the way I understand vulnerability. Every day, I watch what happens when someone depends on other people to notice what she needs. Small things can go wrong when people stop paying attention. Responsibility can move from one person to another until nobody seems to own the problem. A human being can become a task on a list instead of a person who needs care.

That experience makes it harder for me to look away when vulnerable people disappear beneath systems, politics, bureaucracy, and competing priorities. Maybe caregiving has made that impossible for me.

Vulnerable People Get Lost

Immigration enforcement is yet another issue. A war dominates the news until another crisis pushes it aside, while the people living through the first one continue to suffer. Again and again, people with enormous power make decisions that ordinary people have no choice but to live with.

I do not have the bandwidth to understand every detail. Somehow, I still have enough left to recognize suffering, notice injustice, and get angry when the people with the power to act choose not to.

That may be the strangest part of caregiving. I can barely keep up with my own life, yet my sense of right and wrong has not gone anywhere. If anything, watching Mom become increasingly dependent on other people has made me more aware of what happens when vulnerable people have no power and the people who are supposed to protect them do not.

I do not need to understand every political argument to recognize suffering. I do not need to follow every policy debate to understand that people can become invisible when systems become more important than the humans inside them.

Mom has taught me to look for what other people miss.  Maybe that is why I keep seeing these things.

Where Are the People We Elected?

And maybe this is what pisses me off more than anything else: my elected representatives are doing nothing. I send messages of concern and get platitudes back weeks after my note. I understand that no elected official can solve every problem a constituent brings to them, but acknowledging the problem should not be too much to ask. Neither should a response that recognizes constituents deserve more than a form letter.

Agreement is not what I am asking for. I do not need every elected official to share my politics or see every issue the way I do. What I need is representation: people who pay attention, ask difficult questions when something is wrong, demand answers when people are being harmed, and use the authority we gave them to provide oversight and accountability.

We elected them to represent us, not lead us. Somewhere along the way, that distinction seems to have disappeared. I do not have the luxury of doing nothing when someone depends on me, and I cannot understand why the people who hold public office seem to think they do.

I Still Care

There are days when I resent the rest of the world for continuing without me. People go to work, meet friends, take vacations, argue about politics, and worry about things that feel impossibly distant from my current reality. Meanwhile, I am trying to get through the day without dropping one more ball.

Sometimes I am angry that I do not have the energy to care about anything else.

Then I see another story about Ukraine. Another story about children dying in Gaza. Here is another argument about accountability. Another elected official issuing a statement while the problem remains.

And somehow, I still care.  How is it that I can be exhausted and still recognize injustice while other do not? I can be overwhelmed and still believe victims deserve accountability. I can be consumed by caregiving and still believe children deserve to live. Perhaps that is the point?  I can be so tired that I barely know what happened in the news and still expect the people I elected to show up and do their jobs.  Isn’t this what representation should be?

Nearly all of my time belongs to someone else now. By the end of most days, I have little attention left for anything beyond what needs to happen next. Whatever energy remains usually goes to Mom, the house, or the next problem I need to solve.

But I still have a conscience.

Tired, But Not Indifferent

Caregiving has exhausted me. Carrying this much responsibility has taken more from me than I ever expected. I have little patience left for systems that force families to shoulder burdens they never prepared to carry, especially when people with enormous power continue to evade responsibility.

What frustrates me most is watching elected officials talk when I need them to act. Calls for patience do not solve problems that continue to hurt people. Meanwhile, vulnerable lives become statistics, talking points, political arguments, and headlines while the people with the power to change things keep talking.

Somehow, through all of this, I have not lost my ability to care.

Maybe that is the most exhausting part of all.