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The Temporary Death of Trumpcare and the Exhale of 24 Million People

I just heard a beautiful sound. It was the sound of 24 million people exhaling.

24 million people of every political affiliation,
from every blue and red state,
from every religious tradition,
of every pigmentation,
of every age,

of every orientation.

24 million people who had been holding their breath through a terrifying, protracted waiting, breaking the silence together with a noise that sounded like life. It was relief and hope and possibility; a much-needed measure of peace in a season marked by so little of it. For a moment there was a welcome pause to breathe deeply together.

And not only the 24 million—but those who love them, live with them, rely on them, find joy and purpose in their presence, those who have co-written their stories, those they lose sleep over. They too exhaled fully, knowing that the road will be a bit less fraught with terrible things than it might have been, the path a little more straight and level than it could have become.

And they were joined by a nonpartisan multitude of strangers whose names the 24 million will never know, but who believe their lives are worth fighting for; that they and their spouses and children and fathers and grandkids all deserve to breathe easier. Their chests contracted and they too exhaled fully because this is what empathy does: it recognizes kinship, it grieves with another’s grief, rejoices with their rejoicing—it breathes with their breathing. 

This is why even the temporary death of legislation that would have meant suffering for so many, should be cause for celebration for us all—because ultimately these are not political battles, they are not about platform and talking points and party lines. This is not about who gets to claim credit or affix their names to laws or who gets to be the hero. Those things are all far too small, they are not deserving of our efforts here, they are a wasteful distraction born out of the lie that we are all in competition.

No, this death is an affirmation of our shared humanity, the unflinching declaration that another’s life is worth as much as my life, that another’s child is as precious as mine, that everyone is doing the very best they can here, that we have no idea how another’s shoes fit. It is the acknowledgement that we all share this same space and this same air, and that when I speak on behalf of another I am making the greatest use of the breath within my lungs. This compassionate response to the sick and the vulnerable is the beautiful, beating heart of the Golden Rule—that I strive to afford another the blessing and goodness and mercy I would desire for myself. And so we breath deeply together. 

This is not the end. We all know the difficult work ahead, but that work is worthy of our time and our discord and fatigue, and so we will do it together. But right now we rest in this moment, we hold gratitude for those who are feeling reassured in their circumstance, we celebrate on behalf of people we love and those we’ll never meet who should be celebrated because they are living.

And together, in the face of a fear that can tend to take your very breath away—we all exhale.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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