Digital Advocacy in the Midst of COVID-19

I should have been parasailing off the coasts of Key West in Florida in mid-March. We were scheduled for a much-needed spring break with my son. It’s hard to find time for vacations when you are a social justice warrior leading a nonprofit organization. The first quarter of the year is always full with the legislative session and many advocacy days at the Minnesota State Capitol. I was going to miss one of my favorite days, Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America, because of spring break. But of course a lot changed in two weeks. The coronavirus crossed the oceans and entered into the United States. One hundred cases quickly became 6,000, and the rapid spread of the virus created a community outbreak in Florida. We cancelled our vacation. We closed our offices. We are practicing social distancing and entering into an uncharted territory of digital programming. 

But not all of us can work from home. My husband is an ER physician in a rural hospital. He’s on the front lines of the pandemic in a small town north of the Twin Cities. His team of nurses, admin and support staff must wear full protective gear when someone comes in believing they have the virus. Delivering quality care and response just got harder in the ER, especially because of limited supplies, no testing kits, and no increased capacity. After working a 12-hour shift, my husband shared a story of a patient who came in with a busted finger. 

What happened? 

I was cleaning my gun, and it went off. Shot through the wall of my house. 

The gun backfired and sliced his middle finger so deep that he fractured his finger. 

Why were you cleaning your gun? 

I need to be prepared for this pandemic. I need to protect my home and the resources I have. 

Here lies the intersection of guns and COVID-19. Americans operate from a sense of fear and scarcity. We will fight for resources. In order to survive, we will hurt each other. Meanwhile, countries we deem “third-world” or “developing” operate from a sense of abundance, a sense of community and family — practicing sharing and caring for one another. 

Digital advocacy days are hard. We miss the human interactions, being in the physical space of the Capitol, walking the halls of the State Office Building, through the tunnels to the Senate Building. We don’t get to rally in the rotunda, wearing our red t-shirts and waving our homemade signs. Instead, we grab our cup of coffee, log in on Facebook or Zoom at our makeshift office space at the dining room table, alone. Sometimes we’re muted, sometimes the camera is off. And the excitement level of the usual advocacy day can be replaced with confusion. 

After the initial welcome messages, we all go our separate ways to connect with our senators and representatives. As I make phone calls to my elected officials, I am first checking in with them and hoping they are doing, that their families are doing well. I know their first priority is the COVID-19 state response. I also know that gun violence prevention measures need to be in place. I want responsible gun ownership legislation. I am afraid of the impact social distancing and working from home will have on domestic violence and child abuse situations. When victims aren’t able to access the sanctuary of work or school , and must stay  cooped up in a home, with someone who has access to a gun, what will happen? My Senator was grateful for the phone call. He appreciated the continued advocacy. He provided insight on what was happening at the Capitol. And most importantly, he asked about my family and thanked me for connecting with him. Human connection is advocacy work. 

A few weeks later, after feeling the isolation and loneliness effects of the stay-at-home order, I found myself longing for those human connections and a sense of community. The Asian Minnesotans at the Capitol day hosted by the Coalition of Asian American Leaders (CAAL) filled that space. Perhaps it was because I was in a digital space with my people. Perhaps it was because we were collectively fighting against the discrimination our communities are facing because of xenophobia in COVID-19. Most importantly, I reactivated my voice and power in organizing and digitally connecting with my elected officials, alongside my CAAL fellow advocates. In meaningful ways, we shared our stories about how the pandemic is affecting our health, our livelihoods and our families. Our senators and representatives listened. We were heard. 

Today, from the safety of my home, with the many privileges I am afforded, I will continue to fight for a safer Minnesota, to protect the vulnerable, one tweet, one email, and one phone call at a time. The work doesn’t stop during the pandemic, when inequities in our system become exacerbated. We do not want to compete for the limited resources available. Instead, we will share our resources. We will continue to live our values and operate from a sense of abundance.  Our advocacy work continues into this new digital era, providing us with a sense of community and family — making it all the more important in this moment.