Inside the Rotunda

You won’t see pictures of the Family Space inside the Rotunda of the Wisconsin statehouse, where signs and greeters ask photographers to respect children’s privacy.            

For much of the afternoon that my family joined the occupation of the People’s House last Saturday, my husband and I took turns taking our younger daughter to the bathroom, begging her to overcome her fear of flushing. When I had a few moments to look around, I was dazzled. Not by chaos, but by community. Away from the slogans of the marchers outside and the microphones, drums, and musicians on the ground floor, a few good folks created a space where parents can bring their children to participate in the struggle for Wisconsin’s future.

            Beyond the makeshift “Family Space” signs was an improvised children’s play area, complete with toys, paper and markers, books, snacks, drinks, and, most astonishingly, a chair for nursing mothers. We arrived in time for the 4 p.m. story hour. My older daughter threw herself into coloring, while my younger daughter sampled crackers and an apple. I was treated as though I had as much right to make decisions about the space as those already there. Should we, my fellow parents asked me, request people to take their shoes off when they arrived? When I came back, would I bring a lesson about the history of the labor movement?

While my husband took a turn with our daughter’s recalcitrant bladder, I chatted with the woman who seemed most at home. When I asked her who had donated the snacks, she said simply that she had brought them; she accepted money from me only reluctantly, though graciously. She told me, “we are teachers, librarians, professors,” as if that explained everything.

The spirit of the beloved community swept me up. I intuited that the women waiting in a never-ending line for the restroom would let the potty emergency jump the queue. When I saw a spill, I found the paper towel stash and cleaned it up. When my daughter returned, underwear and pants soaked, I found a diaper for her in the community supply. A delivery person from Ian’s now world-famous pizza sated my children’s hunger. On our way out, I was proud to tell another mother feeding her children in a dark, cold corner that she would find welcome upstairs.

            When I first reflected on my time in the Rotunda, I thought there was probably a metaphor in my daughter’s reluctance to use the bathroom, something about the mess we make when we reject public facilities. But the most important metaphor is the character of the occupation itself. Amidst the protest signs plastered on the wall were posters from the public creating community there. The “Medic Staff” reminded us to please wash our hands and watch our steps on the hard marble stairs. I learned where I could get an ID bracelet for my children, in case they got lost. A “free store” offered a host of useful supplies. A timetable listed the upcoming workshops in civil disobedience.

The people in the Family Space and in the Rotunda embodied our basic values of democracy and decency. All comers are equal participants, no matter when we arrive. We should gladly share with our neighbors. Together, we can educate, clothe, feed, and shelter our children. When we combine our money and our talents for collective enterprises, in the name of what we value, we are more than we can be alone. I do not know their names or if that space can be recreated under the new restrictions placed on those entering the capitol. But I do know that the women and men and children in the Rotunda demonstrated what the public good can be—precisely the point under debate in the “budget repair bill” and now the proposed state budget.

[note: I wrote this in February, 2011]