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What's Your Spice Level?

“What’s your spice level?” the patrollers ask one another online. Five of six chili emojis begin to appear after names and I am tempted to place a big bell pepper after my own, because I just can’t imagine facing off against any of these armed ICE thugs. Their beefy arms and narrow eyes literally repel me. The gaiters and head to toe Walmart apparel make me avert my eyes, still I find myself regularly watching for vests with patches that read ICE. Perhaps I am more of a mango with some tajin sprinkled on top: generally peace loving, but with a slight edge. Like so:

Still, I often wish I could boast of a higher spice factor.

While tasked with providing water at another High School walk out, I distribute red cards to the excited teens. A tall white boy leaning against a pole stops me.

“I’m writing an article on this for the High School newspaper. What can you tell me about what you do?” he asks. But before I can begin to tell him about the organization I am representing he interrupts, “Hey, are you… are you that woman who was teargassed?" There had been an article on that volunteer in the local paper and I shake my head, no.

“I was there after it happened, but it wasn’t me, no.”

“Ah, good thing. I mean,” he adds quickly, “no need to be a martyr for all this.”

I take a moment to reply.

“A martyr? No. But you still have to take a stand,” I reply carefully.

“Hey,” the boy calls to a Latina girl he knows. She inhales patiently as she approaches and while he drawls, “Lupe, no sense in being a martyr for this ICE stuff, right?” she exhales fully. I repeat what I have just said about taking a stand and Lupe nods in agreement. But as she starts to speak the boy looks past her and calls out, “Hey Mr. Parker, when can I go back to class?”

“Anytime you like, Chris.” Chris turns on his heels, his curiosity now sated by his own logic and understanding, and leaves the conversation.

That’s going to be one lame article from that kid, I think. I continue to move through the throngs of students, but off and on throughout the day I find myself speaking to Chris in my mind. Does anyone ever set out to be a martyr, Chris, or is it a term people assign in tragedy? I don’t think the people in Minnesota are martyrs, Chris, they are just trying to keep their neighborhoods intact.

The kid’s smugness has gotten under my skin, and my own reluctance to be teargassed and/or shot has, too. What is my spice level? And what exactly are we being asked to take on these days?

I bring this frustration to a conversation with a friend and lament that in the face of danger I tend to: placate, amuse, then flee.

“How do you know how you would respond,” she asks. “When have you ever had to use those tactics?”

“Uh, many times,” I reply, “at frat parties in the US and before that when I lived in Spain, and at my first-ever job in Holland…” she nods noncommittally then the coin drops. “Ah,” I say slowly, “I guess the most comparable moment I have experienced to potentially being taken by ICE agents, was when I lived in Ecuador. My friend and I were taken at night by men in ski masks with machine guns. They put us in an unmarked truck and drove us around for hours while they captured other people apparently out after curfew without their papers. This went on all night long and even included a stop at a brothel. My friend and I stayed in the truck with the other folks, thankfully, and eventually they took us to their police barracks.”

“I’d say that’s pretty similar,” she concludes. And I think, Damn, the way memory will stay locked in it’s vault until we find just he right key to unlock it is… wild.

“Maybe that’s why I already know I don’t have the spice factor,” I say.

“What tools did you use in that situation?” she asks gently.

“I placated, amused, and then I fled,” I reply.

“Then those are tools worth holding onto,” she recognizes and I exhale. Holy shit, they are. “Maybe,” she continues, “you don’t need to be different from how you are. Maybe you just need to find others who value the way you do things.” Does she mean I need to find the other juicy peace-lovers with just a dash or two of bite? And team up with them?

As I write about the Trump-Epstein files and the Rapid Response work, more episodes of threat are becoming unlocked from their spots in my memory vault. Perhaps this is the case for you, too. If so, I hope you can find a supportive friend or therapist with whom you can process. And I hope you go gently. I always seem to conclude these Heart Gone Rogue pieces in the same way, namely with a call to action. Today, I am tempted to do it again, because I want us all to take a stand against state sanctioned violence, but I do not want anyone to be anything they are not. There are plenty of tasks to go around, and many do not involve a single chili flake. So please find your place in the swirl of resistance activities happening ~ and stay heart centered and juicy.

In Peace and Solidarity ~

HGR