Photo credit: Scott Jarvie

For the past few weeks, I have found myself grappling with mixed emotions over the recent election results—profound disappointment, fear, and, frankly, exhaustion at the thought of the challenges ahead.

I won’t use this space to offer reassurance. Historically, Republican administrations have not been kind to organized labor or workers’ rights. We don’t know what the future holds; we’ll need to take each day and each issue as it comes, dedicating more of our time to prepare for whatever may lie ahead.

The walls of my home in Salt Lake City are adorned with medals and memories of family members who have lived in this country for generations, raised families here, and served the idea of America, even when this nation didn’t always serve them. I mention this not to trivialize our current moment or romanticize any period in our history but to affirm my identity as an American. I have never been ashamed of that identity and won’t disavow it now. Some might say I’m free to leave if I don’t like the election results. But this is my home. I don’t like what’s happening, and I’m not leaving.

The idea of “America” has always been a noble fiction. In its best moments, the idea has been a force for good; in its worst, equally destructive and cruel. The America we thought we lived in may have changed, and the future is uncertain. Yet the America we want is still worth fighting for, even if that fight sometimes feels futile.

ICSOM cannot fix our political system. We can’t make political parties more competitive or empathetic. Our power to protect vulnerable neighbors or defend democracy is limited. While these tasks are essential, they are not tasks ICSOM can fulfill.

What we can do—and what we do best—is advocate for and defend our colleagues. We have the power to stand together, regardless of what any administration tries to do, and protect those we work with every day.

For much of American history, labor rights weren’t protected by law. Before 1935, most states did not protect the right to strike, and labor actions were often met by employer violence. At the Battle of Blair Mountain in 1921, striking coal miners were even attacked by the U.S. Army. Today, the National Labor Relations Act (NLRA) is our primary legal protection, but our rights as workers don’t stem from any law. The rights to respect, dignity, safety, fair pay, and collective bargaining aren’t bestowed by any person or government—they are inherent to any group that collectively stands up for fair treatment. We must summon the courage to stand up for our orchestras, not only for ourselves but for the rights of our colleagues.

When I first served on negotiating committees, nationwide protections for same-sex marriage didn’t exist, yet we still bargained for rights for same-sex couples in our contracts. We must continue to secure good healthcare and protect our members’ medical privacy. We must also advocate for the vulnerable races, genders, and nationalities among our members. While we can’t control what happens in the world beyond our orchestras, we can influence what happens within them. Let’s use that collective power.

Resilience will be our greatest challenge. Over my years in orchestras, we’ve weathered wars, the Great Recession, a pandemic, political turmoil, and countless labor disputes. It’s exhausting, and it’s okay to temporarily step away to regain your strength. We are surrounded by people who will continue the work until we’re ready to step back in. That’s a key part of solidarity: knowing that we can rely on each other and that we don’t stand alone.

We can’t predict what lies ahead or whether we will ultimately successfully preserve our rights, but there is dignity in the struggle. Our best chance is to stay vigilant, stay strong, and stick together.