How our startle reflex could save us

As Cory Booker wakes up America

Cory Booker’s filibuster was meant to startle America. As I prepare to post this, he’s going on his 16th hour at the podium, begging us to see each other. Begging us to wake up.

I took the sideroads from the West Branch Public Library to home. No matter which way we go, the last 2 miles are on gravel in the dark.

Paul and I have known each other for 43 years, so the silences between us are comfortable. He had just shown old photos to his book club. On the way home, he was reminiscing about another life more than 50 years ago, back in Southeast Asia, doing fieldwork as a novice anthropologist.

He could remember how his legs felt after the day-long walk into the highland village. Could hear the festival drums. Feel the heat of Ngwapa the shaman throwing balls of fire to send away bad spirits. See the girls in their finest silver. Witness the sacrifices.

I was in the present, scanning ditches for the reflected eyes of deer ready to jump out and slam into our car.

The only road we see at night is that immediately in front of us, so I take it slow.

On our gravel road, the only light comes from chore lights on neighbors’ barns or poles in their front yards. None of them have night time chores anymore, unless it’s shooting raccoons. Chore lights are a remnant of another time when farmers had livestock and livestock had babies.

It’s important we don’t drive past our headlights when it’s this dark. Yes, there are potential hazards like deer, possum, housecats, maybe even a downed tree or you never know, ICE.

But if we spend every minute imagining hazards, we’ll be too worn out to react when one actually appears.

We must be ready for what shows up in our headlights. The immediate danger, or joy, or startling reality or the response to it. It will require a fast reaction that doesn’t cause more harm than good.

Like everyone else, I’m wondering what comes next. I’m hoping, just hoping, it doesn’t affect us or the people we love too harshly. I hope it doesn’t hit the car, send us to the hospital or worse.

Pundits can’t predict the future any better than I can driving down Franklin Avenue. There are too many variables – weather, wildlife, the whim of a crazy man and his oligarch kids in the candy shop.

We come to our gravel driveway and turn right. It’s 300 yards long, bending along the contour of the hill we live on. Alternating apple and plum trees line the uphill side. The downhill side is open for an unobstructed view of the river in winter and the prairie in summer.

Suddenly, a flash of rapid flapping white and brown from the right, practically over the hood, disappears into the pitch dark of the prairie.

“An owl!” I shout with glee to my husband. “That was an owl!”

We’re happily startled.

The Moro (startle) reflex is a newborn reflex babies have when they’re born. It’s an automatic response they show when they feel like they’re falling or something startles them. It’s also the reflex that makes babies take their first breath. ClevelandClinic.com.

The Moro reflex is often called a startle reflex. That’s because it usually occurs when a baby is startled by a loud sound or movement. In response to the sound, the baby throws back his or her head, extends out his or her arms and legs, cries, then pulls the arms and legs back in. A baby's own cry can startle him or her and trigger this reflex. StanfordChildrens.org

Most of our startling isn’t so joyful these days. We feel like we’re falling, because we’ve never had this sensation before, our democracy crumbling beneath our feet. We’re only a few days into this new life and we don’t know if someone will catch us.

We’re struggling for breath because we’ve never experienced America beyond what we’ve known as predictable, safe, comfortable. We suck in air (and media) til our lungs hurt.

We can feel as helpless as newborns whose parents are set on burning down the house.

There is no more safety. No more predictability. No one’s listening to us. When strange new events assault our senses, we extend our arms and legs by shouting at marches, making demands in letters and comparing headlines rapid-fire with each other.

At night, alone, in the dark, we curl back up into ourselves and wonder how we’ll keep going.

But we do keep going, because we’re born with reflexes, all kinds of reflexes.

Because someone just might keep us from falling, a reflex kicking in, like Cory Booker rising to the floor of the U.S. Senate and staying there until his legs give out.

Because our reflexes protect us from things that can harm us.

Because our reflexes remind us to breathe.

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Need to Know

This weekend is the largest national mobilization against the current regime since January. Find your closest Hands Off Rally here then GO. Vote with your feet so you can still vote with your hands in 2026.

Our 82nd Indivisible will be in Lisbon, IA at noon marching toward Mt. Vernon where we’ll meet in the middle, because Rural America MATTERS.

At Draco Hill this week, we have volunteers coming today to help move firewood and finish mulching the orchards.

Yesterday the chickens escaped their new pasture, which means there’s now a lot of raking needed around the fruit plantings near the house where they decided to scratch for bugs. May no good deed go unpunished!

New, free events are going up on the Draco Hill Nature Farm calendar every day! Be sure to sign up for notifications throughout the season.