You Don't Get Scared When You're a Giant Mushroom
Fighting fascism with radical joy
Many many years ago a friend who was with the city arts org asked me to be a giant puppet for some kind of event. I said yes, and met Scary Bunny for the first time.
Legend has it that Scary Bunny was built by Rep Melanie Stansbury’s mother. I can affirm that children are mysteriously drawn to Scary Bunny like iron filings to a magnet, and over the two decades I wore Scary Bunny, children left their parents to cling to my giant weird floppy paws. I am a background checked mom, a scout leader, and a school volunteer, and I’ve never felt like such a dangerous predator as when I was Scary Bunny.
So anyway, my friend (second robot from the right), a vet who had been struggling with being in a wheelchair, decided the way to go was to turn his wheelchair into a puppet, and build a banging sound system into the chair. As a young woman commented to me once, “it must be great to have your own personal DJ and walk around vibing all the time.” It really is, especially as a middle-aged woman. Turns out there aren’t many spaces in the world that welcome middle-aged women getting funky in public. But if you’re a puppet, they let you do anything, and love you for it!
So the next step of course was making a puppet to match my DJ. Meet PortaBella (Bella for short) and Mr. Mushroom. We danced our way right through the pandemic and made some friends along the way.
And even more friends! Every time our merry ragged crew goes out, we make more friends. Everyone gets so freaking happy when the puppets are around, the city has started inviting us to family events. Guess what? It makes us happy, too! I remember at one point I was approached by some interviewer gathering covid stories, and he was like, are you sad? And I said no, I’m a giant mushroom dancing in the street with my mushroom friends! How could I be sad?
Which brings me to my point, I guess. Maybe being a weirdo in public isn’t your thing but what is your thing is:
Being joyful with your friends
Seriously. When we can’t sing Hallelujah or dance a jig or break bread or quaff a drink with the merry fellows, we feel sad and lonely and alienated and scared. For one reason or another, institutions that used to support community joy— singing and dancing and eating and drinking and being grateful— have fallen into disrepair and even family-oriented celebrations have fallen prey to commercialism and now ring hollow as joy creating.
How I see it is the best form of activism against fascism is creating opportunities for community joy. We can’t be scared when we’re laughing with our friends or eating a meal. We can’t fear strangers once we meet them. The gratitude that comes with spreading joy dispells hopelessness.
This morning I read well-written article after well-written article here on the Island of Niceness about creeping fascism and how it scares people away from public engagement. There are lots of “punch a Nazi” solutions but for those who took Palpatine seriously, try radical joy instead. In the end, living well is such sweet revenge. Especially if you are, at heart, a fungi.
