|
There are so many bills moving through the Idaho State Legislature right now that it’s honestly hard to keep up. To date, there have been a total of 465 legislative bills and resolutions introduced this session. In just 7 weeks.
With a budget crisis, astronomical housing costs, and chronically low educational funding, you might expect the bulk of those bills to focus on the immense challenges we face. You would be wrong.
Far too many of them target marginalized communities: LGBTQIA+ people, immigrants, low-income families, those with limited access to healthcare, and communities supported by diversity initiatives. The Capitol is filled with proposals that chip away at who belongs… and who doesn’t.
This week, during a committee hearing on one of these bills, testimony crossed into overt racial mockery. The laughter that followed said as much as the words. If you weren’t in the room, and you tend not to watch the local news, you likely never heard about it. That’s part of the point. For many people in my circles, this is daily life. Tracking hearings. Texting bill numbers. Coordinating testimony. Carving out time during workdays to sit in committee rooms, often knowing full well how the vote will go. Here’s what I notice: the people paying the closest attention are often the ones most directly harmed. The trans person. The immigrant parent. The teacher worried about what they’re no longer allowed to say. They are watching because they have to. Meanwhile, many others have no idea what’s happening. No sense of the sheer volume of bills written to make life harder for people whose lives are already hard. It’s not because they’re bad people. It’s not because they’re cruel. Perhaps they're busy. Perhaps they're stretched thin. Or... maybe it’s because they can afford not to know. Or because they assume someone else can handle it. And that’s a form of privilege. Privilege is not always wealth. It isn’t always loud, visible power. Sometimes it’s simply the ability to remain blissfully unaware of policies that will not immediately affect you... the freedom to not pay attention. If legislation threatens your healthcare, you learn bill numbers quickly. If it questions your marriage, your identity, or your family, you pay attention. And when your safety at school or at work is on the line, disengagement isn’t really an option. But if the laws will not disrupt your body, your family, your safety, or your access to basic amenities, you can scroll past it. You can miss it. You can leave the work to others. That distance is a cushion. And I say this gently, because as a cisgender, white, Christian man, I carry significant privilege too. There are policies I don’t feel in my bones the way others do. There are rooms I can walk into without bracing myself first. I can usually show up at a committee hearing and leave afterward without my fundamental rights on the line. I can use the restroom that matches my gender identity without fear of arrest or attack. The question isn’t whether we have privilege. The question is what we do with it. If you have the emotional bandwidth to spare right now, consider lending it. You don’t have to become a full-time activist. You don’t have to testify every week. You don’t have to memorize every bill. But you can read one summary. You can send one email. You can call one legislator. You can show up once—even if the outcome feels predetermined. You can pay attention. Justice movements have never been sustained by the people most harmed alone. When only the marginalized fight for their own dignity, the system absorbs their resistance. It outnumbers them. It exhausts them. But when those who are not immediately threatened choose to care anyway… that’s when something shifts. Silence is not always agreement. But disengagement has consequences. And sometimes, silence ends up functioning as complicity. If you don’t know what’s happening in your state right now, that might mean you’re insulated from the harm. That insulation can be used as shelter, or it can be used as strength. This isn’t about guilt, it’s about solidarity. It’s about recognizing that justice work shouldn’t fall solely on those already carrying the heaviest weight. So pay attention. Ask questions. Risk a little discomfort. Use your steadiness to support someone whose ground is shaking. We don’t all have the same capacity. Some are exhausted. Some are grieving. Some are barely holding on. That’s real. Honor your limits. But if you have room, lean in. Because the people most affected are already paying attention. They shouldn’t have to do it alone.
Here’s a small sampling of what’s currently moving through the legislature:
Anti-LGBTQIA+ Bills:
For the full text, legislative impacts, and committee schedules for any of these bills, visit the Idaho Legislature website. Please note: specific bill numbers occasionally change as they work their way through the legislative process. All bill numbers are accurate as of 2/25/2026.
0 Comments
Your comment will be posted after it is approved.
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorI'm a husband, father, news junkie, theatre lover, enneagram enthusiast, bi advocate, amateur foodie, wannabe barista, and an ordained pastor in the Presbyterian Church (USA). LocationBoise, Idaho
LinksCategories
All
CopyrightAll works by Rev. TJ Remaley on this website are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License
This blog is maintained personally by me and does not necessarily represent the views of any congregation I have served. Every effort is made to give proper attribution for quotations, images, and other media used on this page.
|


RSS Feed