Often brassy, percussive, and proud, anthems are commonly associated with nationalism. As a citizen, even if I can’t hit the high notes, I can absolutely sing my inquiry about the United States flag’s visibility at dawn. On an intellectual level, I struggle with rhetoric of the “land of the free and home of the brave” with ever-unfolding histories of land loss and conquest. Yet I understand an anthem’s primary function: to create and define communities, to unify a message of collectivity.

I heard the Adoptee Voices anthem eight times between September and October of this year. Each week, we adoptees gathered to write, whether it was to explore emotional processing or to develop a work intended for publication. After a period of “bum in chair” accountability, we shared what we wrote as a weekly accordance.

Our three mentors (Sara, Alice, and Ridghaus) took turns reciting the ground rules, community care, and self-care guidelines to provide social structure to our engagement. These ground rules are, for example, that all participants identify as an adoptee, respect each other’s writing through citation, and take breaks as needed to care for ourselves. The act of reading those ground rules creates a safe space for those who, for whatever duration, were once robbed of security. The guidelines themselves directed our constellation of unique personalities and lived experiences without the need for bombs bursting above us. 

An ideal worth manifesting, indeed: This is a needed space. I needed this space. 

Rejection, exposure, and vulnerability lead to uncomfortable emotions for many, particularly adoptees and writers. I identify with the professional and interpersonal fears that have silenced many writers and adoptees; even here, I’ve heard my voice crack and tremble. But the comfortably predictable recitation puts boundaries around our adoptee writer community. Reiterating them every week reminds us we are agents of safety and nurturers of each other’s potential.

“Anthem” resonates here as an opening ritual, even if the guidelines aren’t set to music. The earliest forms of the word refer to “a composition sung in alternate parts,” “verse response,” and “song of praise or gladness.” Our opinions on the day’s headlines are unknown, but our stories bear emotional harmony. We create a vocal anthology, humbly offered to each other as ongoing works-in-progress. 

I have been fortunate to hear the diverse range of stories and voices from the people who opt to spend their Wednesdays courageously co-creating this protective circle. I am grateful to everyone here for time spent with me and each other prior to when I joined this community. Their voices set the tone, the bar, the beat, and I’ve been honored to join the chorus.