T he cavernous auditorium at Central High School in Phoenix crackled with a mix of despera- tion and nascent rebellion on a crisp Wednesday. Before a stage usually reserved for choir concerts and amateur John Steinbeck plays, several dozen people turned out to see Arizona’s attorney general, Kris Mayes, convene a panel unlike any in the school’s recent memory. “Heartbreaking phone calls and emails have been pouring into my office over the past month,” Mayes said. Her voice was steady and stern, and she’d pump her first for emphasis. Also on the panel were three other attorneys general — Dan Rayfield of Oregon, Keith Ellison of Minnesota and Raúl Torrez of New Mexico — sharing their own encounters with despondent constituents. Each AG spent time peering out across the crowd, taking in the crowd’s stares and disillusioned slumps as if they were addressing their own constituents. A look around the auditorium, at the people wedged into cheap, bounce-less chairs, was a glimpse at everyday Phoenix, activated. A handsome doctor in a lab coat pored over notes. Young Mexican activists shared their stories of injustice with white women dressed in blazers. Videographers lined the back walls, recording this scorching tinderbox in real time. America is only halfway through Trump’s first 100 days, and already gather- ings such as this, in which the top law enforcement officials from four states are meeting up in our pivotal purple state, show the urgency of the public’s fears. True to his word on the campaign trail, Trump has governed as a chaos agent. He has antagonized NATO, abandoned Ukraine, embraced Vladimir Putin, crip- pled the IRS and Securities and Exchange Commission, started trade wars with our closest trading partners and installed a pugnacious Fox News host to run the Department of Defense. “Reform should be done lawfully,” says Mayes. “Through the constitutional processes that exist for that very purpose, not through unilateral decisions that upend the livelihoods of hard-working Americans, throw entire communities into chaos or violate the privacy of American citizens.” Trump also put the world’s purported richest man, Elon Musk, in charge of reshaping the federal government through madcap cuts to the federal workforce. Musk and his quasi-agency DOGE (Department of Government Efficiency) have blitzed workers who serve the public at large — slashing weather forecasters, air traffic controllers and national park rangers. Musk has also fired workers who care for the most vulnerable among us and frozen federal money for programs that will be lost without it. In the high school auditorium, Arizonans hit by these cuts shared their stories with one another and with the attorneys general. A public health activist recounted having to lay off three employees. An OB-GYN described helping patients stockpile hormones. A conservationist explained the dangers now facing understaffed national parks. Then Kristin Fray rose to greet the room. She, too, is no elected official. For the past 10 months of her 19-year career, the music therapist had worked at the Carl T. Hayden Veterans Administration Hospital in Phoenix. There her work supported the mental and emotional health of veterans suffering from post- traumatic stress disorder, aftereffects of Agent Orange exposure and other mala- dies. Then, in February, DOGE and Trump slashed some 1,400 VA jobs nationwide, with many more cuts promised. Music therapy was among the casualties. “This was my dream job, and it took 20 years to achieve,” Fray told the crowd. “I was terminated immediately. That meant that not only could veterans no longer access the services I provided, but I could not follow my own code of ethics, providing termination services to the veterans. These veterans, some of whom are very fragile, were unable to have that closure, which puts them at risk for depression, anxiety or even suicidal ideation.” It’s not clear whether the notions of shame or service resonate in the executive branch right now. But on the chance we can come back from this moment when PTSD treatments for Iraq War veterans are regarded as government waste, we should talk about music therapy and what it means. Arizona’s music therapists have always done more than the public realizes to help patients who could otherwise be unreachable. Neither these exceptional therapists — nor the patients who Sound Mind Phoenix’s Central High School hosted four state attorneys general at a community meeting on March 5. (Photo by Kevin Hurley) The case for music therapy in Trump’s America. By Chris Coplan Music therapist Kristin Fray speaks during the community impact meeting. (Kevin Hurley) >> p 18
