You are here

Found this song during quarantine and it came to mind today. I’m finding myself at a weird impasse. I haven’t been doing the song and dance of digital protest. I’m not tapped into the leftist collectives because I don’t want to be. I’ve become part of the disillusioned public. Sometimes I visualize myself swallowing the energetic slop we’re being served, eyes glazed over. I ask myself if that is actually how I live. I ask myself how much I really care. I can’t say I don’t care, truthfully. That’s the funny part of these periods. People care, it’s just that we all care in different ways. Collective grief is a fun, buzzy term because it creates the grandiose picture of mass heartache. We all clutch our chest and groan and hug and snap our teeth at the oppressor taking us from each other. We are finally united in our suffering. We aren’t, though. Some of us were hit sooner than others. Families who never recovered from the 2008 recession, whose children came back from “war” in the Middle East mangled. Some stayed safe until COVID killed grandpa or left mom unable to work the same ever again. Some had to watch their cousin’s body lie dead in the street because of cop violence, or watch their uncle decay in the prison system that only gets worse with time. The public is comforted by an Oscar-winning movie starring Coleman Domingo that makes the pain feel seen for a flash. And then onto the next. Undercutting the anxiety of this decade would be blasé. In recent memory, there’s been nothing like it. Americans aren’t used to facing a crisis of this level on our own turf, at least not in the last fifty years. We had a moment of getting high and mighty, focusing our grief across the pond, only to find that the center of the problem always comes back to America. No wonder Beyoncé could declare it without protest. I’ve never been a classically political person because I’ve never been a classical anything. The political has been personal for as long as I’ve had a sense of ego. School shooter drills and climate anxiety are the markers of my generation. People only started to acknowledge that we actively live with the ramifications of the Maafa in the last decade. This hearty fire of “descending fascism” is the equivalent of a slow cooker to me. I care deeply about the suffering of all those living in this country. I am also tired of being told that I am not angry enough about it. I’m glad more people are finding the fire in them to fight this. I no longer care to. I feel there’s more important work for me to do. I’m still trying to understand what it is. All I know is that being angry and scared has cost me too much over the last decade or so. I know that my ancestors and those of similar temperament have lived through their own version of hell. I know there is a path being paved forward that may be marked in blood. I also know that hope is unbridled in me. All I see at this point is a beautiful future. I think that’s my truth, my role here. Someone has to hold the hope for a better way forward, remain light but grounded enough to keep moving. My hope is my north star, my dreams are my guide. And they are simple, achievable dreams in every iteration of potential future. I see joy ahead. I know it’s nestled in the pain because I have felt it so much over the last decade. The shadow being confronted is big, violent, and menacing. It can and will induce insanity. I refuse to be shaken by it. I wish I had the answers and call to action for exactly how to face this moment. I suggest looking to see what resonates most with you. We don’t just need those willing to fight back with their bodies. We need minds, healers, and creator types, too. An ecosystem is the best word I’ve heard for it. You will never know your role if you don’t take a second and feel the weight of your heart’s calling. We all have talents. Please answer the call for yours. I also implore you to look back. Not to make the past the future, but to remember how resilient the best of humanity is. This fire has been burning forever, so let’s not forget how those before us survived and quelled the flames. Sending my love to each of you. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit catharaxia.substack.com/subscribe