Sometimes our best intentions do not go
I refused to follow the process of the election this time around. I didn't read predictions, I didn't watch returns, I didn't read the news; none of them could tell me anything I needed to know, and after 2016 I knew how little they could tell me at all. I have a group of friends with slack space where people popped in with big news and that was plenty. I told G he couldn't tell me anything at all about it; I couldn't take it while it was happening. The play-by-play was too gruesome.
Now it's at least nominally over (although I carry some trepidation about what's going to happen between now and January), and oh, my friends. I didn't even realize I'd been holding my breath for five years until I was suddenly able to breathe again. And while I'm not relaxed, I feel like I see the faintest filament of a way forward that isn't disaster.
I continue to struggle with the knowledge of people I know, people I care about, who wanted the things that were happening to continue. I struggle with knowing they willingly and with the knowledge of experience continued to choose something so violent. I struggle with knowing they don't feel there's anything to be fixed, and I struggle deeply and fundamentally with not understanding why. But I am comforted by the celebrations, by the energy, by the hope that we have carved a narrow path in a mountainside. By even lip service given to people who've never before been given lip service. I am comforted that, "a people sometimes will step back from war."
I feel a tiny ember of hope again, in the ashes of a fire I hadn't even really realized had gone so thoroughly cold. I'm taking a moment to try to coax it back into a blaze.
Armies of One | Siri AgrellIt’s important to realize that we are also participating in collective action when we don’t think we are: through our choices, our actions and inactions, our preferences.
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