This post is going to be profoundly self-indulgent (and possibly not particularly well-written). For that, I apologize. Certainly there are other people dealing with much worse as we enter the second week of what is already proving to be a terrible administration. But this issue has been a slow background drain on my mental energy for months now, and I was reminded yet again this morning by a random Facebook post of what it is to be a progressive in a family mostly determined to cling to regressive values—to be blue in a red family.
It means—to me, anyway—struggling with the cognitive dissonance that comes with trying to reconcile who these people used to be to me with who they are now. This holds true for nearly all my (large) family that I know of, but I am finding it particularly difficult to accept that none of my siblings sees the world the way I do, that to them, the current state of affairs is somewhere on the neutral-good continuum. The same people who helped me through a difficult childhood in an abusive home—the older ones protecting, the younger ones huddling together—think our country is on the right track now, and it’s heartbreaking.
The persecution of Muslims and people of color, the threatened stripping away of healthcare, the continued erosion of women’s rights, the embracing of white supremacy, the complete incompetence of our leadership, the constant lies and childish posturing from arguably the most powerful person in the world—they are fine with this. THEY WANT THIS. At the very least, they refuse to stand against it.
I understand that they are operating out of fear. Fear of the browning of America, fear that as Christians they are losing their ability to essentially tell other people what to do, fear that they won’t be the default anymore. I can find it in me to empathize with the fear, because I understand what it is like to be afraid of losing something you always took for granted. What I cannot understand, what I will never understand, is the willingness to look the other way while people who don’t look, act, or believe like them are being abused, all in the name of keeping the status quo.
Historically, I have not been a particularly brave or outspoken person. It is actually more in my nature to be understanding, forgiving, and open. For years, I just didn’t get involved, even when people said or did things that I found objectionable. But goddammit, GOD DAMN IT, I believe there comes a time when you have to look around you and see that things are going south and stand up for what is right. There comes a time when people of decency must act. At the very least, lowest common denominator, we have to be willing to speak up and say “This is wrong.” If I did not do that right now, if I turned the other way because most likely I, as an educated white person who was born in this country, will probably be fine—how could I ever look at myself in the mirror again? How could I meet my own eyes with anything like self-respect? I couldn’t. I COULDN’T. As it is, the knowledge that I surely could do more than I am picks at me.
I feel angry. I feel gutted. I feel betrayed. I feel grief at the very real loss I have experienced.
What I don’t feel, though, is like backing down or pretending. I cannot, will not, walk into a room with them and pretend that everything is okay, that things are the same as they’ve always been. I’ve made my stand. I’ve crossed a line. And I’m not going back. The passage of time will not fix this. I will not normalize the decisions they have made any more than I will normalize the descent into fascism occurring at the national level. Although I cannot help hoping that at some point they will realize that what is going on right now is simply immoral, I know that that is unlikely, and as much as I can, I have made my peace with that.
Still hurts, though.
