I recently wrote about the hope I discovered in Rebecca Solnit’s Hope in the Dark. Reading Neil Postman on my lunch break just now, I found a similar sentiment about hope’s power residing in uncertainty: “certainty abolishes hope, and robs us of renewal.”
The entire next page was a beautiful call for hope in a time of rampant change:
Maybe you have to read the whole book to appreciate this passage, but … I don’t think so. And so, I share it, in the hopes you’ll find a similar, healing aha! in it (and maybe, just maybe, read some more Postman afterward).
I’m writing a post for my other blog, but it involves addressing a lot of complicated, dark history. Completing it will take a lot of time and energy I don’t have now.
I do have to say something now.
Y’all, love yourself. Love your neighbor. Don’t withhold that love–not for how someone is voting, for the color of their skin, for their unkind acts, for where they live in the world.
Just love each other. Hard.
This is a political message. It absolutely is. Because, see, our collective fear is being exploited. Right now, this very moment, the United States is preparing to take acts of war against Russia, all on pretense.
This is not an ahistorical act. This is a profoundly historical act that has to do with power, a power that adheres to neither me nor you.
(If you’d like to understand more about where I’m coming from before I finish writing my next post, please, please begin reading The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism and understand that we’re witnessing the next shock being generated right now. Look into the TPP, TiSA, and TTiP to understand who benefits when we
citizens consumers lose.)
Love is a revolutionary act. Truly. So please, for the love of god, listen. Love. Reach out, especially to those whom it’s hard for you to hear.
Don’t allow your fear to be exploited for destruction.
Please love each other. Hard. Unequivocally.
Before Bill Clinton became president of the United States, he spoke to the “high cost of remaining silent in the face of genocide.”
His words said one thing; his later acts, quite another.
In 1993, U.S. officials were warned that Rwandan “Hutu extremists were contemplating the extermination of ethnic Tutsis.”
In early April 1994, President Clinton acknowledged in his weekly radio address the genocide just begun in Rwanda. He studiously avoided using the word “genocide” because of the obligations it would invoke, and made clear that his main concern was for the roughly 250 Americans there.
By May 1994, the world had provided Rwanda so little assistance that USA Today‘s editorial board wrote an editorial strongly condemning lack of intervention, which had already led to the needless loss of countless lives. About the U.S., it wrote, “President Clinton, who criticized George Bush for not doing more to stop ethnic cleansing in Bosnia, certainly took his time getting around to this genocide. Only last weekend did he finally deliver a radio address broadcast in Rwanda, pleading for an end to violence. That’s about three weeks–200,000 victims–too slow.”
After I read about this last weekend, I wrote, quotation marks included, “Well, [without] oil & other valuable resources, what good are they to us?” Read more…
Have you ever unexpectedly run into a friend while far away from home?
You know that awesome rush you get from seeing someone you love somewhere totally new?
How the world seems both enormous and infinitesimal as you hug?
I got a rush a little like that while reading a few days ago. Read more…
My husband majored in American Studies so that he could have “a vocabulary” for his uniquely American experiences, particularly as a Black man.
Recently, I’ve been a little jealous of his already having vocabulary I struggle to find. I’m sure you’ve noticed the struggle in my recent posts, regardless of whether you’ve been attributed it to “vocabulary.”
I’m committed to this struggle, and to this learning. I understand that I’ll say things now that might make 2026-Deborah inclined to smack her head against a wall. Repeatedly.
I’m okay with that. I’m okay with having my learning moments documented and recorded for posterity. More than anything, I want to be honest, and where I’m at right now is that I’m honestly learning a heckuva lot. Which means I’ll say things now that later-me will view with … okay, not chagrin, ’cause she’ll still be me, but some kind of patient indulgence. Read more…