Don't tell me not to despair

K and I were walking our usual route on Monday, and at the entrance to one of the main cherry blossom neighborhoods in the DC area, a tiny copse of the trees were in bloom. Sprays of blossoms in variegated pinks, like so many tiny ballet slippers in flower form. Cherry blossom season is in March. When Oliver was born, on St. Patrick’s Day in 2009, my mom came to meet him, and my mother-in-law took her downtown to the Tidal Basin to see the cherries in all their ephemeral resplendence. It was chilly that day. Mom wore a scarf.

It is November right now. It is not chilly. The cherries have no business being in bloom, not least for a second time this year. We have not had rain in 35 days. In West Virginia recently, our well ran dry. Everything is brittle. I am brittle.

Don’t tell me not to despair.

On Halloween, a warm night on which we got many fewer than usual trick-or-treaters, a little cat + vampire rang our bell. She had long golden hair and shyly asked if I am Ukrainian (our flag flies next to our front door). I said no and asked if she is. “Yes,” she said. “My mom and sister and I moved here a year ago.” Gently, I asked if she still had family in Ukraine. “Yes, my daddy. We had to leave him.” Slava Ukraini, I said. Please tell him thank you and that we are with him.

Don’t tell me not to despair.

On Monday night, I went to set up my local precinct where I and the other election judges would work on Tuesday. Each precinct has two chief judges; they must be of separate political party affiliation. I made snap judgments about who was which, and I was wrong. It was a good reminder of a worthy lesson. I was enormously fond of both judges and of my fellow election workers. We were not supposed to talk politics, but people feel each other out. They need to, really, in terms of understanding and feeling safe. I cheated, late in the 15-hour day on Tuesday, and looked at the judge sign in sheet which, oddly, lists political affiliation. Out of all of us, roughly 14, one was a Republican, two were unaffiliated, and the rest were Democrats. Was I looking for comfort? Camaraderie as the anxiety of election day ending grew? I don’t know. Probably. I wonder how many of them feel like I do today. Despondent, disgusted, not surprised but very sad.

Don’t tell me not to feel any and all of that.

On Twitter yesterday—I was there because I am leaving it but first wanted to migrate all possible contacts to Bluesky—I saw Nick Fuentes, an odious far-right college drop out asshole, post this:

22,000 people “liked” that.

I despair. Don’t tell me not to.

Again it's been a long time

Once again, I am both shocked by and all too aware of how long it’s been since I last wrote here. Nearly three months. Then, it was summer, a bit slower. The kids were away, music was everywhere.

Now, Oliver is a high school freshman running cross country, thinking about Homecoming, and immersed in the maker space he’s built in our basement and in the acting conservatory to which he was accepted. Jack is a high school senior applying to college, struggling with AP BC Calculus, invested in robotics and squash, and just over a two-week bout with pneumonia. I do NOT recommend pneumonia for any high school senior in the midst of first semester and the college application process. It wasn’t helpful or fun and he’s still “paying” for it.

Just yesterday, I was prescribed antibiotics for what is either shitty bronchitis or pneumonia, and I feel truly terrible. Last month I was in an awful wreck (am fine) so we’re now also car shopping amidst all the mayhem of life. Obviously a car is just a thing, but the event itself was enormously upsetting and could have been deathly, and this not having a car for the last five weeks is just a regular reminder of all that.

I admit to feeling great despair right now, about the world and our collective future. There are so many bad actors on the global stage and here at home, so much hatred and bloodshed and what too often feels like gleeful destruction. In times like these I realize anew just how naive I am in some ways. I truly do not understand such maniacal desires for power and wealth. I don’t understand Putin and Xi, Orban and people like Mike Pence and Kevin McCarthy. Trump is clearly trying to stay out of jail; his lunacy and desperation are, in that sense, “understandable.” But my god, just shut up, go away, and take some responsibility, man. Your behavior is so widely damaging. What kind of a person really cares not about burning an entire country to the ground for their own personal gain? I know, naive. But I don’t understand.

And don’t get me started on all who enable such malicious behavior. As if the strongmen ever actually take care of the people they use in their ascendancies. LMAO when not crying.

In WV, I see place after place in utter decrepitude. The poverty breaks my heart. But the trump flags flying in front of so many of those homes vex me. trump wouldn’t deign to shake hands with these folks much less do anything to actually help them. Almost no one in the GOP would. Our collective civic education is in such tatters. Truly, I am just speechless about so much of the lies that circulate as gospel. Recently, on NextDoor in our WV area, a poster was freaking out about “the protests in MAJOR [his caps] cities near Martinsburg and how he was ready to defend his family if it comes to it.” Four different people responded with “what are you talking about?” notes, and ultimately he deleted the post. But there are millions of people with guns out there ready to “defend” their families (read: kill scary “others”) based on falsehoods and hate that is rooted in those lies. It’s terrifying, to be honest. And deeply upsetting.

Last night, I took a large amount of Advil, donned a N95, and met Mom and Dad at an event with Heather Cox Richardson and Jane Mayer. If y’all aren’t familiar with them, Heather is an American History professor at Boston College and a prolific writer who, maybe 4 years ago, started writing Letter from an American, a newsletter-cum-record of the US and our democracy during the trump era. Jane is a New Yorker investigative journalist, one of the very best, who is not only the chief Washington correspondent but also an expert on dark money in American politics.

One of the most interesting parts of their discussion focused on trump followers and the behavior of those who follow and love strongmen. In short, once people descend down the rabbit hole of rabid followership, the worse the authoritarian behaves, the stronger their fealty to him. We see this, of course, daily with cheeto and his minions which makes the fact of his likely GOP presidential nomination all the more worrisome. He must not win. If he does, he will never leave, and his cult followers will feel both validated and empowered, even more than they already do.

Meanwhile, Israel. As I’m sure you are, I am horrified to near speechlessness about the brutality of Hamas’s invasion. Again with my despair about humanity and its future. This thread is one of the best and most educational I’ve read, and I encourage you to all spend time with it. I would also suggest reading the response by Tal Morgenstern who argues thoughtfully with some of Saul’s writing and then Saul’s response to Morgenstern.

Regarding all of the above, what the world too often lacks, in addition to civic education, are critical thinking as well as patience and respect for complexity and nuance. So little is black or white, and no one benefits from snap judgments that are rooted in soundbites rather than understanding of what are often decades- and centures-old conflicts. It is really fucking hard to get good information these days. It takes way more effort than most people have time or the inclination for.

If you can, please support excellent journalism and the dissemination of it. Good journalism costs a LOT! Personally, I find The Atlantic, The New Yorker, C-SPAN, ProPublica, Reuters, and Associated Press to be excellent. I’ve also read Haaretz a lot since the weekend and find it very thoughtful. Generally, I also very much appreciate NPR and BBC.

American kids and American guns

What if a gunman shot up your child’s school and what you had left were text messages? Or a shoe? Or just the memory of saying goodbye that morning? Or any of a number of things parents hold onto when they’ve lost their hearts.

I have been horrified by gun violence in America for years, and my kids have both had to participate in countless drills at school over those same years. Last spring, I happened to pick Oliver up from school just before a gunman opened fire on another school nearby. On our drive home, he received a message from a friend asking if he knew what was happening at Sidwell and in the neighborhood. The school locked down (many kids still there), police cordoned off all surrounding streets, helicopters flew in, and ultimately we found that Burke was being attacked. I remember Oliver and I sitting in our backyard, listening for hours to the rotors of the circling copters (we live close to school), and me thinking “shit this was close; keep it together for Ol.”

Yesterday morning, I received the first of the above texts from Jack. Halfway through our hour of exchange, I heard helicopters fly in. Shit.

J is at any age where I rarely share anything remotely private about him, but I feel the need to publish our exchange because it is both so simple and also everything. Only later yesterday afternoon, as we rearranged his room and put out his new plants, did we acknowledge to each other how scared we’d been.

I, he, all of us are so fucking sick of this.

One parent compiled some of what they heard their kids and their friends saying once home. Their words are lacerating, and I agree with them completely.

“Even though no one was hurt, it’s not true that nothing happened. Everyone was terrified. People were crying. It was so scary. I don’t want to go back tomorrow.

Don’t pretend like nothing happened. Why is everyone so numb to this? We are so ***king scared. This wasn’t a tornado warning. It’s not fine."

"If this is so terrible, treat it like something that’s terrible."

"If you go to school in America, this is going to happen. We have been training for this since kindergarten. That doesn’t mean that today felt like nothing. I thought there was a possibility of dying."

"Do you know how long an hour is when you think you are going to die?"

Why do put our children, parents, teachers through this? Why do we accept this as ok? Guns are worth this? “Freedom” -such a bastardized word now- is worth this?

Ultimately, thankfully, there was no gun. But there could have been. And look what the threat of one did. And for good reason. The odds aren’t really in the kids’ favor.

Another day of school lost. Another hope of normalcy lost. Kids hiding in kilns (yesterday). Kids showing substitute teachers how to lower the blinds and properly lock the doors (yesterday). Kids shushing each other (yesterday; all the time). Teachers finding long poles to wield should an intruder break in (yesterday; all the time). Parents showing up at school, terrified (yesterday; all the time). Parents and kids texting, with fear slipping into the efforts to mask it with love and strength (yesterday; all the time).

Today, a long-term sub Jack has didn’t show up. He’d called a kid a hideous slur, so good riddance, but shit. Jack said, so casually it was like a sharp knife to soft butter, “yesterday I could have died, and today I have no teacher.”

What are we doing? WHAT ARE WE DOING?