The Rupture is Here

I am still haunted by reading “The Diary of Anne Frank” when I was twelve years old. (A past blog focused on my visit to Frank’s hiding place.) My father had recently passed away, and despite the comfort of family, I retreated to books. Like most readers of her published diary, I have asked the question “what would I have done?” while imagining myself as both the captives in the attic and a concerned neighbor, a citizen with no actual authority or means to right the wrong. What would you have done?

What would any of us have done to stand up to an evil regime? Would we have cleverly provided sustenance to the hiding family? Would we have resisted? Could you have protected the family’s secret? Or would we have shriveled in fear?

Canadian Prime Minister Carney’s recent speech proclaimed “a rupture” had occurred in the world order. A rupture has also occurred here at home. A trust broken, rights violated, a constitution with fresh boot marks.

My track record for heroic action is spotty at best. I once stood in the way of punks on the Metro trying to film a disheveled homeless woman to feed his social media machine with horrific images. But, on another day, I did nothing when a group of similar punks pummeled another passenger on the train with their fists to the horror of everyone watching. We all quietly exited the car at the next stop to escape any danger to ourselves. Perhaps heroism and courage will always merely be a calculus of personal risk.

I’m not an activist, never attended a political rally, never stood up for another’s rights. I do vote regularly, I do stay informed, I do grapple with the complexities of democracy, and I do worry. What is a concerned citizen to do?

I’ve decided to read and to write. And to find any possible inspiration in words. To evoke the sentiment of Joan Diddion, will the center hold? I don’t know. The machinations of politics have always been entertaining for me, intellectual fodder for those willing to engage in authentic, respectful, and curious conversation (a diminishing art form). The courts do their best to hold the line, and Wall Street is shaping its role as a barometric pressure valve.

But the politicians? One side seems to have misplaced their spines in pursuit of pleasing the maddening crowd and its master, and the other has been reduced to scrambling for band-aids to frightening issues.

Now, some religious leaders are calling for clergy to get their affairs in order and consider the price of action as martyrdom. How did we get here?

Some will cast accusations of softness or misunderstanding or naivete for my expressions of concern and fear. But to their coarseness, I quote Hannah Arendt: “The death of human empathy is one of the earliest and most telling signs of a culture about to fall into barbarism.”

So, we are left with empowerment, empathy and actions of citizens. What else are we to do? What are we willing to do? Despite my attempts to keep this blog apolitical, it is about inspiration and where to go when that inspiration has been depleted. I am also driven by heartbreak and by my deep desire for this country to succeed, to be Reagan’s “shining city upon the hill.” We all have the right to agree or disagree on how to define that success.

Here’s what I’m doing—reading (or rereading):

• Anne Applebaum – The Twilight of Democracy
• Arthur Brooks – Love Your Enemy
• George Orwell – 1984
• The Founding Fathers – The Constitution & Bill of Rights

I read my favorite and relevant quotes:

“Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.”
― Martin Luther King Jr., Strength to Love

“The Party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command.”

― George Orwell, 1984

“As citizens, we all have an obligation to intervene and become involved – it’s the citizen who changes things.” – Jose Saramago

And I write. I write to my Senators and Representatives. I’ve written to my city’s election office to register again as an elections official. I write to understand this new world and government, our humanity, and myself. I write so I don’t cry, so I don’t lose faith, so I can make sense of it all. I’m not confident that is even possible.

What will you do? What can we do together?