Earlier today I was thinking about the marches of 2020. They were the biggest protest marches in U.S. history, you know. Somewhere around 20 million people marched that summer, and millions more around the world.
You did.
I did.
Even those of us who take great pride in cynicism felt like something was really happening. We thought that summer might actually change the world.
And then it didn’t. And then it wasn’t the start of revolution.
In fact, if you look around now, it’s very hard to find a single thing that is materially different for that summer. Downed statues, sure, but no less injustice. No less inequity.
That’s not the fault of the marchers. We raged against injustice that can’t be fixed in a summer. Not in ten summers. It’s injustice that is woven into the fabric of the system — a system that will fight to the death against its own destruction.
Now, a year and a half later, we’re on the cusp of great potential change. Again. A bill that could redeem a dying nation. I worry that in a month I’ll post something about how close we were, how lost. How sad.
It almost doesn’t matter if the great potential presents itself as legislation or a march or a pandemic, because that feeling of “nearly there” keeps coming. And will keep coming.
The fear, for many of us, is that it’ll be met every time with disappointment.
It’s not that we don’t understand the work is lifelong. I know that I will die before we have created a better world. The privilege is the work itself.
But it’s hard not to think that a system that fights so hard against its own destruction will beat us in the end.
It’s hard not to think that these “nearly there” moments are given to us as a form of pacification. They let us think we might make it to the promised land, because it makes us think we’re playing a game that can be won.
But the house always wins in the end.
Sometimes I feel like we’re play-fighting for show. We know we can’t beat them. They know we can’t beat them.
But isn’t it fun to watch the little dogs bark.
Or maybe it has just been a long week. Year. Decade. Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel the righteous fire again.
I want to share these moments of monumental doubt, because I suspect you have them, too. I suspect you think about these short and brutal lives we lead, and you wonder why you’re spending the lion’s share of yours fighting against behemoths and not turning your face toward the sun for that last few moments of beauty we have left.
Solidarity in the sunlight and in the dark.
The nuggets achieved may be just that, but we have to move nuggets before we can achieve rocks and mountains. And, yes, some of the nuggets eventually reveal themselves to be Fool's Gold.
Will we ever get there? I don't know.
Sometimes we need a reprieve from the battle. Recharge and refresh. Sometimes life forces us to take that reprieve - for an hour, a day or a season. Self-care is important. You are important. Do what you need to do to take care of you.
I have a feeling you will be back leading with charge within about thirty minutes of posting this (hitting 'publish' is often cathartic, as you well know) and if you're not - it's okay. You being okay is the most important thing here.
You are a great writer, leader and agitator but you are not the only one. You are pretty important though - that's part of why it's vital to get any reprieve you need.
Those marches in 2020 culminated in the vast majority of the marchers rallying around voting for the lesser of two racists and a cop. No real political demands made of them, other than "not Trump". Not sure what anyone expected to change if that's the way we're going to play it when we have the biggest protests in decades.
It was all one big virtue signal.