You might mistake this as a rant. You might think I am angry and want to spread that anger like the wide black wings of a raven and cast darkness on anyone who creeps near my peculiar corner of the internet. I’m not angry. I’m sad. I’m not venting or ranting. I’m crying your pardon.
A lot has happened over the past week or so to make me world weary. I listened to a woman talk about how she finally feels safe because Trump is president. I read about people who are convinced the kids organizing after the recent school shootings are actors. I’ve watched the lowest and most awful segments of American culture rise to power and become the cadre of leadership driving the conversation in nearly every sector. I watch and I am entirely powerless.
I cry your pardon.
I simply have no understanding of how to fight back. I don’t even know that ‘fight’ is the proper word to use. I’ve been so beaten down by this finely tuned false reality that I am starting to believe that the majority of people really feel this way–that a river of stereotypes have slid down our throat and now we know nothing but the worst version of diversity. We know and we don’t care enough to do anything about it.
I cry our pardon.
We let this thing get away from us. The cyclic momentum seen in the Obama election, in Woodstock, and many many cycles before ended abruptly and the Yang rose to claim what the Ying could not hold. We are indeed behaving like the worst versions of ourselves and justifying it by allowing our leadership to behave in the most horrible way. We are victims of Russian social distortion not because they are so technologically savvy, but because we are so broken and misguided that we search for leadership without even looking to see if what they say or if they themselves are true. We are more interested in selfishly hearing our opinions propped up and justified than we are in having conversations that could possibly change our minds. Why change our minds when doing so has become equated with a loss in a zero sum game in a world where we can never be the losers.
So, I cry pardon. We are lost and we don’t know when we will be found again.