What times we’re living in. Catastrophe. Crisis. One after another. We think it can’t get any worse, then it does.
First, where I’m sourcing hope: conversations with friends who are feeling and thinking in similar rhythms. Exchanging knowledge. Thinking through ways to channel this anger, devastation, shock into action.
With all the divisiveness, I’ve never felt more clear about my values. My morals make sense to me. I’m not confused about my commitments. I know that it’s time to be courageous.
This weekend in London, a record one million march in solidarity: "Peace isn't some airy-fairy idea where people sit around doing nothing. Peace is something that takes strength and courage…”
I’ve been in LA for over a week. I came here for a conference called Care Fest, and I stayed to work on my second book. But instead of writing for myself, I can’t stop thinking about what’s happening in Gaza. I wake up in the middle of the night, hot with panic. Something inside me screams at every graphic video I see. I want to do whatever I can do stop this real life nightmare.
I went hiking with my friend yesterday, to process our thoughts together and let the earth hold the grief. I stretched at the top of a hill, prayed for Motaz, Plestia, Bisan, Hind. Watched a tiny family picnic by a pond. I wished this much peace for everybody.
When we got back to the car, someone had broken into the passenger seat window. My jacket and purse were gone, along with my ID and cards in my wallet. We immediately apologized to each other— I should have known better, I should have been thinking more. I notice this about myself lately— the past 4 weeks I’ve been more forgetful, my pace slower and my mind more frantic. This is unlike me. Which makes sense, because the entire world is shattering.
In shock, I called two of my sibling friends. I have an emergency. Can you help me figure out what I should do next? I need to get on a flight back home tomorrow.
A little over 24 hours later, I’m heading to the airport to catch my flight. I posted a call for support on Instagram and sent out a text to a group chat. People gave me some tips on how to get home after your ID’s been stolen.
The abolitionist in me really hopes that the person who took my things got something they needed. Times are hard, for most people. I’m sad about my notebook, it was a record of my thoughts, feelings, wishes, dreams about abolition and disability justice. And mostly, I feel an icky sense of invasion. I took all precautionary steps but if you could send out a prayer, a spell, a positive intention, I’d really appreciate it.
For now, writing to you to let you know that no matter what it feels like around you and no matter how quiet or ordinary the people around you seem, there is nothing normal about these times. We are enduring an inhumane amount of stress. We are being called to change past our pace of comfort. These are growing pains. And everything is interconnected.
Maybe you are enduring personal crisis in the midst of collective trauma. If so, I hope you can find generative outlets for your pain, in whatever ways that make sense to you.
Some suggestions:
Stay informed and educated. Two films to keep on your radar. One, available online. Two, ongoing virtual screenings.
Keep calling and emailing your representatives for a ceasefire. There are millions of lives at stake, and this moment will drastically shape the course of history.
Read this newsletter by Zeba Blay if you’re feeling heartbroken. I found myself breathing a sigh of relief after reading, finally someone articulating how absurd this all is.
Keep showing up in the ways you can. Keep challenging these systems, knowing the collective voice is growing in power and momentum.
Grace Lee Boggs said, the only way to survive is by taking care of each other. So, let’s keep making this part of our conversations. Let’s weave liberation into our lifestyles. I’m trying to get creative with my solidarity.
I hope you rest, stay engaged, and call for help when you fall into despair.
Learning alongside you.
With love,
Jezz