It kinda feels like the world is burning, doesn't it?
It isn't, really. There is never anything truly new. History wears new costumes, but it repeats itself. There have been dictators before. Heck, there are dictators right now who don't get anywhere near the attention of the old white guys stealing the good old US of A. Sure, you could argue the differences. America has the biggest military, one of the biggest economies, and enough doomsday weapons to end the world several times over. But litigating the specifics isn't important. It still feels like the world's on fire, doesn't it?
In a literal way, the world is on fire. Climate change is escalating. Sea levels are rising, storms are churning, and fires are devouring. The summers get hotter and the water gets scarce. We all feel it subconsciously, I think.
And the world is figuratively on fire too. There's genocide in Palestine. Russia is invading Ukraine. China is making eyes on Taiwan because they think we're all too occupied to notice. America is repeating ominous messaging about annexing Canada in the way they do when they want to implant a ridiculous talking point into the discourse a year or two before they actually try it. The halls of power are echoing with calls for an end to gender in the worst possible way. Police response is escalating. Foreign add and social support and healthcare and science are all being decimated. Quality of life keeps getting worse but no one is either able or willing to go after the billionaires we all know are responsible.
I'm sure I missed some things. I'm sure I missed some things that are very important to you specifically. I'm sorry. There's just too much. Please take just a moment to sit with me anyway.
There's a lot of good advice about how to deal with the weight of the world. Most of it is to pick the thing that matters most to you or that you think you can do the most good in and fight for that thing. This is good advice, I think.
I wouldn't know. I'm severely disabled.
As much as it burns to admit, I can't even take effective care of myself when living on my own. I'm so completely dependent on others that I can't fight in any way that matters. Even following the news demands a level of energy that I cannot often muster, stressing about it a contributing factor to my regular crashes. How am I supposed to protest when I use a wheelchair to leave my home and even then cannot last longer than half an hour? How can I contribute financially when I have no income, no savings? Do I have to watch my friends throw themselves repeatedly against the impossible meat grinder that is the state's monopoly of violence, sitting at home wrapped comfortably in blankets? Do I have to sit quietly as they collect injuries and tortures?
I'd like to think my friends would tell me it's okay. That one of the things they fight for is disabled people. That no one expects from me the things I cannot do. Let me be clear: I desire no sympathy for the pains of having empathy. But I don't know if I can accept that it's okay for me to do nothing. And yet there is nothing I can do.
What do I do?
You may or not know me and I may or may not know you. But I'd like to think that we agree on the most important thing: that we want to live in a world where everyone, every single person, has food and water and a roof and all the love and care they need. We may or may not agree about how to get there and we may or may agree about what it will look like. That doesn't really matter to me. I need to hold onto the vision as the thing that unites us because I don't have anything else.
I need to hold onto it because for me, the only path forwards is to trust. I have to trust other people to win the fights that I can't. I have to trust that millions of people will look upon those who don't want me to exist and say no. I have to trust.
It's a pretty big ask, so I have an ask for you. Do all the things I can't. Do the hard things. Fight the power. Stand up to tyranny. Figure out what levers you can pull and pull them until your arms are sore. But do the joyful things too. Go out to bars and concerts. Sit under a tree and feel the sun and smile. Kiss your friends. Run laughing through the streets at 2 am. Do all the things I cannot do but especially do all the things that make you happy. Do it for me, please. Do it because I need you to be okay. Do it because I'm cheering from the prison that is my bedroom.
Someday, when you have the time, you can tell me all about it. We can hide our phones in the other room and huddle under blankets and whisper secrets. Until then, just know that I'm here, sitting by the window, watching the world burn from the comfort of a wheelchair.