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The Dark Days of Winter

december-solstice-winterThese are dark days.

I mean that literally and figuratively; the winter solstice is, after all, upon us.  I am headed towards Manhattan in a grey and bleak morning that has barely lifted into day.  It’s raining, just enough to make me seem strange without an umbrella, but not enough to inspire me to take it out.  I am alone in this, one bare head in an army of black umbrellas.

Like most of the world, I’ve also been reeling from the U.S. Presidential election for the last month.  I’m sure it’s not hard for regular readers to guess which way I voted, so I’ll spare everyone all of that.  Watching the post-mortem has been painful, as the pundits looking for ratings try to blame someone or explain away a result that very few people predicted.  I, for one, am tired of trying to dissect American psychology, like we are all one big mass.  I’m even tired of reading explanations about the white working class or white middle-aged women or Latinos for Trump!, because it all simplifies the picture and does not lead to much listening.  It doesn’t even ring true.  I have a white working class husband who would never vote for the anti-union candidate.  I am a white woman who has been walking through the world with a new level of fear and anxiety.  For the first week, my stomach literally ached.  As the high level administration appointments have been coming in, starting with a literal neo-Nazi, I’ve had a hard time thinking about much else.  This is not who we are, except that it is apparently exactly who we are.  It is not who I want us to be.  Maybe I am just naive, but I’d thought we could all at least agree on the Nazis.

This anxiety is not sustainable.

I want to reach across the aisle and listen – and to reach across the aisle and be heard – but how do you do that with so many people shouting?  How do you do that when our elected officials are looking at the Japanese internment camps of World War II as a legal precedent?  How do you shut your eyes and ears when a man who ran a “news” site that runs articles like “How to Make Women Happy: Uninvent the Washing Machine and the Pill” is now one of the chief advisors of one of the most influential and powerful people in the world?  Just yesterday I read an article about a man with a gun showing up on a street that I know well because he chose to believe the vilest of Internet rumors.  A childhood friend’s family church was vandalized with white supremacist graffiti within days of the election. Another friend’s cousin, living on the other side of the country, had a swastika painted on her garage.  Closer to home, the NYPD is dealing with such a large spike in hate crimes that they are creating a special division just to deal with them.

I am afraid to shut my eyes.  I’m afraid that if I don’t shut my eyes, I will never live a normal life again.  How do you strike the balance?

I haven’t a clue.  I put big pink safety pins on all my jackets and purses.  In those first few days after the election, I was terrified to wear them, but I swallowed the fear and thought about how much braver it is to wear a hijab right now.  It is a little enough thing to put a pin on my clothes – a pin that can easily be removed to let me blend into the crowd where my pale skin and blue eyes will protect me. The KKK has been dropping flyers on my train.  Yesterday, another woman on the subway was attacked for wearing a hijab. When I tell myself that adding a safety pin to my clothing is the least that I can do, it really is the absolute least that I can do.  I have decided to be accountable to my pin, that I will not blend into the background when I see that someone is afraid, but I also despair that I won’t live up to it.

So here we are in the literal darkest days of the year, trying to find a way to creep back towards the light of summer.  On Sunday, we put up a Christmas tree in our new home, right in the giant bay window that I have fallen in love with.  When I turn the corner at night, I see it shining its manufactured light out into a world of darkness.  In a normal year, it would give me hope.  This year, I am trying hard to open myself up to be able to see its light.

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