As though truth were true
CW: suicide, violence
Yesterday, after Honeypuppy left to go to the vet, Khalil asked if it was the same as when Batman (our old dog) went to the vet and then died. We dropped what we were doing and ran to him, sitting on the floor, all holding hands, and explained that baby puppies need shots and check-ups but that it doesn’t mean they are sick. We reminded him of his checkups at the doctor. Khalil considered it all for a while and then, breaking our hearts, said, “Okay, well, when Daddy is a baby and has to get shots, I’ll keep him safe.”
I turned 38 on January 6th. That morning, I drafted a newsletter in my head in which I listed all of the kindness I had experienced in my 38th year on earth. Like the friend/newsletter subscriber who introduced me to his friend in Australia so that I could start 2021 with my favorite planner.
But then, that afternoon, the mental draft disintegrated as I watched armed rioters invade the Capitol. They had come directly from hearing the president speak at his rally, where he repeated lies about a rigged election and encouraged his supporters to “fight and show strength” at the Capitol. They carried Confederate flags and wore Auschwitz shirts. They brought bombs, zip ties, and guns. One person carried homemade napalm. The vice president, lawmakers, and their staff ran for cover. Five people have died. Six, including the Capitol officer who died by suicide a few days after.
I’ve been thinking a lot about Representative Jamie Raskin whose son, Tommy, lost his battle with depression on the last day of 2020. Rep. Raskin and his wife wrote a touching tribute to their son, who was dazzling and good and strived to live as though “truth were true.”
On January 6th, Rep. Raskin’s daughter came with him to the Capitol, raw with grief. A few hours after arriving they were in hiding, separated, afraid for their lives. This Atlantic piece about Rep. Raskin drove home just how unnecessary and traumatic January 6th was for those in the Capitol.
Represenative Alexandria Ocasio Cortez spoke last night on Instagram about trauma and white supremacy and I am thankful for her clear, honest, and vulnerable voice. "What claim will you have? That you rule over a destroyed society? That the ashes belong to you?"
While lawmakers hid in a small, poorly-ventilated room, some white Republicans refused to wear masks, stating that they would not be “muzzled.” Three representatives from that room have now tested positive for covid, including a Black cancer survivor.
Reading that, I shook with anger and grief. What has happened to us?
Across the U.S., millions are refusing to live as if the truth of covid were true. Cases are higher than they’ve ever been. Hospitals are full. And still, people travel, gather maskless, and refuse to listen to the doctors and public health experts who have worked tirelessly for nearly a year. Why can’t we listen to those, like Sarah Sidner, witnessing the widespread loss and pain firsthand?
I talked about the Social Dilemma in my first newsletter and my friends, Nataly and Jack, interviewed the director this week. The conversation is great. It was good to be reminded of the film’s thesis: that the business model of social media breeds a system in which companies keep our attention through whatever is most effective in order to generate advertising income. As people, we pay attention whatever is polarizing, true or not. The nuanced and detailed does not hold our attention. And, as a result, millions are exposed to newsfeeds and homepages that adjust to show the most shocking and the most engaging, creating a society in which information loses objectivity.
These silos of conspiracy and misinformation are partly to blame for the Capitol invasion and for the 3000 daily covid-19 deaths. When our time and attention brings powerful corporations advertising dollars, it can be hard to discern which truth is true.
But, we need to do whatever it takes to remember that there are true things and there are not true things. While there is also nuance and interpretation, there are boundaries to opinion. I’m reminded of a time when I was going through a painful personal transition, and it was hard to believe or know anything. I would start each day and try to make a list of 10 things that were true. It helped to settle me, bring me down to earth. I do something similar now. Every morning I make a list of 5 things I observe outside my window. When we are lost, it’s good to start small.
Maybe this year will force the US to start from scratch, to consider the ways in which our systems and our history contradict the most basic truth that every life has equal value.
I read this essay by Kiese Makeba Laymon this week, where he thinks of all we’ve lost in 2020, and who we will be on the other side. How can we recognize progress?
“When the rain washes us clean, we will know. We will feel so good. I believe that. If we find, however, that the rain has actually left more bruises, soaked us in more sour than we ever imagined, and if that bruised sour feels so good, it is then that the pleasurable work actually begins. Many of our hearts are stone. Much of the beauty here has been sacrificed, and most of it stolen...Home is gone, but there is responsible pleasure to be found in the wreckage, in the pathways of the wrecked, and in all the goodness beyond where we’ve been allowed to discover.
Everything, finally, is lost.”
Hope is a crushed stalk
Between clenched fingers
Hope is a bird’s wing
Broken by a stone.
Pauli Murray