To my American friends, in our darkest hour
Let me tell you a little story.
I was born two months before the Romanian revolution, in what was then one of the world's nastiest dictatorships. My great-great-grandfather (my maternal grandma's granddad), a schoolteacher who brought up our nation's first educated generations of the peasantry, became a prisoner of conscience in the early 50's. His wife, also a schoolteacher, died of a pneumonia acquired while travelling to visit him in the dismal Communist prison. My Grandma's dad, a lawyer who studied at the Sorbonne, was denied entry to the Bar Association. My Great-Grandma, also a lawyer, was told that the only way he could join the Bar was if she resigns her place (presumably to become a housewife). She refused; and it turned out a wise decision. Less than two years later, her husband died of cancer, but with her profession she was able to support her family. Their daughter, my Grandma, was denied entry to the Faculty of Medicine because of who her Grandpa was, she studied Maths and Physics and became a schoolteacher instead.
Several decades before, my maternal grandpa's dad, a Cossak who had served in the Czar's army in the Ruso-Japanese War, was forced to flee his homeland in the wake of the Red Revolution. He settled in Moldova, where he opened a wine business and married a fisherman's daughter. My Grandpa lived through the fascism of the Iron Guard in the 30' 's, and then the 50 years of Communism.
His cousin, our auntie Marga, married a statistician,a brilliant academic. In the days of Communism, passports were kept at the local police station, and borders were entirely closed . Every time he ever applied for his passport to travel to academic conferences, it was "conveniently" released a few days after the event. Their daughter and her husband, an orquestra conductor, fled the country when Ceaușescu was in power with nothing but two suitcases on them. They had no way of knowing if and when they would see her again (Not sure, but I believe it may have been only after the Revolution).
When I was born, there were severe food shortages and food was being rationed. My mum couldn't breastfeed me; she caught an infection from a dirty hospital ward. I'm only alive today because our neighbour, a colaborator of the Securitate, was able to find formula on the black market. Then the Revolution came, and my crib went in the hallway, to protect me from stray bullets (a very real concern; someone in our block of flats had a window broken by a bullet which ended up in her pot of sarmale).
Things got better. I got an education.
I did interesting things. I came to the UK.
I am telling you all of this to remind you that we are neither the first nor the last people to live in difficult times. In 2016, heartbroken after the Brexit vote, I called my mum and my Grandma in tears; because I had to ask them : "How do you live in difficult times? How do you keep sane?"
Keeping sane is hard right now. Keeping hopeful - in democracy as a concept, in the good and reason of humanity, in the future - even more so. So here's how we're going to do this :
One foot in front of the other. As it stands, the only thing we can have faith in, the only thing that can give us hope right now, is what we can make with our own hands. The difference we, personally, can create in our lives, our loved ones' lives, our communities', lives. All that matters is what's in front of us. So here's how we're going to do this.
I once read somewhere this thing about knitting- that "it's much harder to fear the existential futility of all your actions while you're doing it. Like, okay, sure, sometimes it's hard to believe you've made any positive impact on the world. But it's pretty easy to believe you've made a sock. Look at it. There it is. Put it on, now your foot is warm. Checkmate, nihilism! ". My wonderfully stubborn paternal Grandma was a knitter. I never picked up that one craft from her, but I got her stubbornness in spades. My Great-Grandma, the lawyer, painted landscapes and still life. Whether you are knitting, making art, writing stories, writing code, raising children, mentoring youngsters, teaching, advocating, generating knowledge and insights, helping others in your community, advocating, organising or protesting - in times when you're all out of faith in humanity at large, you'll always find some hope in what you do yourself.
Allow yourself to grieve. Allow yourself to be deeply angry and disappointed, to cry in public and say "fuck" on Facebook. Be kind to yourself and give yourself grace. But please, please, don't wallow in sadness. Yes, things are really bad right now, but here's a harsh truth we need to face head-on : saying "things are bad" ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times in a row will not by itself put food on the tables of those going hungry. Doomscrolling will not protect anyone's rights and liberties. Hiding under a blanket waiting for the world to end will not restore a functioning democracy. If anything, powerless doomerism is a privileged, luxury belief that we absolutely cannot afford right now.
So, here's how we're going to do this. One. Foot. In. Front. Of. The. Other. Focus on what YOU can do, personally, to improve your life and the lives of your nearest and dearest. Be a kind and decent person. What we've seen today is a victory of indecency over decency- so just being decent can be your first act of resistance. Practice spiritual exercises. Clean the house. Bake cookies.
Make lists.
What do you need to do today? I need to do a load of washing. Unload the dishwasher. Tidy up a dataset of health and care services in North East London. Feed the cats. Wash my hair. Make chicken with cider and leeks potato gratin for dinner. I need to do a load of washing.
What can help you make you feel like yourself and/or maintain at least some sense of normalcy? Maybe it's listening to good music. Maybe reading good books. Going to the theatre. To museums. To the zoo. The cinema. Hanging out with friends. Learning a new language. Cooking a new recipe. Growing flowers on a windowsill. Snuggling your cat.
Who is on Team You? Who are the people closest to you, who will always catch you when you fall? Who are your mentors and role models?
What are you grateful for? This is really hard to do right now, but you've got to take every little glimmer of hope from wherever you can find it. If you have any joy or love or comfort in your life, acknowledge it. In 2016, the day after Brexit, the Sweetie and I went out for dinner to forget our sorrows, and Pride was on. To me at that time, it served as a vital reminder that even though The Really Fucked Up Thing happened, it doesn't mean that all progress we have achieved as a society will have to stop and backtrack. Even in our darkest hour, it's not like every single good thing we have is effectively wiped from existence and for our own sanity we mustn't lose perspective.
What can you do to help others in your community? What acts of kindness and and service are within your power? Especially for women, for LGBT people, for migrants, refugees, and those of us who are facing much worse than we do. Be kind to everyone that Trump won't be kind to. Solidarity and community connection are often forged in the hardest times.
How can you fight back? Can you get involved in a campaign group? An NGO? A trade union? A protest movement ready to take to the streets? If nothing else, at least you will meet like - minded people who will give you hope and remind you that you are not alone in feeling with every fibre of your being that this is not How Things Should Be; and together you can work out what resistance and fighting back may look like. Read up on activists who stood up to autocrats in the rest of the world: you're not the first country in the world to experience one.
Who is already helping and/or fighting back? The Mr. Rogers principle - look for the helpers. Find them, learn from them, join them. Making the world a better place is a very collective struggle. A good team can fend off exhaustion and burnout, and motivate each other. Ask for help when you need it. Give help when you can.
Now, add all of that to the first list I told you to make - What is on your to-do list for today?
The long line of intelligent, brilliant women in my family have known more hardship than I ever will. Through it all, they always had strength, resilience, creativity and hope. They kept going with their lives, and they lived to see the end of one of the 20th century's worst dictatorships. They didn't become cynical, disillusioned, embittered or mysanthropic - and that's what gives me hope that neither will you and I. I'm not going to say that the hard times ahead of us are going to make us stronger - when we'll be looking back at them from a future when we've overcome we will still wish it didn't ever have to be that way. But, alas, surviving this shit is what's on our to-do list for today and the only way out is through.
Right now, I need to do a load of washing. Unload the dishwasher. Tidy up a dataset of health and care services in North East London. Feed the cats. Wash my hair. Make chicken with cider and leeks potato gratin for dinner. And I am not allowing myself to not feel hopeful. Not now, not ever.