If you care, then we’ve got a lot in common. Empathy and activism collide; they seemingly cannot be torn apart. What so many don’t get is that we’re driven by seeing this moment of cacophony and wanting to do something about it.
We don’t need to wait for something to affect us to care. Others seem so devoid of this, it’s the reason they say we’re paid protestors. They cannot fathom doing something without a payout for themselves. They are transactional; we are compassionate.
Then there’s the other tired line of accusations we’re protesting to protect criminals. Again, that false equivalency makes no sense whatsoever. ICE and Border Patrol haven’t gone after the worst; they’ve gone after neighbors, grandmothers, and five-year-olds.
We protest, organize, and fight back because we unequivocally give a damn. It’s also part of actually participating in democracy. It’s a right—one that’s on very shaky ground.
Doing all these things builds community and shows others they aren’t alone. It helps folks be less afraid to stand up and speak out.
We also have to remember that every major change or shift in the political or social realm has been supported by protest. Nothing evolves without pressure from the people (that’s us!).
As I go through every day, I try to navigate all the trauma, hate, and whatever fresh hell he’s vomited out the night before. It’s not just the cult that I have to manage; those on our side have plenty of complaints, too.
And let me tell you, it drags me down to despair. It absolutely breaks my heart.
These moments of overwhelming grief are followed by feelings of connection and purpose. And the transitions between the two reach a breaking point. The good doesn’t make the bad go away. There are two halves of a life.
It is messy, and courage isn’t always copious. It cracks my soul, but those fissures are the only way to let the light in. As a lover and purveyor of words, I grasp for these when the friction feels like a never-moving weight.
Sometimes in prose, poem, or song, and today those right words are in Little Voice by Sara Bareilles.
It’s everything I am and what I’m not
And all I’m trying to be
This is the part where I spit it all out
You decide what you think of me
I’m not trying to be complicated
I’m never waiting to get the last laugh
But I’ve been handing out benefits of the doubt
I’d like a little bit back
It’s just a little voice
And if you’re listening
Sometimes a little voice
Can say the biggest things
It’s just my little voice that I’ve been missing
Looking over the precious moments, it hurts, don’t it?
They can cut both ways
No amount of remembering the better things
Will make the bad ones go away
But I’ve been broken and the one to blame
So my savior is self-defense
Taught me to sing what I can’t say
It’s just a little voice
And if you’re listening
Sometimes a little voice
Can say the biggest things
It’s just my little voice that I’ve been missing
I will be loud
I’m coming out to tell you words are not enough
I will be loud
I’m coming out to tell you noise is not enough
I will be loud
I’m coming out to tell you words are not enough
I will be loud
I’m coming out to tell you noise is not enough
It’s the reason you whisper
You love her alone
We’ve been handed the mountaintops
To sing from and we still don’t
Sometimes a little voice can say the biggest things
It’s just my little voice that I’ve been missing
It’s just my little voice that I’ve been missing
It’s just my little voice that I’ve been missing