Hold the Line

From freeze & flight to committed fight, this is the moment to tune in, show up, and arm ourselves with knowledge (and books)

Let’s not forget for one minute to whom this building belongs and for whom the people inside work.

Last week, in his Substack, author George Saunders highlighted the tension many writers are feeling over whether to address the situation playing out on the political stage. He wrote,

“To those of you who are, like me, feeling sick about the state of things, and who still hold dear, in your hearts, the idea of a country that feels proud to be able to support the less fortunate all over the world, that knows that strength is loving more and extending the cloak of our largesse and kindness over a wider swath of people, that is confident enough to, when contemplating a change, do the hard work of analysis and pursue those changes in a measured way, as a form of respect for those on the other side – please know that I share your concerns, and I’m with you.”

While folks may not flock to their favorite authors in search of their political viewpoints, it’s important to remember that writing is a political act. We come to the page to document that which is worthy of telling and recording, and, for that reason, I can’t pretend to ignore the dark days that have descended upon my hometown, Washington, D.C.

As I posted on Instagram yesterday, this has been the darkest, coldest, most hope-starved month I can remember. In my beloved neighborhood, Capitol Hill, where neighbors are federal workers and lifetime civil servants - folks who have chosen the honor of public service over fat paychecks - people are deeply troubled. Many have lost their jobs. Others have been in the painful position of letting go of hardworking employees. All are concerned about the direction of our country.

I am not one of these workers. Nor do I work for an institution in which I must uphold silence or political neutrality. It’s an incredibly privileged position from which to operate, but I’ve failed to take advantage of it in recent weeks. Instead, I’ve oscillated between doom-scrolling the news, numbing myself with bad TV, and relying on gummies to sleep off my anxiety.

But this weekend, something shifted.

Credit is owed, in part, to SNL’s moving 50th-anniversary concert, during which performers from across genres and generations came together to deliver the world some badly needed art. As I listened to Bonnie Rait and Chris Martin’s soul-shattering duet, I Can’t Make You Love Me, and the vibrant, colorful rendition of Wake Up by Arcade Fire, David Byrne, and The Preservation Hall Jazz Band - a performance that invoked love and roused the audience - I was profoundly inspired.

From the quiet, comfortable refuge of my couch, a small voice from within declared, “F**k this.”

Stirred by anger and snapped awake by joy, I felt myself coming to my senses.

F**k the silence. F**k the gray days. F**k the billionaires trying to swindle America from right underneath us. F**k the audacity of trying to erase decades of social progress and international allyship.

F**k it all.

(And f**k trying to use less crude language.)

A lot will be written about the importance of art in this perilous moment. Those who choose music, words, and dance will do a great service to humanity. They will energize the masses and remind us what’s worth fighting for. What they create will embody the spirit, struggles, and triumphs of this moment. It will be an invaluable historical record.

But it won’t be the only solution. Surviving this moment will require all good and honest people to hold the line. It will require us to familiarize ourselves with the dark and brutal chapters of history in which power was wrongly and irrevocably ceded to small, caustic, selfish men - those who inflicted great harm upon innocent people and destroyed their nations.

I spent this weekend reading Erik Larson’s In the Garden of Beasts, which recounts 1933, the year Hitler gained power across Germany, through the experience of American Ambassador William Dodd and his daughter, Martha. The parallels to our current moment are undeniable. Under Hitler’s leadership, loyalty became requisite, and civil liberties were subtly and rapidly stripped away. Larson writes,

“Change came to Germany so quickly and across such a wide front that German citizens who left the country for business or travel returned to find everything around them altered, as if they were characters in a horror movie who come back to find that people who once were their friends, clients, patients, and customers have become different in ways hard to discern.”

In less than a year, Hitler went from being a nuisance, a threat people believed could be contained by the more stable voices in his inner circle, to a full-fledged dictator. The consequences of his leadership are why Americans have worked tirelessly to preserve our democracy over the past 80 years. And now we are witnessing elected (and unelected) leaders who not only refuse to condemn Hitler’s crimes but have publicly absolved them.

This is not a fire drill. This is a five-alarm fire.

Hold the line is the current motto of our federal workers, who are being yanked around like balls in a ping-pong game, receiving (possibly fake) buyouts and firing notices, sometimes followed by immediate re-hiring notices. For them, holding the line has required courage and resolve, as many refuse to cede their roles as responsible guardians of the government.

For the rest of us, holding the line may involve a myriad of actions: acting as unquestionable allies to the LGBTQ+ community, engaging in service-oriented work, voicing our concerns, looking out for neighbors, telling our stories, and sharing the stories of others. Importantly, it also involves joy. We do not have to resign ourselves to four dark, difficult years. We can get out of bed in the morning, walk in the fresh air, listen to music, dance with our partners, and keep living without apology.

Mira Jacob, author of one of my favorite memoirs, Good Talk, offered fantastic tips for staying awake and engaged during these tough times. If you don’t follow her on Instagram, you really should.

Other ways to stay informed/engaged:

• CALL YOUR REPRESENTATIVES! Too many of us affected don’t have representation, so please use your power as a citizen to blow up the phones and demand accountability.

• For the love of everything holy, if you don’t yet subscribe to Heather Cox Richardson’s Substack, Letters from an American, make this your MUST DO before lunch today.

  

• As far as book recommendations go, this one may not be the most uplifting, but it’s certainly educational. History is an essential teacher, and if we are to avoid the mistakes of our past, this is the moment for us to make ourselves students.

• Lastly, it’s Black History Month, and I’m still pissed that MLK Jr. Day was usurped by the world’s most depressing inauguration. Brilliant bookstagrammer, federal worker (and Amore Learning teacher!), Kelsi Pilcher, shares her tips for best kid lit this month:

  

  Big hugs, smiles, and love to you, my readers, this week. If I haven’t offended you with my cursing and strongly held opinions, then let’s keep fighting the good fight together.