Why I didn’t watch the debate—and other ways to spend our energy than election 2024

On the night of the first presidential debate, Mere and I were hanging out with a couple friends after having dinner together. At about 8:55, one of us remembered the debate and asked if the others would be interested in watching it. Because it had been previewed and advertised so much in the days leading up to it, I had already been thinking about that question. I remembered very well the first debate in 2020, and how horrifying it had been to witness the collective traumas of a nation playing out through the clash of two disembodied old men on stage in front of millions of people, trading attacks in a way no healthy parent, teacher, or coach would ever condone in their children, students, or athletes.

I hadn't yet made a final decision about watching this year’s first debate, but I had told myself that I would only watch it as an exercise in staying present, grounded, and centered amidst what I knew would be a deeply disturbing spectacle. I couldn’t see any benefit in watching it just as something to do, or in the expectation that I would learn something new; I knew, as many of us probably did, that there would be nothing substantive whatsoever that would feel enlightening or thought-provoking, let alone that would influence my vote.

We only had a couple minutes to decide whether to watch, and initially there seemed to be openness to the idea, including from me, because of the social expectation to go with the flow and not be the wet blanket. But I suggested that we all do a quick pause, slow down, ground ourselves, and check in with our bodies about what we wanted to be doing for the next hour and a half. 

I’m extremely grateful to be a part of a circle in which a request like this wouldn't feel totally weird; we all readily agreed to do it. It only took a minute for all of us to reach the clarity that watching the debate was not how we wanted to spend the rest of the evening. We all shared that we’d rather just enjoy the time with each other than glued to a screen, that we probably wouldn’t sleep better having watched it, and that there wasn’t really anything we’d gain from it other than feeling like we’re in “the know” or maybe some mindless entertainment. We were all relieved by the decision and spent the rest of the evening continuing to chat, joke, and just connect.

I confess that I did, however, take a few minutes to check the highlights the next day, making sure I set the intention of being centered, and practicing coming back to a centered place whenever I was knocked adrift, which was often. The highlights were just as surreal and disturbing as I expected. I also read a bit of the commentary, seeing how desperate liberals seemed to be, with some in favor of scrambling to find a replacement candidate for Biden. This sense of urgency was surprising only in that it was only now that they seemed to be registering the real possibility, likelihood even, of a second Trump presidency. I’m sure some of that was a frantic trauma response triggered by the act of watching the debate itself.

I must say I don’t share quite the same urgency about the 2024 election. I do, at times, feel a good deal of fear and grief about the future of this land and its people—a future which, according to predominant ideas about what makes a “good life,” will certainly be a regression for most. But I don’t think that that future can be avoided through an election—at least not in the long term. Yes, another Trump presidency will almost certainly mean a turn toward authoritarianism, reactionary politics, and political violence. I don’t mean to minimize this or the detrimental consequences it could have on people’s lives, particularly women, people of color, immigrants, to name a few. 

But Trump is not single-handedly responsible for this, and defeating him in the election won't get rid of the threat (in fact, it will likely only prime the pump further because it will come with election denial and calls for revenge). He is only an archetype, a figurehead representing something that's long been lingering just beneath the surface of our modern, rationalist, "progress"-oriented society, always ready to rear its ugly head. Other trumps and right-wing movements are popping up all over the world: in France, Germany, Hungary, Brazil, Argentina, and many more. They inevitably reemerge in capitalist, liberal "democracies" due to the decades-long utter failure to adequately address the crises of our time. 

Anyone who's recently been to the doctor, worked in a school or the courts, or followed congressional politics (to name a few) knows that our institutions are failing. Their failure, not trump, is responsible for the eroding trust in said institutions. When everything seems to be falling apart and no viable path forward is visible, a certain segment of people inevitably turn to a strongman promising quick and ruthless solutions. Defeating the strongman alone doesn't do anything to address these underlying issues. It's like we're all in a boat with a giant hole in it, and everyone is pointing out the different places water is showing up and arguing about where to scoop it out from. For years and years and years. Maybe it's time to address the hole.

Except our predicament is infinitely bigger and more complicated than a hole that can be patched. There aren't any magic bullet solutions to what the planet is facing right now, or any (real) solutions at all for that matter. This makes it understandable why there's so much denial about our situation, and an insistence that we focus on symptoms instead of root causes. But at some point we have to realize how destructive our current way of life is, and all the systems that support it—that no amount of reforms, no amount of electric cars, no amount of scapegoating people we find to be at fault can make up for an inherently destructive system, ideology, and way of life—and decide that the only way we can save ourselves is to link arms and jump ship.

I can already hear the voices of sanctimonious liberals lecturing me about how bad Trump is and calling me irresponsible and hopeless for focusing on anything other than the election. In response, I'll say that my intention is not to set up some kind of either/or binary and tell people that voting or working within the system is completely pointless. I will probably vote, and like most of us, I have to work within the system, and I try do the best I can at it. But can we please start having conversations about the sinking boat, and what comes next? They would be infinitely more life-giving, nourishing, and paradoxically, provide more hope for us as a people than any presidential debate.

In my opinion, what we four friends decided to do on debate night for 90 minutes—to stay present with and connected to one another—was much more powerful than any vote we could cast in 2024. It's not that I don't believe in macro-level, collective change, but that I recognize the whole concept of voting in our two-party, money-driven "democracy" as an individualistic illusion of collective action and people power. Let's get outside of that whole paradigm! Let's focus on building the relationships, communities, and practices that we will be nourished by even when all else collapses. When we choose with our communities, however small, not to conform to the norms and expectations of mainstream culture, but to practice what we want to see more of, we plant the seeds of a future world that aligns with our values much more than this one does.

*If you're interested in these ideas, I recommend looking into the work of the following people (among many others I'm probably forgetting): adrienne maree brown, Prentis Hemphill, Jem Bendell, Vanessa Machado de Oliveira. I've been reading the latter's "Hospicing Modernity," which definitely influenced me to write this.

 

My admiration for Jewish protestors at the capitol

    This is the first time I've written here in almost a year. I'm not sure why today was the day to break that streak. I've felt helpless in the face of the world's problems over the past two weeks and I suppose the best thing I know to do is write. The voice of doubt within me questions whether I have any business weighing in on this topic, and I'm sure some who read it will agree. But a greater part of me knows that I have a moral duty to speak out on matters about which I have a strong conviction, whether or not they have a direct impact on me. As MLK famously wrote, "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly." I hope some of you find meaning in these words.

 Earlier this week I came across an article about an action at the capitol building organized by a group called "Jewish Voice for Peace." Five hundred of them were arrested as they protested Israel's ongoing siege in Gaza and longstanding occupation of Palestine. As soon as I opened the article I was brought to tears by their bravery in taking this strong stand in such a fraught political climate. 

Many of the protestors wore shirts saying "NOT IN OUR NAME"

  There are stories that more urgently need to be centered in this brutal conflict, first and foremost those of the Gazans who are facing an unimaginable humanitarian crisis. For two weeks they've been cut off from all fuel, food and even WATER, and the little aid that finally made it in yesterday was "totally insufficient compared to the desperate needs of the people" according to Doctors without Borders. All while the Israeli government continues to level entire neighborhoods in incessant bombing campaigns and threatens an imminent invasion. Over 4,000 already dead–close to triple the number on the other side–and a third of them children. US media outlets are doing an embarrassing job at providing the public an accurate picture of the horrors that are unfolding, and I hope people reading this are not relying solely on them for their news. 

  But the story about the protestors at the capitol is also one that I believe carries an extremely important and nuanced message that the rest of us in the US need to hear. Maybe it spoke to me because I see myself in these protestors. I'm not Jewish, and so I hope that doesn't sound presumptuous. But I do know what it feels like to be a white person dedicated to a struggle against injustices committed by a government that values white lives over others. I know the self-questioning that comes with it. The inevitable guilt. The complicated navigating of relationships with white loved ones who aren't quite there yet, or will never get there. It's painful and exhausting. And these folks protesting at the capitol are dealing with an even more convoluted predicament, protesting both the US government at home and a government in their ancestral homeland claiming to represent their people. 

  I've read that many progressive Jews have felt alienated by the left because of statements justifying the Hamas attack and immediately placing the blame squarely on Israel's shoulders, all without any mourning whatsoever for the 1400 Israelis killed, many of whom were civilians. This frustration makes sense to me, and I feel for them. On the one hand, Israel does bear responsibility for the decades-long occupation, and Palestinians do have the right to resist. But human life is human life. Civilians being butchered indiscriminately because they happen to have been born or currently live in Israel cannot be justified. We're talking about real people, with families whose lives have been shattered. Understanding the context and empathizing with the anger behind the attack is one thing; justifying it while bypassing any grief at the loss of life goes much too far, and defeats the purpose of those fighting for a more humane world. Especially in the context of rising anti-Semitism both domestically and globally, reading that kind of post and statement has been disturbing.

And yet it's also difficult to justify dwelling solely on the deaths in Israel when within days there were already more deaths of innocent people in Gaza. The way that the media and pro-Israel supporters emphasize the one over the other reflects a supremacist hierarchy of human life, with Palestinian people ranking lower than Israelis.

 The issue is far from black and white. The history is extremely complex, as will be any real solutions going forward. I recognize that.

  And yet despite what must be such a painful and thorny position to be in, this predominantly Jewish group of protestors put their bodies on the line to resist Israeli occupation and demand a ceasefire. Many of them invoked their ancestors as the inspiration for their actions, saying that they had been taught by older generations that their historical experience of persecution puts them in a unique position to resist the oppression of all peoples worldwide. This isn't a surprise, as it's precisely that orientation which explains why Jewish people have consistently had a better track record than other white folks here in the US when it comes to joining in the struggle for Black rights. This despite having to deal with their own battles against anti-Semitism.

  I guess what moved me so much about the protestors was their willingness to take such an unpopular stance despite the complexities of their history, faith, and identity; to speak out so vehemently and with such conviction against Israeli occupation, which to all honest observers is a plainly unjust situation, one that will only continue to perpetuate the cycle of violence until it comes to an end. We all inhabit complex ecologies of identities and politics, but complexity can't be an excuse for not taking a stand that we know, beneath our biases and loyalties, is right. We would all do well to see the brave protestors at the capitol as an example.

Dreams

If I weren’t scared I’d

do what I knew, I’d

stick to what’s true

for myself, not the crew,

not the crowd nor the trends

that most people pretend

are laws that don’t bend.

My gut knows that’s pretend

and that time that I spend

learning, observing

this life and this world

is more than deserving

of being spoken and turning

folks’ minds to their yearnings.

Faith in myself

is what waits on the shelf

for the day that the shame

gets released from the claim

that I’m worthy of blame

and I redeem my name.

Hidden Pain

 I cannot

count the ways

we white folx

have been played

have been maimed 

by the same

things we thought

were for our gain.

We agreed

to the rules

and jumped

into the game

let it work

to our advantage

while ignoring

all our pain.

Instead of seeing smallness

as a part of being human

we treat our vulnerability

as a sign of being ruined.

Generations 

of denial

of violence

of abuse

projection

became the style

brown folx

the excuse

the scapegoat for pain

the scapegoat for sin

the excuse to create hierarchies

then rig the game to "win."

Seeking comfort 

we accepted

to live in houses

big as castles

now the norm's

to be indebted

our whole lives

like bankers' vassals

Now we toil

to survive

and to cope

develop habits

we watch our lives

floating by

yelling "freedom!"

as it passes

Two weeks of vacation

just to catch our breath

the other fifty spent in stress

hunched behind a desk.

On our children

we impose

the same rigid

directive

which they know

in their bones

to be oppressive

so they reject it.

Tell me, what are we left with

besides a hollow privilege

to "make it" on our own

while we leave behind our village?

Now we live in isolation

and we fester in our bubbles

desensitized and numb to all

the outside world's troubles

But as much as we seclude ourselves

we can't escape our pain

mass shootings and opioid addictions

make this plain.

We must turn toward our wounds.

We must tend to our wounds.

Too long our privilege blinded us;

now our destruction looms.

In solidarity with conflict

The planet is hot and it's people are burning

for justice; at times it can feel disconcerting.

I admit all the turmoil and rifts are concerning,

families breaking apart from the hurting.

But I wonder: is the conflict a sign of our yearning?

Isn't it time our world sees some upturning?

Isn't it time for unlearning, time for discerning,

time for our minds to be churning?

A new world is birthing itself; we're interning,

learning new mindsets and roles were not versed in

And isn't that better than ignoring what's lurking

under the surfaces, behind the curtains?

Centuries of violence and lies we're unearthing,

no wonder the facebook posts feel so disturbing;

we're shining light on all that hasn't been working.

The short term looks bleak; I'm concerned for my person

for my people; more violence, even war, seems but certain.

Still I stay faithful that after things worsen

this seed we've been nursing, these roles we're rehearsing

will finally find space to emerge in.

________________

Video reading of the poem

What we learned

What we learned

Wish I knew

when I was younger
that humans have many faces

that we act out many roles
in different times, different places
that’s the nature of our souls
it doesn’t mean that we’re fakin

when we’re hurt
it forms a hole
that’s when 

defenses awaken.

Wish they taught us
bout projection
about trauma
our protections
how a lifetime
of rejection
creates deep scars
and defenses.

Maybe then I’d have avoided
many conflicts and offenses
and friendships that were voided
cause I couldn’t handle the tenseness

jumped fences instead of face it
crossed oceans to escape
found new brothers to relate with
but ended with the same fate.

If they’d have taught it
I’d have learned it
things like patience
and discernment

instead they drilled us
and they filled us
with sterile facts
that never ferment.

So our generation’s
unwinding the
knotted thread wasting
and blinding us

realigning stuff
redefining “us”
to birth a brand
new kind of love

You humans do good math

You humans do good math

(said the Mountain)

always calculating value

adding to your sum totals

increasing your margins

subtracting your losses

ensuring a healthy bottom line,

all while waving the camouflaged banners

of “hard work” and “fairness”

as your justification.

You are still too young 

to comprehend the universe’s justice

(said the Mountain,

the Wind whispering her agreement through the trees)

Do you see my cracks and ridges?

How many millions of years

of trembling earthquakes

do you think I’ve endured 

for these?

For how many seasons

do you estimate

Lightning has scorched my pines

Rain has drained me of my brown blood

furry creatures have feasted from my caches

winged ones have skimmed from my canopies?

How much wealth

do you appraise

your own brothers have violated me and my brothers for

without permission

raiding my jeweled veins?

And yet still I stand here

(said the Mountain)

old, worn, humble

available 

to feed your souls

whenever you decide to remember

our kinship.

But you pale humans

prefer to do math

calculate your imaginary values

and complain

that your $20 massage

was 15 minutes too short.

You should get five back

Or maybe

you should leave the counting

to the Stars.