CLH Words

               It has been…a while. It is not that I did not want to write—in fact I have been writing. I have several drafts of posts sitting in my folder, not to mention all the other writing I have been doing. It’s not that I don’t have things to say, ideas I have been thinking about, or that I haven’t been doing stuff. I have. It’s that it all feels so trivial.

               I have been watching a genocide in Gaze for the past…115 days? I have lost track. I have watched our elected officials not only ignore our demands to end it; demonize us for calling for such a simple thing. I have watched as our calls for a cease fire, to end a literal genocide, are meet with telling us to be quite or Trump will win. I have watched all of this and felt like nothing I could write would be enough. Would make a difference or be worth posting. Nothing I could do would actually do anything because the whole system needs to go. I felt that I am incapable of doing good because real change is needed, and that goes beyond me. That because I could not solve all the problems, my writing was pointless.

               But this is a form of hopelessness. The demand that any action I take must be perfect, must solve the problem, or that I shouldn’t take action to begin with, is a form of control. It is white supremacy telling me not to fight back. It is a means to stop change before it begins. And I must fight it.

               I know nothing I say here will be perfect. Nothing I say here will completely fix everything. But that does not mean I should not write. That I should not try. Me writing this does not hinder change. It signals its start. It is me committing to action, to change, and pushes me forward.

               I must keep writing. It is how I witness, how I think, how I begin to organize. We need action now. Even if I cannot speak change into existence, I must write to commit to at least trying.