And if I'm not there, don't look back. Just go.
It's a little disquieting how easily so many shift back to the status quo. For one, I suppose, I am not convinced that this thing is actually "over" by any meaningful metric, and for two, while the New Normal was bad in a great many ways, so was the Old Normal, and any rush back to any semblance of that, well --
Then again, can I really blame them? It's not wrong to want a feeling of safety, or some feeling of a constant or a throughline. We all want that, and even for myself I've noticed how easy it can be to slip into a feeling of "normal" -- even over the last 14 months. But that micro-level "normal" and the macro-level status quo aren't the same, nor should they ever be. Feelings of safety, of contentment, those sweet spots in life -- we should treasure those. But "normal" wants to grind those moments to dust. That's capitalism. That's statism. Another word for this kind of "normal" is hegemony.
It's hard to have much hope for the state of the world. To be clear, I am not hopeless. In fact, far from it. But I am terrified about what happens next. There's a reason why a lot of people on the left have talked so much about voting being only one (small) part of the puzzle, because no matter what Nancy Pelosi or whoever else want us to believe, we have not beaten back fascism, and I fear that wave has yet to crest. I worry about the world that I brought my child into. About what things will be like for her.
And honestly, it's likely she'll be spared many of the worst horrors by virtue of the color of her skin. But I don't think it's hyperbolic (honestly I hope it is) to be afraid that one day very soon there will be fascists marching down the streets of our cities, only violence in their hearts. I want nothing more than to be wrong. To be an alarmist. But history rhymes, and all that.
There's a song on the most recent Propagandhi album that's come closer to articulating how fucking strange and impossible parenting in this fucked up world is, and I keep coming back to it. It's called "Adventures in Zoochosis," named for the unusual stereotypic behaviors displayed by animals in captivity. Repetitive behavior patterns with no goals or function. Here are the lyrics in full:
I hold out for consensus. Give the masses the benefit of the doubt. Insist the democratic process will bear this population out. I think my only fear of death is that it may not be the end. That we may be eternal beings and must do all of this again. Oh please lord let no such thing be true. Though I suspect that if I slink back to my enclosure — safe and warm and adequately lit. Sufficiently plumbed and ventilated — well, let's just say I would not shake a stick. And if pressed, I'll admit: I'm ecstatic about the enrichment programs implemented to extend our captive lifespans. I'm excited to see what our keepers have planned! Perhaps a bigger cage? Longer chains? Some compelling novel reasons to remain? "Dad are we gonna die?" Yes son, both you and I…but maybe not today. Boys, I've bowed to the keepers whip for so damn long I think the sad truth is this enclosure is where your old man belongs. But you, your hearts are pure, so when operant conditioners come to break you in I'll sink my squandered teeth. You grab your little brother's hand run like the wind. And if I'm not there, don't look back. Just go. I don't give a fuck about the enrichment programs implemented to extend our captive lifespans. Motherfucker gonna get a load of what I got planned.
Every single time I hear the song, when it gets to the line "and if I'm not there, don't look back, just go" I fucking start blubbering like a baby. Full-on ugly crying.
And that's why we have to have hope. Because otherwise we can settle in to "normal" so easily, thinking it's what's best for us. But we know it's not good for them, and we have to be willing to do whatever it takes to try to ensure a better world for their sake, not ours.
On a day like Memorial Day, it's easy to find yourself wondering what's worth dying for. For me, it's not God. Not country. Just her. And if the fascists ever march down our street, I hope to have the courage to sink my squandered teeth. For her.