An Open Letter to New Leftists
They say whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger; I wish I could agree
They say whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Resilience is a learned skill, and like any other skill, practice makes perfect. By surviving adversity, you get better at withstanding future hardships. I want to believe this. I have to believe this. I’m a queer Jewish woman, a survivor of sexual assault, and for much of my life I was a starving artist. I have been through so much. After this past year, I can safely say that we have all been through so much. And I’m still here. If you’re reading this, then you are too.
When I think back on the trauma I’ve experienced, I think about black holes. As an object approaches a black hole, it is sucked in by extreme gravity. Not even light can escape this immensity of force. Surrounding this phenomenon, scientists describe an invisible border: the event horizon. This is the point of no return. As far as we know, it is impossible to witness what takes place beyond that circumference, since light cannot travel back across it.
One of the most interesting things about event horizons, to me, is their intangibility. If you crossed this boundary, you might not realize it for some time. That’s almost always been my experience of trauma. From one moment to the next, life permanently changes. As long as you’re focused on your own short-term survival, you can’t understand the scope of that change.
Last week, Trump supporters stormed the Capitol Building. Put a different way: last week, white supremacists mounted an armed insurrection. As frightening as that was, it was not surprising. This is the center of the black hole. We crossed the event horizon long ago.
They say whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. With our country so divided, I do not take comfort in this phrase. Who is getting stronger? Who is being crushed into a diamond? Who is just being crushed?
There are no longer two sides to this struggle. Trump isn’t just breaking with the Republican party; he is breaking the party itself. Far leftists rage against the liberals who agree that we need to wear masks but balk at the idea of restructuring the police force. There is a powerful sense of solidarity among like-minded people, but the number of people who agree about any given issue is shrinking. I would like to say, we need to overcome our differences and band together to fix this thing. I would like to say, we have too much in common to keep tearing each other down. But there are certain lines none of us will cross.
A few months ago, I turned on NPR in the middle of a broadcast. I heard a scratchy recording of a man decrying the government. He spoke of how elites don’t care about the lower class, how our rights are being taken away, and how capitalism is eating itself alive. I was nodding in agreement when the recording ended. Then the news anchor identified the speaker as one of the men who colluded in the attempt to kidnap Governor Whitmer. I went cold and turned off the radio. If it weren’t for white supremacy, sexism, the fundamental disrespect of reproductive rights, and the hatred of queer and trans people, I would be able to fight alongside many of those on the far right. But I will never compromise on these issues. I don’t think they will, either.
They say whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. But when we apply the bootstraps theory to a society founded on systematic oppression, it’s all too easy to blame our most vulnerable members for their own disenfranchisement. If hardship is the key to success, why was our first Black president elected in 2008? Why is the number of female Fortune 500 CEOs just now at an all-time high of 7.6%? And perhaps most importantly, why are we celebrating this glacial progress?
I’m grateful to live in a time when I’m allowed to put my name on a credit card, own property, and use birth control. These rights are the bare minimum, and I’m painfully aware that white privilege affords me more rights than many people in this country.
But I am so angry. I have been angry for such a long time. I have regular conversations with people older than I am who marvel at the heartbreaking information they’re just now learning. I hear them quoting Senators as if they were spouting new and innovative ideas, and I recognize their rhetoric from months-old memes and Twitter threads. I want to be grateful that the people in power are finally listening. I open my mouth to welcome them to the party, and I find that I’m hoarse from all the years I’ve spent yelling into the void.
I am tired of being angry. I would like to be inclusive. I would like to shout from the rooftops that the people who run this country are finally starting to get it. I would like to send a fruit basket to every Gen Xer and Baby Boomer who thinks we should defund the police. And perhaps someday I will. But until then, I hope everyone who was radicalized in the past year can understand how difficult it was to have these conversations in secret, never on Thanksgiving, never with employers, inappropriately reserving our righteous rage for the people we trusted most.
They say whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Try as I might, I do not believe this. I am not grateful for my trauma; I am proud of my response to it. I have lived most of my life in defiance of a world that tried to break me. I am so strong, but I am so tired.
Hope, as I’ve written in the past, is a discipline. Even in these dark times, I remain hopeful for the future. But I cannot deny the immensity of my grief. I mourn for the 22-year-old with fire in her eyes, staying up until 4 am inventing new feminist terminology in the kitchen of her anarchist commune. I mourn for the 25-year-old who fell in love because her girlfriend screamed at a homophobic stranger on a busy street. I mourn for the 30-year-old who cut ties with people she loved dearly when they intentionally used the wrong pronouns for her wife. I mourn for the price of all my greatest joys.
I live in the center of a black hole. I will never know when I crossed the event horizon that led me here. How does one chart the timeline of identity? When are core beliefs formed? If you’re just now waking up to the injustices of the world, take a look around. Draw a red X on the map of your life. Remember this moment. In ten or twenty years, when you are held together with scotch tape and dusty promises, let this inspire you. Let this be your spark.
Whatever doesn’t kill you…doesn’t kill you. That will have to be enough. The fight is just beginning. If you’re new here; welcome. There is power in new rage. As you stoke the fire of your ideals, remember to share its warmth. This is the light at the center of the black hole. This is how we win.
