I have been trying to find the words to describe this moment— this collapsing of the floor— all of Tuesday night, all day yesterday...
and for the last year; the last four years; the last 8 years; the last 12 years— for as long as I have been cognizant of the United States's truth: that this nation is not a great democracy and beacon of freedom and justice, but a ruthless, power-hungry, colonizing, and imperialist empire that only exists to serve the interests of white supremacy and capitalism.
It has always been this way. The floor did not just collapse yesterday. The foundation was cracked the moment it was poured. And the floor's been unstable— no place for anyone but the whitest and wealthiest to stand—since the beginning. There have been moments in time when things felt steady, but only briefly. And only when people have painstakingly repaired and rebuilt and plastered over the cracks, hoping that the foundation and floors would hold. In the meantime more cracks appeared, mold was found in the walls, and then, there was a realization: this home cannot be repaired. It has to be gutted; total demolition. Of course, many were forced to this realization earlier than others. Indigenous and Black Americans have known this for centuries.
But now we are here. There is no floor, no foundation, just a gaping pit where a house of cards once stood. It's often felt like when we couldn't possibly sink deeper, this pit— a hole that now consumes us— only gets darker and darker and colder and colder.
But I have rope. And my neighbor has a pickaxe. And my friend is strong enough to hoist another person on their shoulder and give them a boost. And so together we can make our way out of this hole. It may be slow, it will likely be painful, but we will do it. And on our way out of the hole we will help those we pass who are stuck, and we will encourage others who feel hopeless and abandoned to join our struggle and get out of the dark, cold, hole. And together we will. Not only because we want to, but because our lives depend on it.
In this moment I'm finding strength in the fact that people have been resisting abusive power and injustice for as long as people have been alive. That people have resisted in the United States since before the United States was a nation.
While discussing this earlier today, my sister Lila texted me: “Power isn’t a linear phenomenon with an end in emancipation. I think we all need to consider how nuanced it is and what we can do… And how all these interests also intersect with us and how we’re not just subject to but we also subject to.”
And that is the thing about power— it is so easily wielded over other people. We (white Americans) also subject to. This is the reason we must emphasize and focus our efforts on building collective power. It is why we must take directives from those with the least (recognized and material) power. What do the powerless need? How can they be best supported? How can we act so that everyone is standing on solid ground? How do we ensure the ground isn’t just solid, but that it is just?
The people— organizers and activists— who have already been asking and answering these questions encourage us to figure out what our strengths are. What can you offer to your community and community at large? You do not have to solve every single problem we're facing. You won't. But you can focus on a skillset you have or a movement you are particularly passionate about— or that needs more support in your area— and start there. Work from an intersectional lens because that is the only meaningful way. It all overlaps, and we cannot have reproductive justice without housing for all or climate justice without racial justice, etc., etc.
We were already in the thick of it. Following Tuesday’s election, the hole is just deeper and darker. But standing at the bottom of the hole shaking our heads will not change anything. We have to start picking each other up and actually helping each other out. The questions are still the same: What do the powerless need? How can they be best supported? How can we act so that everyone is standing on solid ground? How do we ensure the ground isn’t just solid, but that it is just?
As we move through these questions searching for answers and, more importantly, acting in tangible ways that align with the answers we’re realizing or have known, we will get closer and closer to the opening of the hole. And eventually, we will get out. It will likely take decades to stand out of and at the edge of the hole, but we will get there. We will get there because we have to in order to survive.
And then we— or our children, or our grandchildren— will build something new.
I hope you live without the need to dominate, and without the need to be dominated. I hope you are never victims, but I hope you have no power over other people. And when you fail, and are defeated, and in pain, and in the dark, then I hope you will remember that darkness is your country, where you live, where no wars are fought and no wars are won, but where the future is. Our roots are in the dark; the earth is our country. Why did we look up for blessing — instead of around, and down? What hope we have lies there. Not in the sky full of orbiting spy-eyes and weaponry, but in the earth we have looked down upon. Not from above, but from below. Not in the light that blinds, but in the dark that nourishes, where human beings grow human souls.”
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Ursula K. Le Guinfrom A Left-Handed Commencement Address
Mills College, 1983