I’m having one of those days. I’m at work and there is very little happening in the office, so I’ve been reading articles and writing emails and trying to deal with other parts of my life that tend to fall by the wayside. It’s the article-reading that’s getting to me; the number of things that have happened in the past week or two that make me sad and angry is absurd.
I feel completely swamped, like I am lying on the ground and someone is piling everything up on my chest. Gang rapes at parties and the people who think this is entertaining; racism and Islamophobia; don’t ask, don’t tell; book-burners and Nazis and the Spanish Inquisition. At least some of these things are in the past. That image of the heap of books with men saluting in the background still has such impact; it gives me chills. When I traveled around Europe a few years ago, I spent two days (not enough time!) in Berlin. Mostly what I wanted to do there was to take in some of the city’s history, which means that I was in a very bad mood for those two days because most of that history is terrifying. I think I had a map from my hostel or something, though I can’t remember; anyway, I somehow heard about an installation in the square where that book burning took place and decided to walk there to take a look. When I arrived, I couldn’t see anything, so I walked toward the centre of the square. As I got closer, I could see a space in the middle that reflected the sky. It was a window into a small underground space, entirely painted white and lined with empty bookshelves. Standing on that spot in Berlin was a crazy feeling, like: that day it was overcast and kind of cool, and I was going to the Egyptian museum next to check out some pilfered artifacts, and then probably I would get a coffee; and under my feet was this little pane with a view on the world we might have had: shelves empty of books and rooms empty of people. I’m so glad I went to that square. In spite of the anger and dread, I’m so glad I went to Auschwitz/Birkenau when we were in Poland and cried in the gas chamber with my good friend who traveled with me. I’m grateful to the man training me in crisis counseling who read a piece to us earlier this week while we sat, eyes closed, and imagined what a new colonization of Canada would feel like: your family torn apart by force, your rituals banned, your land taken and your children abused in every way imaginable while you are restricted by law from preventing it. I had never really thought about it in that way before, though I spend an awful lot of time thinking about colonialism.
I don’t even have the energy to engage with the gang rape issue. It’s just making me sad. Every time I start to feel really great about the community I’m in right now – hooray for amazing feminist activists! – I encounter something that reminds me how much work there is to be done. SO MUCH. It’s overwhelming. But, again, thank goodness for those women around me who will cry with me when it’s too much, or scream, or sometimes even laugh. There is so much good here mobilizing against the forces behind all of these horrors. We need to work to keep ourselves and each other alive as much as we need to keep fighting.
It felt great to write this.
