Burnt
These past two weeks, I’ve been in conversation with a lot of folks who are deeply immersed in politics and activism for a living, from the top of the DNC to local community activists.
Whether it’s political podcasters who are wondering why their subscription numbers are tanking, or mobilization PACs for Gen Z that are struggling to fundraise, or senior officials who are still celebrating November but worried about engagement for 2023 local elections, one common theme is present everywhere: folks are completely burnt out.
As we know, this has been the aim of far right movements: to exhaust us with outrage, to crush us with fatigue, until we feel we can’t engage without complete collapse.
Add to that the social media algorithms of Facebook and the permission-granting to far right messaging on Twitter thanks to the takeover of a certain American oligarch, combined with the third year of a pandemic where 9/11-level numbers of people are still dying every week from Covid, and it’s no wonder our nervous systems are on near constant overload– that is, if we’re not completely dissociated and checked out.
After almost seven years since a fateful trip down the escalator, and many more years before that for some of us, those who have been engaged in fighting back against a far right tide continuously are, in a word, toast.
If this is you, know that you are not alone.
I’ve spoken a lot recently about the “outrage machine” that is social media and some news outlets. The holy grail of “engagement” online for the sake of profit is driven by emotional response. It’s not until you step back from it that you recognize how much it has impacted your mental and even physical health.
The first week in December, I left Twitter for all intents and purposes. Though my profile is still there, locked down to a dwindling six figures of followers, I haven’t been engaged there regularly since the midterms.
The change in my worldview that has resulted from my exit has been remarkable and shocking. I find myself more optimistic, quieter on the inside, and more easily able to rest.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m still engaged. I talk to organizers and activists, politicians and media folks, friends and allies every day. I’m just doing it outside an outrage algorithm.
In those conversations, I hear from folks regularly about what’s going right, and what’s not, what’s happening for 2023 local and state elections, and what’s not, where we’re headed for 2024 and beyond.
And it’s funny how this works: outside of that algorithm that is designed to drive my emotional response for profit, I find myself far more hopeful than I was previously.
I don’t think I’m alone in that.
This past week, I had a chance to interview Roger Lau, the Deputy Executive Director of the DNC, and the former head of Elizabeth Warren’s campaign for president. It was a remarkable discussion which you can hear next week on my podcast– one that touched upon all our intersecting American stories, and about who gets to belong and who doesn’t, and how mistakes can be forgiven, and how we all have a role to play in this, our teetering democracy that still promises so much.
One of the things we discussed, however, was the recently-crafted infrastructure of progressive politics– about how much has been built since 2016 on our side of the fence. How many relationships in community we have built, and how those structures for elections and mutual aid continue on. We spoke about the incredible people we’ve come to know over these years, the remarkable and good-hearted individuals and particularly the volunteers who are fighting for our democracy and a better future, and how much those relationships have changed us for the better.
We may be exhausted, but we are not without a scaffolding for elections and democracy that we have all built together.
It stands, and it is being reinforced every day by folks like you and me.
I have come around to the view that it’s ok to check out for a few weeks or a month– that it’s ok to take a deep pause and consider how we’re going to engage right now in the work of democracy and change.
Some of us have careers that are emerging from the rubble of lockdown that need our attention. Some of us are taking care of young kids, facing down health crises, caring for aging parents, or just in dire need of rest.
These things are not unrelated.
Our democracy must become a democracy of care. We must care for one another, all of us, and not just claim to care about one another.
We must push policies that allow for all of us to receive and be allowed to receive the care we need.
We must move in the direction of caretaking as a foundational value.
Because the question of who gets to rest, like everything else, is imbued with privilege and class considerations and race and gender and immigration status.
And the idea that we all deserve to rest, that we all deserve to care for ourselves and one another, is a principle of democracy that should not be denied.
Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It’s right there.
So what to we do now, knowing that we are committed to a better future while simultaneously exhausted?
We do what we can to nourish ourselves and those we love, knowing that we will return to the work as we are able.
We understand that rising fascist forces in America– hell, in the House of Representatives– are not going to let up on the outrage gas pedal, and their engendering of outrage is designed to distract from their violence and corruption and racist end-game. It is designed to damage us emotionally and physically to the point that we simply dissociate.
We cannot allow ourselves to be distracted. We cannot allow ourselves to be crushed beneath the weight of their noise.
Why? Because the basic truth, as recent elections and events and even the outrage generators’ near-fistfight on the floor of the House have shown us, is that the forces of good in this country far outnumber those who seek to create chaos in the name of their own power and destruction.
We are winning, though we are tired. We are making strides, though we are exhausted. We are in this together, and we must collaboratively continue to fight.
And that must include giving ourselves permission to rest.
So for now: breathe. Do what you can. Sleep as much as you are able. Grant yourself and your family permission to experience joy, love, hope. Binge watch a show with your kids. Make a good meal. Take a long walk at sunset and don’t let go of the people who feed your soul.
Understand that the fight doesn’t end.
And maybe tomorrow, next week, next month, it will feel right to pick up the mantle again and do more.
Your joy can’t be stolen, and neither can the hope that we find in community effort.
We may be burnt, but we’re awake, and we’re in this together.
And the future we want is right there, just a few more steps down the road.
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Sending you positivity during this difficult time of discovery ~ 🙏🏼😘
Thank you for this hopeful message Elizabeth...yes, indeed, ONWARD, take a deep breath, and as you say, we are all in this together.