I have tried, for the most part, to avoid political posting on Facebook. I have friends across the spectrum. I am not one to debate or argue. But there does come a time to speak.
This election came at a hard time anyway. Or perhaps it was an easier time. After all, I was already in disaster mode.
This is the second major disaster I have experienced in 6 weeks time. I live in Swannanoa, NC, one of the epicenters of destruction from Hurricane Helene. My life and my family and my community and my livelihood have all been significantly impacted. I was just starting to come out of the post-disaster fog when came the election.
I will be totally honest here. I do not want to endanger my relationship with those who voted differently, but the reality is that I'm horrified. I am so afraid for what this means for the dignity and safety of women, the Black community, the LGBTQ population, and immigrants. I am afraid for what this means for healthcare. I am afraid for what this means for the freedom to disagree with power without consequences. I know this means that this could be the end of our country as we know it.
And yet, as I have seen with a natural disaster and I am experiencing yet again with the horror of this election, communal trauma is so different from personal trauma. In a disaster, the entire community is experiencing this together. And with this election, you have pretty much half the country in collective horror over the results.
That "me, too" is so key.
I believe the isolating factor of abuse is by far the most painful. This is why the "don't talk" rule within churches is damaging. And think of the Adverse Childhood Experiences (look up ACE score). These are all personal. They are often secret. And they are all coated in shame. The child is powerless and alone.
Powerless and alone. This is the essence of trauma.
Here we are with a disaster. A national disaster. A disaster for women. For the LGBTQ community. For the Black community and people of all colors other than white. For immigrants.
We may feel powerless. We may BE powerless. But we are not alone. We are in this disaster TOGETHER. And we must stick together.
A part of me wants to give into fear and run down the rabbit trail of the worst case scenarios (and I have a very good Worst Case Scenario generator in my head). But another part of me knows that there is way too much work to do.
A few days ago I wrote a post about my need to not look away from the destruction in my community. After that, a friend shared a phrase she heard. "We can look away or we can lean in."
Let us take some time to grieve. But then we have a job to do. We need to, we must, lean in.
We lean in and listen to those who are afraid.
We lean in and defend those who are oppressed.
We lean in and offer light and hope to those flattened by despair.
We lean in and include those who are cast out.
We lean in and treat with dignity those who are marginalized.
We lean in and speak words of truth and courage in the face of tyranny.
We lean in and love in a country being led by hate.
We lean in and make friends and neighbors of those who are called the enemy.
Come on, people, we've got work to do.
We lean in and do justice.
We lean in and love mercy.
We lean in and walk humbly with our God.
(Micah 6:8)
