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Well, the worst happened. I’ve despaired knowing that the U.S.–in line with re-emerging trends of xenophobia and nationalism around the world––has succumbed to the worst version of itself; patriarchal, racially-divided, exclusionary and down a path that it may never recover from.
I write this not only from my background as a global citizen and former international journalist, but as someone who studied authoritarian regimes in university.
Like most around me (indeed I, like most, by design live in a curated echo chamber of like-minded people online and in real life), I have been alternating between grief, rage and anger. After the first few nights of real, valid fear as a woman, an immigrant, a mother, a person of color and someone whose life’s work is dedicated to inclusion and equity–I realized that I was succumbing to the very same distractions that led to the election of a xenophobic, narcissistic bully. The woe is me syndrome.
If there’s something I’ve observed in the nearly-13 years I’ve lived in America, it’s the cultural acceptance to turn any topic to center around one’s needs and one’s own opinions, rather than listening to others and finding threads of commonality and solidarity. Individualism-first, over community care, is what has led us to this point, and what will make the next four years unbearable, if we’re not receptive to change.
To be clear, it’s normal to ask, in the face of grave danger, what about me?
But as we process that grief, to really effect change, we must concurrently ask–what about us? And who, among us, is going to be most affected and most vulnerable?
I don’t prescribe to “oppression Olympics” where groups of people compare and compete over who has it worse. That's what has kept us apart for so long. Let me be clear: In the face of growing tyranny, we are all suffering and our liberation is deeply interlinked.
At the same time, this past week has demanded of me to look at all the ways I hold privilege and power and figure out how to mobilize that to stand up for people who are in immediate threat.
Here’s some of my thinking:
Yes, I’m an immigrant to the U.S. but a series of freakish luck means I was born in the “right” country and had the “right” education and enough financial wealth to get a type of visa that the new administration will pretty much not bother with. I’m South Asian, which means that decades of racist model minority tropes has resulted in people viewing me as non-threatening, smart but compliant. I code-switch easily so, when needed, I can talk myself out of most situations as if I have similar (or white-adjacent) rights to someone born in this country. I live in an extremely blue part of the country, where I have access to abortion, gender-affirming care and don’t live in immediate physical threat. My work as a DEI practitioner has been challenged repeatedly in the past year and I’ve been told point-blank that the next few years are going to be really tough for my business. But, I have the deep financial privilege of being with a high-earning spouse with health insurance. He’s also a wonderful feminist who held me close as I sobbed multiple times, but especially when things got REAL when I heard Kamala Harris’ concession speech.
I am not under any delusion that these rights can’t be taken away–but I do know my focus needs to be on centering the rights of those who are in immediate danger.
Rights like those of:
Transgender colleagues in the military who are certain they’ll lose their job sometime very soon after January 2025.
LGBTQ+ individuals who the next administration have mercilessly attacked.
Black communities who live in constant (and ever growing) threat in this country.
Undocumented and documented immigrants, DACA recipients, a vast number of communities who have been harmed by incredibly xenophobic rhetoric this election cycle.
People navigating serious and chronic illnesses who would be completely out of financial options if Obamacare was repealed. A number of dear friends and family members are particularly vulnerable.
Pregnant and birthing people, particularly of color, who live in red states.
(This is a short list. You get the idea.)
I urge more of us to review the below image, the Wheel of Power, Privilege, and Marginalization, by Sylvia Duckworth.
The original version comes from the Canadian Council of Refugees (CCR).
This self-reflection on how to contextualize our rage, grief, despair (insert other emotion here) is deeply necessary because it allows us to recognize that the work ahead must center those most marginalized.
The work ahead is fierce and rough and the necessity of us to band together is more urgent than ever.
It is the silos we live in in this country that have created these divisions. I too, am guilty of not spending enough time among hurting communities–especially among communities with the same politics as me, but who have so much more to lose by the outcome of this election.
Right now, I think self-care is life-saving, but community care is life-giving. And the only way we can truly engage in community care is if we are able to step away from only centering our needs, or only the needs of people with our identities. The road ahead is long and arduous and true change can only come from centering the needs of those who will be most marginalized under this administration. Those of us with more privilege must find more capacity, bear more responsibility and carve out even more ability to engage in resistance.
If your voice, privilege and power carry right now…please don't back down.
Here are places my time and support are immediately going to. I haven’t linked to them because links sometimes get caught in spam filters, but a quick search should make it easy, reply if you can’t access them:
Palestine Children’s Relief Fund
American Civil Liberties Union
National Network of Abortion Funds
Northwest Immigrant Rights Project (you can also find an immigrants rights organization closer to you to support, NWIRP is mine)
The Trevor Project for LGBTQ youth support
Local support. My closest food bank is the Food Bank @ St Mary's, Seattle.
Look, everything is hard and painful now. Let’s keep moving forward knowing that there is much solidarity and purpose that can be mobilized for change right now, if we focus on community care, not just individual grief. I’m trying to move away from “why me,” to “all of us.”
Meanwhile, here are some wins last week that I’m trying not to lose sight of:
Delaware State Sen. Sarah McBride was elected as the first openly transgender member of the U.S. Congress.
New Jersey Rep. Andy Kim became the first Korean American Senator in the U.S.
Maryland Senator Angela Alsobrooks and Delaware’s Lisa Blunt Rochester are the first two Black women to serve for the first time in the State Senate.
Be safe and kind, all. The work never stopped, but it’s going to become a lot more all-encompassing now. We need all of us.
In solidarity,
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