April 28, 2020
I'm angry. I'm angry that 57,000+ people have died in America from a disease. They got sick. They died. I'm angry that poor and working class communities are hit the hardest, and to no surprise. I'm angry that even when the cracks and craters have been exposed we are not willing to confront them. Some people get a bridge while most get pushed off the cliff. I'm angry that as the crisis goes on it is becoming clear that when they say essential they mean disposable. The worker ants can eat around the dead to serve the queen.

I'm angry because I feel defeated. I want us to rise out of this as the beacon on a hill we are touted to be but the long shadow of the past three years makes me doubt our ability to do that. It has been a relentless attack on democracy and civil rights, an unadulterated unveiling of our tried and true system. It is exhausting to see the depth of their power, to feel the shame as I discover all of the ways in which America is not the greatest country on earth. To see the greed, the soul-less-ness. I realize I had never felt hate before this era.

I don't know what to do with my anger in the stillness. I am too scared to volunteer. My partner has asthma and even getting groceries gives me anxiety. I know I am a lucky one at home, with my safety and security, while the chaos happens out there

I'm not ready for optimism, but I can hope. I see the lights clicking on where before there was only darkness as we realize the fragility of our republic. I see people seeing each other in this collective moment, with patience, grace and empathy.

The myth of the American dream got us to this point, but I hope the American spirit will get us out. The teachers making sure their students have books to read, the healthcare workers who break down in the shower after work and show up the next day, the volunteers at the food bank, the students printing protective gear, the artists and makers crafting masks, the warehouse workers demanding safe work conditions and paid sick leave, the neighborhood birthday parades, the journalists writing and photographing in an unprecedented time. In a time when we are told to take care of ourselves, I see people taking care of each other. That changes the tightness in my chest to a lump in my throat. I believe in us, even in my anger.

Back to Top