“It’s hopeless”.
“We’re cooked.”
“It’s not worth it.”
“No vale la pena.”
There have been many times, in the midst of struggle, that one of those phrases is uttered. It is the ultimate resignation — when you look up at what you are up against and it seems like the obstacle before you is insurmountable. It can be easier to give in and have one of these phrases shield you from pain, disappointment or at worst, failure. The systems and institutions of oppression are ever-changing and numerous, and what is the point of fighting something you can barely perceive and are unsure can be defeated? Why do we do it?
We do it because we must.
At the No Kings Protest last month, there was a certain sense of elation that I had. I recognized that further organizing is needed to maximize our impact and that it was not the endpoint, but I felt proud of the people who showed up, with their colorful and creative signs and their vociferous chants and yells of condemnation against authoritarianism and ICE and other discriminatory practices.
There seemed to be this swelling of optimism within me, which I knew would be precarious because at any moment, it would burst. Sure enough, I could feel my smile falter a bit and my shoulders drop a little, and those familiar sentiments crept around that balloon of optimism, threatening to burst it. Even with all the activity around me, it all started to fade away and the negativity and pessimism started to sharpen and inch ever closer. And then I thought of our community.
I thought about the civil liberties we fight for. I thought about the undocumented migrants here in Wisconsin, who deserve to be treated with dignity and humanity, and not with suspicion and bigotry. I thought about our Indigenous communities, right here in Wisconsin, who still face with resilience and strength the remnants of broken treaties and discriminatory policies. I thought about millions of Americans whose SNAP benefits are set to be rolled back, pushing them further into the clutches of poverty. I thought about those who are sick and wish to relieve some of their pain with the help of marijuana, and for those who were incarcerated unfairly because of racist marijuana laws and now want to look toward a long-awaited and more accepting future. I thought about all of them and my purpose, the purpose of the ACLU of Wisconsin. So I let those feelings of negativity — of futility — just go.
We must let go of those feelings of futility and resist being bogged down by hopelessness because those less fortunate than us, those less privileged than us do not have that luxury. They are preoccupied with surviving the next day, or seeing their loved one who is away from them or figuring out how to support their family. We cannot let the trickery of futility consume us. It is fine to acknowledge the difficulty of fighting back against oppressive systems, institutions or people. It is fine to ask for respite and take time to gather oneself together, to preserve your mental, spiritual health. Do not concern yourself with the judgment and opinions of those who ask you to press on at the cost of your sanity and wellbeing. That helps no one and ultimately detracts from the goal of fighting the good fight.
But we cannot give up. We must continue to fight because we must do what we can for those under attack. So when you feel those feelings of inadequacy and fear and hopelessness start to take over, remember who we do this for. Remember each other and do not succumb to futility but stand in solidarity as we continue the struggle for a better world together.
