Snowdrops and Ice

Whew. It’s January, isn’t it? Feels pretty cold here. The blog I had planned to write was about snowdrops coming up through the icy ground and maybe there’s still something there, but to be honest, I’m not really in the mood to talk or think about gardening right now.

As cold as it is, it feels like the world is on fire. I write and read enough about history to have some context for this moment. The world often feels like it’s burning down. Whether it’s war or pandemic or weather, this is an uncertain place we live it. But up til now, in my lifetime at least, it hasn’t felt like there’s this much brinksmanship.

I was talking to a friend this morning and she said something that stuck with me: when two opposing forces meet, neither one will back down and each will just increase the pressure, until…

Neither of us know what the until is. And I don’t see how the pressure can decrease. On the one side, there’s a bunch of army rejects who have been raised to believe that northern cityfolk are traitors and are enjoying the idea of putting them in their place. On the other side, there are residents who are committed to protecting their neighborhood from violence and chaos, as much as that is possible.

But the images are enough to break your heart. That little boy in the blue hat.

When my children were in early elementary, one of the first volunteer gigs I had was to sit with kids while they practiced their reading. For two hours a week, I would go in and listen to them sound out words. Sometimes they would cry. It broke my heart but it was okay. Learning to do hard things is hard and frustration is normal. Usually we’d work through it and finish the book. Sometimes we’d set it aside for another day.

When they got older, I volunteered to help with math facts. Addition and subtraction memorization, mostly. In order to move up a level, they had to get thirty problems right in a minute. Some kids really struggled, especially with the timer. Sometimes they would cry. That’s okay. Performing under pressure is stressful. Usually, I would tell them just to practice and I wouldn’t time them. But secretly I did, and they almost always passed without the pressure of the timer. But sometimes we’d have to set it aside for another day.

The world is hard for children without us making it any harder. And we are making this world harder for them. I know that there’s nothing that will convince ICE agents that what they’re doing is wrong. It’s pretty clear they like treating those children like that. All I can say is that I agree with Gov. Arnold Schwartzenegger on this when he said that hate “eventually consumes whatever vessel it fuels.” I really hope so.

But for the rest of the people who see this and say “We need more context.” or “Isn’t there nuance?”, or “They shouldn’t have broken the law!” – we all need to be honest with ourselves. Facing that our country can do these things is terrifying. It’s hideous. And once we face it, we have to deal with it and that means doing something and then we’re faced with our own powerlessness. And that’s almost impossible to tolerate.

The truth is almost unbearable:

We live in a world where bad men can steal innocent children and there’s not much we can do about it. We must stare this fact in the face with all the courage we can muster.

And then we need to focus on the most important two words in that sentence. “Not much.” Because not much ain’t nothing. And a lot of us have been doing a lot for a long time. God, aren’t you so damn tired? Me too.

But then I remember those kindergarteners who used to read to me, those third graders who struggled over times tables. That little boy could have been one of them. And it doesn’t really seem to matter how tired I am. There’s work to be done.

I’m sorry I couldn’t find it in me to write a treatise on snowdrops this month, like I had planned. May you and your neighbors stay safe in these dark, dark times.