Dear friend, I’ve been thinking about what I want to say for the last three weeks. After the protests on the 21st, so much was urgent to attend to and advocate for that I needed to press pause on all plans. I didn’t want to, of course — I’m a recovering perfectionist — but for the sake of my mental health, I surrendered.
If you’ve been reading my newsletter for a while, you might know that it’s not easy for me to be an activist. I lack the anger. I’m all grief. I wasn’t born into poverty, nor did I grow up in the Philippines. Most of my life has been comfortable, with my challenges being personal rather than systemic. In all that I’m learning through volunteering with, studying, and making art about justice movements, I’m also unlearning old ideals of individualism and security.
As scary as it is to be a self-employed artist and activist, I have to keep moving forward, keeping my eyes on the horizon, not looking down at how far I could fall. At the same time, I know I can’t wait for far-reaching change to sweep the world before I allow myself to feel peace. The impossible challenge is balancing the weight of both the desire for change and the desire for ease.
We wish revolution could arrive like the seasons do, naturally and without asking. How lovely this image is!—the thousands of us marching on Luneta and Mendiola like samaras off the Apitong tree.
From the perspective of Earth-time, change is easy and a natural part of life. But from our human lifetimes, change is never easy.
While there is a rhythm to societal rupture, I have to remember that systemic change requires leverage. I’m always asking myself how revolution will arrive. It might be better to ask where is the next revolution? As in, where is the site of my riskiest solidarity, the place to add my force now in order to move the system closer to where we collectively need it to be?
If you’re asking the same question, let me know your tentative and joyful answers below.