You don't have to make history
Activism in the time of fascism
Must I resist the resistance?
I resist its demands to make history.
I like being unsure. I like asking
questions without straight answers.
I like being without a cause
at least for a while.
I don’t want to fight for basic rights.
Don’t want to beg for scraps.
I’m tired of being told the world must change now
or it will never change at all.
I hate to admit it, but I’ve asked myself what’s the point many times this past week. That Palestinians in the West Bank were celebrating Eid al-Fitr among rubble and flimsy tents, bombed two months after a ceasefire deal, sets my teeth on edge. At night, I grind my molars together like a rattlesnake’s warning.
In the morning, I let the tree behind my parent’s house blow brittle summer leaves down on my head. I pick them up, fragile as clay, and let them break between the pages of my notebook.
There is no rulebook to being conscious, to seeing the wounds of the world, but wouldn’t it be easier if there was?
If there was, this is what I would write: Instead of impact, I will measure myself in intention. Instead of followers, I will count the personal invitations I’ve sent to friends, family, and chosen community to spend time together.
Remember that change is a sequence of a thousand fragments coming together.
Change comes slowly and then all at once.
You don’t have to make history, but you are still invited to make something beautiful.
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