It's funny that so far, all my blog posts have been inspired by things I've seen on social media. Maybe I'm a glutton for punishment, but I continue to scroll through my Facebook feed, knowing that I'll probably get that twinge in my gut that comes when I see a post that's full of hate or lacks understanding and empathy. This blog is quickly becoming a space for me to vent my frustrations, and I don't want that overall. But I'll do just one more, I think. So, here's another blog post that's about social media.

And yet, it's not. It's bigger than that. Let me explain.

Today, I saw many of my contacts share articles from the World Herald and Journal Star about the student-led walkouts that occurred in a couple of Omaha schools today. These students were protesting the hateful rhetoric that has been brought to the mainstream, emboldened, and perpetuated largely by our new President-elect. I found these students' actions quite beautiful; they see marginalized people being mistreated in the days after the election, some of it happening in their own schools, and they're saying, "No. This is not acceptable. We will not stand for it." They watched as we, the generations of voting age, elevated a man who has a history of bigotry (unapologetically so), and they are angry about it. So, they peacefully staged a walkout and held signs in support of their friends of color, their LGBTQ and Muslim friends, their immigrant friends. Reading about their protest gave me hope for our future, hope that it will be in the hands of people who care about standing up in the face of hatred. 

However, many of my social media contacts were not so impressed. They called these students "whiney asses," entitled babies, and more. Asserted that protests only work if human rights have been violated (last I checked, respect and freedom from discrimination were human rights, and these students are protesting a president who does not grant these to all groups, but I digress). Apparently, according to their posts on Facebook, most of my contacts think freedom of speech is only acceptable if one's speech doesn't articulate any opinions that differ from their own.

Since Mr. Trump became popular, my social media feeds have been inundated with opinions I disagree with, some vehemently so. But I've mostly kept my opinion in check for a few reasons. Largely because I, as I've mentioned in earlier posts, care WAY too much about other people's opinions of me, and also because I question the effectiveness of a Facebook status at changing or even opening someone's mind. But in light of the feelings expressed in my previous post about fear, I decided I had had enough silence. I wanted to respond tactfully to one of the posts about these whiney-ass students and proudly share with the world that I found these students' actions heartening and that it impressed me that they have the courage to speak out peacefully when they see injustice. 

But I didn't. My husband thought it would just stir controversy, and to be frank, I was worried about the same thing. After all, as a non-Trump-supporter, I am part of a very small minority in my community, workplace, and church. Speaking up in these contexts is frightening when I consider how much others' opinions of my character matter to me (I hope I get over that someday). Plus, I didn't want to get into one of those heated discussion threads that people like to read to get their outrage fix. "Facebook drama," I said to my husband, isn't something I want to be part of.

Then I realized this is bigger than Facebook. Refusing to be silent in the face of injustice, refusing to allow fear of public opinion to keep you silent. These are actions that have helped make our country what it is, actions that helped make our country possible in the first place. And they are also actions that, when left unused, perpetuate indifference and apathy, two of injustice's most dangerous catalysts. 

So again, I may be taking the coward's way out here by articulating these thoughts in a low-traffic blog post rather than putting them out in direct response to the posts that prompted them, but I suppose it's a start. I hope I can find within myself the same courage these students have.

On Fear

I faced this blank page with its blinking cursor for several minutes before beginning to write, and even then, all I managed was this sentence. I don't know how to articulate the complex reactions I'm having to the election.

Those who know me well know that I harbor strong convictions against many of the ideals our new President-elect embodies, namely racism, misogyny, and blatant disrespect and obscenity. So that, I suppose, makes me a liberal, one of those scum-of-the-earth, whiney, losers who should shut her mouth, or if not, use it to "suck it" to quote several of my social media contacts' status updates in recent days.

I don't want to write a contentious post today. A post in which I retaliate emotionally to these people. A post in which I air my frustration. A post in which I share that I feel alienated by my community, my my state, even my church. A post in which I passionately articulate all the reasons I could not vote for Donald Trump nor to repeal rather than retain (it would take far more than one blog post anyway).

Instead, I want to write about fear. As a woman, a mother of a daughter, a teacher of students (some of whom belong to marginalized groups), and a bleeding-heart liberal who simply wants all people to be loved and respected, I feel I have much to fear after November 8, although of course not nearly as much to fear as some of the people of our country. In case anyone thinks this fear I write of is hyperbolic, please look here, here, and here for just a few illustrations. To say these instances are troubling is a major understatement. In electing a man who so unabashedly spewed hateful and aggressive rhetoric throughout his campaign,  behavior like that portrayed in the three linked articles above has been legitimized, emboldened. I'm not saying all Trump supporters are racists/misogynists/etc., but some such people exist, and that can't be denied (the KKK endorsed him, after all); a victory for Trump was also a victory for them, and they're excited about it. Again, check the links I included.

Because I was born with much unearned privilege, I have quite a bit less to fear than do many others. This fact, then, makes me feel a bit selfish in articulating my personal fears here, but I hope that in doing so, I may share a significant idea.

You see, I don't want to use this post to articulate my fear about what might happen to women, people of color, LGBTQ folk, Muslims, immigrants, people with disabilities, or any of the other groups our new President-elect has personally taken on in the last eighteen months. If you didn't vote for Mr. Trump, you're well aware of these fears and probably share them. If you did (and you're still reading), you may not think these fears are legitimate.

So now that I've spent most of this post telling you what I don't intend it to be, I'll get to what I do intend for it. One of my most prominent fears at this moment is that I will look back on this time in my life and this place in history and say, "I did nothing. I said nothing." Anyone who has studied history knows the extreme danger of indifference.

I find myself caught in this fearful tension, wherein I don't want to instigate arguments with coworkers/friends/family members/students or conflicts on social media (which are so rarely productive), but I don't want to be silent and one day see that I perpetuated hate by being a bystander. I also care a lot, like way too much, about what other people think of me, and I don't want to cause my conservative friends to think I'm an idiot, but I don't want my liberal friends to think I'm a coward. So, fear is keeping me silent in many instances, but it's also pushing back against that silence...if that makes any sense at all.

Ultimately, I feel I'm taking a coward's way out by posting this to a blog that will probably get very few views, but it's a start. I hope that any out there who are feeling a similar way might be heartened to also face the fear of others' opinions or social media backlash; let the fear of being ashamed at your silence be stronger--let it be an impetus.