The Eve of Destruction

Sitting at the kitchen table listening to this morning’s Dallas press conference on NPR, I told my grade school daughter, Sally, that this year is one that will be remembered in the history books as a turning point, one of those important years where significant things happen over and over and over again. And I cried. I cried because I don’t know where we go from here. I cried because some days everything seems broken. I cried because I am honestly not sure what kind of world I’ll be leaving to my children.

After the high-profile police shootings of two black men earlier this week, a sniper killed five police officers and wounded more at the end of a peaceful protest agains police violence last night. So much death, so much senseless violence, so many grieving families. In negotiations with the police, the shooter referenced Black Lives Matter and a desire to kill white police officers. And so now the narrative will likely shift, away from police brutality and racial profiling and toward a war on police. And nothing changes. Nothing, nothing, nothing. This isn’t the solution. This isn’t how we go about enacting change. This is how we go about creating chaos.

This morning I read that 40% of Americans support Trump. I recently moved to an area with a large Hispanic population. My heart aches every time I see Hispanic kids walking with their parents down the sidewalk outside of my apartment. They’re so young, and yet they live in a world with so much hate. And their parents? I can’t even imagine. What must it be like to raise children in a world screaming to deport your family? I’ve been watching for months, now, as American politics have turned inward, toward a me-first perspective that shuts others out. There’s so much anger, so much unrest, so much fear. I’ve read about the violence at Trump rallies with utter dismay.

And then there’s ISIS, and the bombings in various parts of the world that seem to hit the headlines daily. As the Muslim world grapples with ISIS’ new strategies and a string of deadly attacks, Trump has seized on the headlines to scapegoat and stereotype an entire religious group, and American Muslims watch nervously as hate crimes increase. And there’s Brexit, and a rise in nationalism that extends beyond Trump rallies to other countries as well. That me-first attitude isn’t just us, and it seems to be increasing. Blaming immigrants for our woes (real and perceived) has somehow become fashionable.

Where did this come from? Why does it suddenly seem like we’re walking backwards? How do I explain this to my children? Some days I want to keep them away from politics entirely—to turn the radio off and discuss current events with my husband only when the children are asleep, in hushed tones. I feel like I have some understanding of what it felt like to live in Germany in the 1930s, or in the U.S. in the 1960s. Tumultuous and uncertain times are uncomfortable—and scary—but closing our eyes won’t make them disappear. We have to stand up.

I’ll leave you with this song, which suddenly feels very relevant.