What does hope mean when despair creeps through the cracks….
Since January 20th I’ve been thinking a lot about hope. I’ve also been thinking about the feeling that comes from an absence of hope: despair. Despair has been a tool for fascist governments for as long as they’ve existed and it’s extremely effective for a few reasons. For one, feeling despair is exhausting. It leads to malaise for many people and an addiction to hope for others—or both, depending on the day. People begin to prioritize the feeling of hope, and at times like this, that’s a tall order that consumes valuable energy. This leaves people unable to advocate for themselves. Then, without resolution, what are we left with?
I find myself needing to release my addiction to hope; to face these difficult feelings because there will be hopeless days ahead. Maybe it’s more honest to say more hopeless days ahead because there have been times in the last three months that I have felt hopeless. The fear that I am not up to meeting this moment—the “we are so f**********ked” feeling. On those days I can choose to succumb or I can choose to keep at it. Keeping at it means, for me—making signs, seeking education, attending a rally, doing a food or donation pool, writing my representatives, making a land offering and taking extra care with my words and attitude. No denying this slice of time is a bummer, so sometimes keeping at it means having a hearty cry, handling personal chores, making a meal.
This is not a treatise against hope, this is an offer of reframing: that hope is only necessary under threat and should (wonderful moments of chance aside, I write this after attending a second rally with an eagle flyover) be a result of action, not a prerequisite. I want to suggest that feeling despair is not a moral failing that must be glossed over with American Optimism.™
I can choose to experience despair as a signal to do something because when my hope does not translate into action, I’m really just prolonging and maybe worsening my troubles. The mistakes, tragedies, injustices that do manage to resolve—do so because people choose to make it so.
Consider this: When my house is threatened by a storm, I don’t need hope; the storm doesn’t care about such things—it doesn’t care, period. What I need is to trust that I live in a community that will not behave as the storm does, with indifference. I need to trust that my insurance will cover the damage, that my neighbors will send me a life raft or help me sort through the rubble.
This administration is the storm— it will consume and destroy everything and everyone in it’s path without remorse or accountability and it will not matter who they voted for. The American people don’t need hope to weather this storm; we need healthcare, we need for everyone to be paid a living wage, we need to stop punishing people based on their bank account and ethnicity and treat our neighbors and guests with grace, we need to stop climate change and heal the earth. When there is no hope to be felt or seen, please remember—we create hope.
See you soon,
Moxie
Educational Supplement: https://www.npr.org/2025/04/22/1246322283/levitsky-harvard-democracy