It is a sad thing watching something die. Death sometimes can come on suddenly, but usually there is a sickness that precedes it. I had a friend years ago who experienced multiple brain bleeds. I had known him throughout most of my school years, and his health had been touch and go during difficult seasons. In the last year of his life, he was secluded at his home and taken care of by his family and healthcare workers. It was, I think, to preserve his dignity and I understood. I did what I could to support from a distance, including after he died.
Recently, I have felt I’ve been watching my country die. I grew up as a 90s kid. “America is a melting pot”, a celebration of diversity, a curiosity to explore different cultures and backgrounds, and a general respect of others as human beings was inundated into my education. (I would boil this all down to basic decency and learning to shove on with other people.) I made friends with people from other countries, religions and beliefs. I took these basic manners for granted and thought “This must be what it means to be an adult.”
All of this has been, at best, tipped on its head. At worst, it’s been set on fire, with the Constitution used as the kindling. And people’s reactions to this have been both bizarre and revealing. Some people I’ve seen shove their heads in the sand, a la the majestic ostrich. Their actions and words say: “I’m safe; not my problem. What a pity for those people. Pass on the next shiny distraction, please.” Others (one of which I ran into personally), “Oh, they didn’t mean to put their arm into a Nazi salute. You clearly misunderstood. So and so said…” and other patriarchal brainwashed nonsense. Kowtowing to powers that be, just because they’re in power and so therefore must be right, really makes my head hurt. And it makes me wonder if these people fell asleep in history class–every single day.
On a cold winter day recently, I scuttled out into the tundra to swap out a decorative flag in our front yard. I took down our Christmas flag (it was of an angel hovering majestically over a shiny village), and instead put up a “Immigrants Make America Great” flag with flowers. It’s staying up until further notice, and I also have a second, larger ‘No Kings’ flag on the way. Will someone be knocking on my door, issuing complaints, demanding I take the flags down and get in line with white supremacy (which is one of the evil undercurrents of this administration?) Probably not, but unsure. If they do, I will kindly hold up the charred Bill of Rights, point to the beginning bits, and close the door. I don’t speak fascism.
I’ve been signing dozens of petitions a week, and attended a few protests. I vote, I donate to causes, I sow seeds in my daily job and do what I can to be a light–even if it’s a small candle in a hurricane. It does not feel like enough, but I persist. Why? Because I know who I report to at the end of my life. He was someone who welcomed the stranger, healed the sick, and threw corrupt leaders out of his Father’s temple on their butts. He was not a figurehead for white supremacy, did not do commercials for politicians and called out leaders of his day for being “children of the Devil.”
America is very sick right now. And the questions running around in my head lately have been “How do I not get sick from swimming around in it every day? And how do I follow the true Christ through it all?”
I think my immigrant flag is a good step. The rest I’ll continue to figure out, day by day, by continuing my walk with the guy in dusty sandals. And ask Him to lead me away from the blind leading all the blind. They’re everywhere and they’re hurtful little boogers.
Take care and stay resilient. Help is available if you need it.
A.R. Clayton 