Beyond the shock: Reclaiming our power in the face of oppression

In my biographical historical novel of Jo van Gogh there is a period of time—years, actually— when she retreats from aggressively marketing her under-appreciated brother-in-law Vincent’s artwork. Her withdrawal comes in response to an impossible ultimatum from the early 20c Parisian art dealer elite.
Back off, she’s told, or else a loved one gets hurt.
It’s a moment I’ve dramatized to give Jo a Point of No Return.
Bad guys appear to have won in their battle against rebellious Vincent van Gogh’s art by threatening Jo with a loved one’s wellbeing. Backed into a corner, she has no choice. It feels bleak.
Five years of work to earn Vincent some recognition down the drain.
She’s despondent. Any progress made in increasing public recognition of Vincent's name seems lost. And it’s cold—the early months of 1896—literally and emotionally a bitter time stamp.
Winter’s descended.
Analogy between Jo and Today
I’ve been describing a scene in my book but I’m using it to draw an analogy with this week’s inauguration and ugly shadow of oppression. In light of my pre-election hopes for the future, the events feel surreal and, like Jo, I am tempted to feel despondent.
The unnatural bone chilling 4-degree temperature of St Louis doesn’t help, but it does feel kinda miserably perfect.
Shorter days of sunlight. Longer nights of darkness.
To my gaze through my office window the world’s gone fallow. Trees are grey leafless skeletons and animals are hunkered into hiding and hibernation. There’s no evidence of forward movement. All around it looks like life has receded.
Gone backward.
It’s the kind of cold—outside my window and in Washington DC— that can cause me to forget.
Winter is a season of alchemy.
Bright new leaves will bud. Soft new babies will be born.
Even though I don’t see them right now.
How to Start
These next months, even years, may be a wintering.
First of all, we’ve already been through shock and disbelief when it comes to this last election. Tactics to divide people have made inroads, but now I think the methods are spotted more quickly. They’re no longer a surprise.
That’s a start.
Chaos is losing its entertainment and shock value.
I want to move on from disbelief. Paralysis is exactly what perpetrators want. Instead of going along with the tide, to assert my independent discernment. That means being mindful of what I read and hear, knowing that there’s a concerted warfare against truth.
This awareness and consideration alone gives you and me power.
Secondly, I can speak up more. Here we are: In a country we thought was in alignment with the Constitution now bent toward the selfish interest of a bunch of billionaires. Well, since we can’t count on them to think of the greater good, we’ll have to. Object to uncivil language. Object to people being “othered.”
[I remember when I studied demographics in my former market research work that any time a casual blanket statement is made against a group of people (“blondes are…” “old people are…,” “Blacks are…”) that’s an ism (sexism, ageism, racism, etc). Instead, let those kinds of absolute casual statements serve as an abrupt mental arrest to stop branding a gigantic population of individuals in a singular, derogatory way.]
In the future, I want to be able to say I did my part, adjusted my way, minimized the spew of negative stereotypes and evil images. Stopped clicking on the clickbait of outlandish chaos that feeds algorithms to spread malevolence. Spoken up in support of institutions. Paid attention to local and state political work. Objected to my Congressional reps so frequently that my constituent voice/email is known.
What stands in the way of inspired action? Dismay, discouragement, anger, frustration. These are non-starters, so I’m learning grief and gratitude are on the same side of the coin. I can be sad and still resolute
For Jo van Gogh’s part, it was after the Point of No Return that she found a new voice. She began writing op-eds to counter her elected representative’s criticism of the burgeoning suffrage movement. Though silenced from one camp, she found another way to be heard.
Let me end with the thundering words of Pulitizer Prize winner, Nobel Laureate novelist Toni Morrison who wrote:
“This is PRECISELY the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.
I know the world is bruised and bleeding, and though it is important not to ignore its pain, it is also critical to refuse to succumb to its malevolence. Like failure, chaos contains information that can lead to knowledge — even wisdom. Like art.”
This is the human experience. I start out with dread; I end up in determination.
Let’s go.

Comments