Much has been said about the clusterfuckery that came to Charlottesville this week, and more will be coming down the pipeline. I think it’s safe to say, as a progressive woman of color, that I stand firmly on America’s Team Punch-A-Nazi, even if I haven’t personally punched one myself. I blame arthritic hands and a tendency to turtle in times of stress.
The world seems crazy now. I know we’re only supposed to use that word in the correct context, but I think in this case, I am. I frequently ask myself if this is real life and then wonder if I really just said that. I carefully clip the shadow of fear from my spine every morning, even though it grows back stronger throughout the day. I’m an online agent of mass punctuation, grinding out worried exclamation points and throwing them in every direction, 24/7. This is my new normal.
Two things that fascinate me in America’s Fascism Reboot are storytelling and safety.
Everyone thinks their reality is the real authentic one. Because of this, I’m amazed that people agree on anything at all. To back up their reality, which is surely the best reality on the market, they will tell themselves a story. You can be a bleeding heart liberal, a diehard libertarian, a straight-up Nazi, or someone who doesn’t give a shit about this country; every day, we tell ourselves stories, backed by information from our favorite storytelling sites – New York Times, Fox News, Stormfront, your weird Uncle Pete – and then we tell those stories to others. We are a nation of storytellers, barely listening to each other.