More beauty than brutality

Vol. 55

In This Issue: ESSAY | TAKE ACTION | NOW READ THIS | LISTEN UP | FINAL FRAME

In the wake of the November election results, a trusted source recommended reading Rebecca Solnit’s 2010 book, “A Paradise Built In Hell: The Extraordinary Communities That Arise in Disaster.” It is, they said, a beacon of well-researched hope and tangible action to help fight the very real despair that I and many others were feeling (and still are) at Trump’s reelection and a growing sense of hopelessness about the state of our society and relationship to one another.

Solnit, one of my favorite researcher/writers, digs into an array of major disasters, from the 1906 San Francisco earthquake/fire to 9/11 and Hurricane Katrina, to show the ways that the people directly impacted, far more often than not, tended to react with incredible cooperation and mutual aid, and how the overwhelming evidence flies in the face of predominant media and social narratives that humans will fall into violence, isolation, and fierce competition instead. That our natural state is not disconnection and distrust, but these collaborative, connective “paradises”.”

I’ve definitely seen way more stories where a disaster or apocalypse comes and the aftermath is depicted as an every-man-for-himself, trust-no-one, fight over scraps. I can think of countless movies and TV shows that lionize lone heroes fighting for their lives against a world gone beastial, and almost none that tell the story of communities rising from the ashes and banding together to help each other out, share resources, and build connections. And yet that’s precisely what Solnit argues–and shows–is much more likely to happen in real life. 

She goes on to argue that this disconnect–between what we’re led to believe is true by popular narratives versus the reality that seems to play out time and time again–isn’t just an unfortunate fact. It’s a belief that is too often weaponized to justify taking drastic, punitive, oppressive actions that tend to make the situation worse for everyone. In regular times, too, that belief in a fundamentally violent and hyper-individualistic human nature makes us all suspicious of one another, prone to seeing the world as a place of scarcity rather than abundance, and more likely to cut ourselves off from (and thereby demonize) anyone not in our immediate circles. 

Based on extensive research, interviews with disaster survivors, and evolutionary evidence, though, Solnit’s takeaway is one that I think we would all do well to internalize:

Many fear that in disaster we become something other than we normally are–helpless or bestial and savage in the most common myths–or that is who we really are when the superstructure of society crumbles. We remain ourselves for the most part, but freed to act on, most often, not the worst but the best within. The ruts and routines of ordinary life hide more beauty than brutality.

How, then, do we help that beauty surface, not just in the wake of an acute disaster, but in our everyday lives?

Of course, I’d argue (and I’m certainly not alone in this) that our current situation in the United States is a type of slow-moving (but-speeding-up) disaster. Mega hurricanes, floods, and wildfires that leave communities destitute, the rollback of basic rights and bodily autonomy, systems designed only to benefit a minority of very wealthy people–all of these are types of violence and disaster. 

The people of western North Carolina impacted by Hurricane Helene, the informal networks of queer and trans people helping each other escape and/or survive in oppressive environments, the string of local abortion funds helping people access needed care, these are all examples the ethos of mutual aid–that is, community-based action and support that’s not about charity or scarcity, but rather based in collaboration and care. 

These are the examples I’m looking to for inspiration, connection, and hope in the face of some truly dark times. None of this is meant to sugar-coat the very real threats and horrors many of us are facing, to various degrees, across the country and the world. But doomerism, cynicism, fear and distrust of our neighbors and strangers alike, serve no one.

And while I take heart in the overwhelming tendency of people to come together to help each other survive in the wake of acute disasters, I know it will take much more hard work and fierce commitment–often in the face of overwhelming odds–to sustain those actions for the long-haul. 

But what if maybe, right now, as our systems fail us (see: the current near-total-unity consensus of our utter lack of shock over the death of the health insurance CEO) and many feel like we are living in a type of hell, what if there is in this darkness a bright and burning possibility for just such work? What if paradise–not utopia, necessarily, just a society based more on our instinct for collaboration, compassion, and care–is within our grasp? What if we each committed to reaching for it?

Solnit writes:

The possibility of paradise hovers on the cusp of coming into being, so much so that it takes powerful forces to keep such a paradise at bay. If paradise now arises in hell, it’s because in the suspension of the usual order and the failure of most systems, we are free to live and act another way.

Take Action.

‘Tis the season for making sure everyone gets a holiday gift! That can look like any number of things. You can:

• Donate to Willma’s Fund, a program of OutReach LGBTQ Center of Madison that provides direct cash aid to LGBTQ+ folks in need of quick assistance to keep them housed and healthy.
• Donate your time and/or money to the Madison Area Transgender Association’s annual Trans Care Package Drive.
• Volunteer with and/or donate to Santa’s Without Chimneys, which provides holiday gifts to homeless and highly mobile kids at the holiday season.
• Volunteer with and/or donate to support the work of Friends of the State Street Family. This is a super direct, grassroots effort by and for folks experiencing homelessness in Madison get their basic survival needs met while navigating the system’s over-burdened and under-funded official support systems.
• Keep donating to organizations like the Palestinian Children’s Relief Fund, as well as individual fundraisers for people/families trying to flee and/or survive the Gaza genocide.

Now Read This.

“Exiting Luigi’s Mansion” [Sam Thielman for Forever Wars]

Most of the fighting for resources already goes on between people who already have too little. People who control access to food and medicine and guns will always be able to kill poor people in greater numbers than poor people will be able to kill them. All the poor have going for them is overwhelming strength in numbers, and all that keeps them from exercising it is the belief that they still have something to lose.

“It’s not the one percent. It’s your neighbors.” [Samantha Hancox-Li for Liberal Currents]

According to this alternative picture, the idea of the rentier economy, the core economic problem of our times isn't inequality per se: it's artificial scarcity. Pouring more money into a sector that is already dominated by rentiers won't get more goods to more people. All that money will just wind up in the pockets of the rentiers without increasing supply, because the supply is artificially restricted—that's the whole point.

“How birdwatching changed by life” [Eric Holthaus at Currently]

Birding has opened up a whole new way of experiencing the world for me; I can't imagine my life without it now.

Listen Up.

Tone, Madison’s scrappiest, grass-rootiest media outlet for top-notch politics, arts, culture, and local news coverage, is celebrating 10 whole years of existence! In addition to running some fascinating throwback articles, they’ve published this excellent compilation of local Madison music that you can and should buy on Bandcamp to help support Tone’s continued existence well into the future.

There’s even a lil’ something from my band Damsel Trash on there–a sadly re-relevant track from our 2019 album, “The EPP Tape.” 

Support local journalism!

Final Frame.

Baxter’s Hollow, a nature preserve in the Baraboo Hills, is one of my very favorite places to visit in any season. I had the chance to hike there last week, when ice had just begun to form on Otter Creek, which runs through it. There is something particularly magical about ice on a still-flowing stream. I could see yearling fish swimming under the thin, glassy surface in places, and where the water tumbled over rocks and downed trees, the ice often formed beautiful, bubbly sculptures.

’Til next time.

Rest, hydrate, and reach out to each other. Thanks for reading, and extra thanks to those who’ve signed up for paid subscriptions. It helps more than I can say!