A sense of despair

We have, of course, lived through terribly dismaying times before, times where bad news seemed to explode into a tsunami of dread. Almost the entire year of 1968 seems the exemplar, as we shuddered through assassinations, worldwide civil unrest, tanks in the streets, napalm in the air.

Nothing as cataclysmic—so far—has happened this year, but the last few weeks have felt like one sharp poke to the ribs after another. And have led—at least for some of us, at least for me—to a sense of utter despair.

That disastrous debate—the adjective seems permanently attached now—followed by the Democrats’ circular firing squad. The attempted assassination which made an almost-martyr out of the one who had lit the fire of violence. The highest court taking the lowest road. The lower court throwing out precedent and legal sense.

Now, the new case of covid.

And the growing realization that the election, and very likely the future, may be lost. That sense of existential dread no longer seems like hyperbole.

We can send out as many postcards as we want and knock on as many doors as we can and write letters to the editor blaring our outrage and share with our friends our disbelief at how this all could be happening, again, and yet it seems nothing will stop what appears to be destined.

Back in ’68, the torrent of awful events seemed … well, almost energizing. We were beaten up, but we weren’t beaten down. Our despair fueled our actions, propelled us forward. Maybe we wouldn’t win, maybe we didn’t, but we wouldn’t stop fighting (at least until we retreated into our communes).

That doesn’t seem to be the case right now.

Maybe that has something to do with the pervasiveness of bad news today. It’s difficult to escape, coming at us from every screen, at every moment. Where can we go to hide from it all?

And surely that sense of hopelessness has more to do with us, with our being older, than even with the particular circumstances of the moment. When you see the world closing in when you’re in your sixties, seventies, eighties, it’s tough to take the long view. It’s hard to remember that the arc of the moral universe may be long, but it bends towards justice when we may not be around to see that ultimate bend.

So, left to wonder how so many things could go so wrong, so quickly. we are left with despair.  The dictionary definition of despair is the complete loss or absence of hope. The dictionary doesn’t say anything about how we can resuscitate it. But there has to be a way.

Where should we look? What can we do?