Half of my own country elected a convicted felon and (alleged) rapist running on a platform of getting the rich richer through fraud and rounding up people who are just trying to put food on the table and sending them to concentration camps. And even my carefully curated social media can't hide this bald truth. It's why I can't look at it first thing in the morning, because it will send me careening into existential hopelessness.

But then I remember that late stage capitalism wants us to feel this hopeless, mostly so they can sell us something and send even more of our hard earned money to line their pockets with baubles they promise will make the dread go away. (Hint: it's not even a band-aid on the gaping wealth inequality wound). It blows that hope is an act of resistance, a way to buck the control that the control freaks and fascists are trying to shove in our mouths like a bit to a bridle, but it is.

That's actually why some of my activism is passive, because it keeps me out of the black hole of hopelessness while still meaning I'm doing something good. What do I do? I donate. To Planned Parenthood, to the SPLC, to the ACLU, to the Immigrant Legal Resource Center, Doctors Without Borders, and more. We signed up for monthly donations in 2016 the first time I was given the harsh lesson about how much my fellow countrymen hated my gender. And I've never stopped. And I won't stop. Those little thank you receipts I get monthly for my donations are my reminder that doing something doesn't always require boots on the ground.

It's okay to define your own activism. The causes I donate to do put boots on the ground and are enabled to do so with the help of my check in the mail.

My despair comes on like a bear trap, chewing into my ankle and bleeding me of my strength, so yes, I do do what I can to avoid springing the trap, and that does mean having to avoid content that is near the trigger. It also means looking at the things that inject some hope into my day. Hope is resistance, after all, and here are some of the things that I do turn to to boost my hope.

Libraries

I love them. I love driving to different parts of my home state and picking up cards (thank you MD for having a cooperative agreement!). I get to meet new people, find little towns I never would have known existed, and been reminded that Maryland is more than just a very blue bulwark state against the encroaching fascism (why do you think the fascist-in-chief is having such a hissy fit about it?), but it's a beautiful state. The rivers, the Appalachian foothills, the bay and the ocean? All in Maryland. All a road trip away. And not only do I get to enjoy these new places, I get to come home with a fresh library card that expands my Libby catalog ever farther.

Communities

Fandoms, book clubs, writing groups, friends who brunch, that new mom in the elevator with you as you both converse as softly as possible to keep her sleeping child from waking up. They remind us that there are people who care, but it also helps with perspective. The people tossing a ball to their dog at the dog park are here on this planet with you. You're not alone, and the tariffs and bad news onslaught is onslaughting them as much as it is you. But still, they love their dog enough to go to the dog beach, just like you love your dog enough to go to the dog beach. It does wonders for us just to be in the presence of other people.

But to this, I can't understate that this specialness includes online communities. The pandemic drove us all indoors, and like so many others, the way I kept myself from going feral was finding an old anime I loved, then finding its still-existent fandom online, then connecting with the absolutely incredible people who had also wandered their way into that fandom. We talked theories and wrote and shared stories and art together, and several of the people I met in earnest in 2020 online have become some of my closest friends. We still talk nearly every day, about the new books we're reading, about the new shows we're obsessed with (usually as an attempt to bring them into the brain rot), for emotional support when The Horrors become too great. Anyone who says online friends are not real friends must not be doing it right.

Whimsy

I have begun to try to get my news from Josh Johnson bits on Youtube. Why? Because he is prescient and hilarious and his injection of comedic genius into The Horrors blunts the despair, a lot. It's returning to a happy little animal village where you give villagers cute little gifts and catch fish and bugs. It's an anime where a guy reincarnates into a fantasy world as a slime that features a himbo dragon, or the Radwimps soundtrack for Suzume. It's cat videos and FAT BEAR WEEK!

We need to find little treats that make us laugh, or make us smile, or just inject a little extra joy in our lives. Humans were not created to have this level of terrible news bombarding us every single day. Our rights are actively being taken and the road paved back by Reagan is coming to fruition in the US and it's absolutely terrifying. But taking away our joy and our hope is part of the plan, so the best thing we can do is not give in, to find ways to make a difference and to find ways to experience joy.

I found libraries and friends and fat bears.
What will you find?