The beat of resistance throbs through my being. The rhythm of refusal. “Do not obey in advance,” Timothy Synder advises in his book On Tyranny. ¡Viva la resistencia! Our power is real. 

The overwhelm is also real, the chaos and fear being sown is by design. The damage being done is undeniable. Yet we can’t let the scope of the situation paralyze us. 

In the most recent episode of Moment Memos, a terrific interview with Margaret Killjoy about collective survival, host Kelly Hayes says, “I think one reason we get stuck in the doom and panic mode is we get transfixed, staring at everything that’s going wrong. We keep absorbing the horror of it all, because we don’t know what else to do.”

“And sometimes when we’re taking it all in and we’re doom scrolling or whatever, the act of bearing witness makes us feel like we’re doing something. When in reality, we’re experiencing an impact instead of having one.”

That feeling is so relatable. To counter this, she co-signs Miriam Kaba’s suggestion to just pick one or two issues to focus on, and to take action around them. A useful guide for this process is the “Making a Plan” zine from the inspiring Million Experiments website. 

No one can respond to everything that is coming at us. Each of us can respond to something. We can weave a web of care amidst the cruelty and destruction.

In WNC, many of us practiced this after the hurricane. Now we are in a great position to keep strengthening the muscles we flexed helping each other after the storm. The consumer boycotts that are being enacted are a way to resist. We disrupt the status quo when we divest from corporations and invest in our neighbors. 

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Concerts and Cooperatives

A terrific example of creative resistance is the Rural Organizing And Resilience (ROAR) “Honky Tonk Not Hate” concert series. Each month, ROAR is hosting a honky tonk show in a different county in WNC, where they raise money for an organization working with targeted communities in that county. Beautiful. 

Of course I also love that this strategy involves music, with its transcendent vibrations and poetry that can touch our hearts like nothing else. Live shows are also an opportunity to sync our somas with each other. In a system that relies on our separation, these moments of connection can be rebellion. 

During a recent concert in honor of Audre Lorde’s birthday at Joe’s Pub in NYC, musician Toshi Reagon encouraged the audience not to be complacent about being fully present at live performances. She reminded the crowd that we don’t know what’s coming, and so we can’t take any gathering for granted. Toshi encouraged them to breathe and really feel into the music, to sing along. Another example of not obeying in advance. 

The resonance of the revolution. 

Speaking of revolutionary resistance, last month’s grand opening party for El Porvenir: Economic and Cultural Center in Emma was a celebration of radical cooperation. The multipurpose building is cooperatively owned by over two dozen families, and is managed by and for the community. Shared ownership made securing this incredible collective resource possible, even in a competitive real estate market. It’s a solidarity economy dream come true. It was extra special to get to dance to Conjunto Cascabel in that space. 

Since I’m writing about music and gathering, I’ll share that Krekel and Whoa is playing a show in Asheville this month with our friends Yet To Be Gold: Saturday, March 15 at Static Age Records (also with Tami Hart and Tanner York). We’ll be collecting funds for the local immigrant rights rapid response network. We’d love to sing for/with you. 

The arts allow us to imagine beyond the small-mindedness of this political moment, to play or paint or write or dance ourselves into new worlds. Rock on.

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Remembrance

As I consider what resistance entails, I am painfully aware of the efforts to erase and repress history. Thus I stay committed to researching and writing about my ancestors, many of whom were early colonizers of this continent, people who stole land from Indigenous stewards and enslaved people from Africa. The time I spend with their stories is an intentional practice of truth seeking that informs the ways I am accountable in the world. It is my hope I can use honesty to alchemize this history into something healing. 

In his February Ancestral Medicine email, Daniel Foor wrote, “First, there are ghosts. Ghosts of the U.S. Civil War, ghosts of generations of European settlers being unconsciously channeled by the current administration as white grievance, nationalism, and supremacy. When we avoid family and generational pain, we’re susceptible to this pain being weaponized for harmful reasons.” 

He writes that the “tenacious cycles of colonialism” are “the very cycles that we must break for the U.S. to become a life affirming nation.” Amen. 

Repeated patterns of extraction, exploitation, and hoarding are writ large in my family history. Owning my owning class roots will stay a theme of my personal and public writing. From attempted genocide to gentrification, the stories live in and through me. Learning and sharing them can be an act of resistance.  

When I look with the lens of gender, there are other layers to reckon with. From ancestors who were child brides to one who was hanged as a “witch,” frightened female family stories live in my bones as well. As do ancient memories of matriarchal societies. 

Part of my process is, as always, grief. Grieving the pain my people caused and suffered, grieving better times… Without the release of grief we will not change. 

Pondering the past, we can pull up rotten roots in order to plant the seeds of a new cycle. We do our tending now, knowing we may never see the fruits of our labor. We can cultivate courageous histories with love and hope for better stories for future generations. 

If you haven’t read or watched The 1619 Project, now’s a great time.

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More next month. Love.

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