Dirges in the Dark

When is it the end? Is it when the whistle blows? When the players leave the field? When the fans stop watching or caring? When the stats are documented in a posterity leger somewhere? Does it matter?

We reach a point when logical argument ceases to stick, when appeals for empathy and human dignity fail to sway. When the discussion no longer matters. Four years ago, I felt the wind knocked out of me, not simply because of the shock of an unexpected election loss for a candidate I thoroughly supported, but rather because of the certainty of what was to come. That election laid bare the racist, isolationist, and fearful undercurrent to American society and culture. It made clear that as a collective, we had reached the tipping point where we felt we had more to lose than we did to gain and were operating from a point of fear that someone was going to come and take it all away. We’d regressed to a sense of petulant entitlement that was echoed in the tantrums and rhetoric of the reality show charlatan at center stage.

Four years down the road, it is equally clear that even the most extreme and dire of crises have not moved the needle. There will be no bridge building, aisle crossing, or national healing. We are at a crossroads, yes, but back to “normal” is not one of the options. The pandora’s box that landed us here cannot be closed and we must now take steps to a new, uncertain future. The only way out is through.

History will analyze the forces at play, but, honestly, tl;dr, because social collapse and the rise of authoritarianism follows a pretty tidy recipe: take deep, visible inequality, add palpable erosion of opportunity, toss in a dash of big-man populism and disinformation, and stir. For extra spice, infuse with a homegrown blend of bigotry and xenophobia. Then let simmer until civil liberties can be easily skimmed away. Plate while hot. Whether we put this chapter to rest quickly and get back to the business of building to the future or whether we let it spiral further is yet to be seen, but it cannot be undone or erased.

And yet. We were a nation founded by mavericks. Built up by people with the audacity to believe they could venture it all and do it better. Reinvention is in our ethos. Ironically, I sit here now in Berlin, where my husband and I have moved with our young daughter to chase our version of the American Dream. We took a leap of faith on a city and country we barely knew in pursuit of some greener grass. It is the most American thing we’ve done. It is this spirit, this optimistic and, yes, bullish pursuit of fantasy on which the United States was built and by which she has achieved her proudest moments. The American Dream was never about the white picket fence, it was about the freedom to light your imagination on fire and then relentlessly go for gold. It is our greatest gift and, as living and working in the startup world here has shown, our greatest export.

Four years ago I said I was hopeful. Now I say enough with the hope. On to the action. There is a new order to build and a future to secure.

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As my spotify goes down the rabbit hole of Americana nostalgia this week ranging from Don McLean to Beyoncé, I find myself mentally collecting the times I’ve felt genuine, personal pride in what we were and what we could be again. In case you could use a reminder of a similar memory, I share a running list in no particular order:

• Obama’s 2008 victory
• Listening to Obama speak. Any old speech will do.
• Watching Kerri Strug stick that vault
• Running my first Boston Marathon
• The #BostonStrong resiliency following that marathon
• The feeling of freedom coasting down Highway 1
• The feeling of solitude winter hiking New Hampshire’s white mountains
• SXSW — it’s all posturing and marketing, for sure, but with a hopeful eagerness that’s hard not to love a little. Plus the tacos.
• The tech billboards in San Francisco. Hear me out — half the time, they’re for companies that no one has heard of and that might not make it. But someone believed enough to fake it hard in the hopes of making it.
• Watching Apollo 13 and learning it was a true story. Specifically the scene when the NASA director dumps a box of crap on the table and tells the Houston team to somehow, someway use the detritus to rescue three men from space.
• Hamilton. Both the man (or at least the mind) and the musical.
• Seeing my husband sworn into the Massachusetts State Bar in Faneuil Hall. Even the ceremony itself was steeped in revolutionary history.
• Reading Little House in the Big Woods (and the rest)
• The starting line of a local race in Boston in 2017. The mic cut out halfway through the anthem. After a half moment of silence several thousand runners picked it up and sang to the end a cappella. It was beautiful.
• The Dixie Chicks calling out W. And then the amazing album that followed.
• Screaming for the US Women’s National Team. Any time, anywhere, any year.
• Fourth of July fireworks
• Hearing my family’s immigration stories.
• Catching glimpses of the Statue of Liberty. It never gets old.
• Social progress: The passing of the American Care Act and Marriage Equality in particular
• Bruce Springsteen in concert
• Voting for Hillary Clinton.
• The Women’s March, January 21, 2017. Solo, in the company of thousands.
• Ruth Bader Ginsberg. The woman, the body of work, the legend.