Since I was a small child, first reading the books by Lloyd Alexander and Piers Anthony, the one day of summer that Ray Bradbury planted in my mind, I have been a fan of dystopian fiction. I don't know what it is about the genre that called to me, maybe the idea of something so catastrophic to society that we would revert to the basics, the idea that too much excess could send us backwards, the underdogs prevailing in a modern basic world. I don't know. But something about it appealed to me, and I glutted myself on these stories. My own daughter was no different, devouring The Hunger Games and Divergent and Matched as fast as these stories could be printed. And I read them right along with her, equally enthralled. I never imagined I'd be living in a dystopian reality, though.
Dystopia, it's not what you think it is. It's not zombies and post bomb blasted landscapes. Not towers falling and tunnels beneath the evil capitol. It's not mutants or radiation laden towns. Dystopia is defined as the antithesis to utopia, that unrealistic ideal of a perfect world first mentioned in the 16th century. A world that cannot exist. Dystopia is a society in great suffering and turmoil, one feeling great injustice. We are living in dystopia.
Let's be clear, I am suffering only in my sense of solidarity and outrage at suffering of others. My household is not starving, we are not lacking for electricity or food, or basic comforts. Or at least this is the case for today. Who knows where we will be six months from now.
Do you think that I am exaggerating? What part of societal break down is missing from the equation? We are in the midst of a pandemic, and yet, events have been so horrific that society has defied safety and gone out to protest, as they watched basic human rights crumble in front of their faces. We've been on that path for years. As a country, we've been walking that path almost since the beginning, but in the last few years, it has sped up, fueled by a hatred that I could never have imagined in even my deepest dives into dystopian fiction. At what point did some human life become worth more than others, when did some people become expendable? From my view point, none are...but the sad part of getting older is seeing things from a broader view. Not everyone sees life the way that I do, and not everyone values the same things. I can be angry about that, and I can rage about that, but I question my ability to change that.
And that's the crux of everything. How much can we change? How much can we overcome? Change happens slowly, and when it's quick and jarring, is that revolution? History shows what comes with revolutions. Que the finger pointing, the famine, the poverty and the even greater uptick in hatred. Will we, in the coming months, turn on one another, or will we form alliances? And at what cost?
As a teenager, I was the first to jump into every cause, to join every fray, and to lead every protest. I've marched on Washington, Houston, Austin, Philadelphia, and New York City. I've sat on the steps of a cathedral and refused to move. I've laid down on the 14th Street Bridge in D.C. and stopped traffic. I've been arrested, though never charged, as an idealistic teenager. As an adult, I have marched with other women, peacefully and, led fundraisers and written editorials designed to raise awareness. In the face of this year, I am feeling helpless. A raised voice doesn't seem enough, and a raised fist isn't something I'm willing to give.
And I am feeling my age. Not because I can't physically do what I did at twenty (though that is probably true), but because I'm seeing a more balanced view of life. And...parenthood has changed me. Nothing brought this home so much as yesterday. My oldest daughter was ready and packed to go to the Houston march for Black Lives Matter, in memory of George Floyd. I was frozen with indecision when she told me. She's an adult, and she can make her own choice. She's my daughter, and she lives in my house. This is in the midst of a pandemic, and she wanted to attend a crowded, potentially volatile event. Here's my own double standard - I wouldn't hesitate to go myself, but I couldn't stand the thought of the risk she was taking on herself, and what she could expose her sister to, coming home from this. In the end, she chose to go, three masks deep, and social distancing the best she could. And she chose to accept isolation upon returning, until she can get tested next week. She was willing to pay that price, because others have paid so much steeper of a price. She says that it was worth it. I agree with her, and my pride wars with terror.
We are all held in fear, and I wonder if that's not a crux of dystopia. Fear feeds anger, rage, despair, and revenge. Fear prevents love from seeping in and reason from making good decisions. Fear throws bricks, hurls hateful words, and hides us from good intentions. Fear over germs, fear over physical violence, fear over financial ruin, fear over poverty and not being able to provide for our families, fear over change. Because change is hard and the fear of it often paralyzes us.
I thought about that fear, and every dystopian novel I have read. For, in most, the protagonist prevails and triumphs over some sort of dystopian oppression. Katniss overcomes the odds and wins; Cassia seeks her love over her predestined match. There is always the hero's journey. So, what will our journey be - how will we overcome fear in this pre-dystopian landscape in which we seem to be living? Warning - there won't be a powerful theme song, a dragon, or likely not a hero's kiss at the end. But the reward will be conquering the fear and finding a way to live with the changes that need to occur.
For now, I'll continue to wear a mask to protect those I love, and the rest of humans out there, because I respect their lives. I'll keep distancing myself from all those who are not part of this immediate circle, and I'll accept a short period of time distancing myself from my daughter who exercised her rights to raise her voice. In a couple of weeks, she'll get a hug that lasts like three days, because I hate distancing myself from those I love. I will not be silent about what is right - not racial hatred, or gender inequality, or political pandering, not looting, or violence, or hate, but demand to be heard, equality, and the right to a life free of hatred, especially that based on superficial bullshit.
I accept that my life is short, by nature, and I am subject to the insanity that is part of humanity. But I do not accept that I have to sit by and watch mistreatment, hatred, or repression. Everyone has the right to the same insanity that I'm experiencing. In 2020, we are all suffering together. Let's start acting like the common enemy is an unfeeling, inhuman virus, instead of one another. Otherwise, we're going to be embracing a new dystopian landscape, and guys, I'm too old to hunt with a bow and arrow or scale walls. Utopia is not within human reach, but improving our current situation, is definitely within our abilities. Face the fear, and say no to the insanity engulfing us. Fight the virus with the few tools we have, and fight hatred with everything you have. Be safe. And, just in case, I'm going to take some fencing lessons.
