True talk #2: What to write as the world burns

A reflection on the role of words in heavy times

All the time, it feels like the world is burning, at least a little, hot to the touch, fingers drawing backwards. But recently, it seems like the flames are raging— hungry creatures, leaving cinders and ashes everywhere. As a writer, what words does one share in times like these? This is one of the questions that currently plagues me.

One option is to say the thing. Is to look at it full on and declare your truth. Is to trust that your values and perspective have brought you to righteous ground. And then to stand there, show allegiance, bring awareness. Depending on who you are, this may feel like a desperate need (as it is for me), but further questions present themselves. What is the truth and where have you learned it? What whispers, what sources, have informed it? Spreading falsehoods with good intentions is still blame-worthy. There are many things that I don’t yet understand, and so, I rely on sources that I have found to be credible, responsible, and well-balanced. Also, I rely on my moral compass, and it leads me to one general principle: human suffering and oppression, in whatever form it takes, is reprehensible. This simple truth has not misdirected me thus far and is one I am always ready to stand behind. And as a writer, pointing to this truth; trying to stir society’s collective consciousness; reflecting the horror of the times; exhorting fairness; marking the historical moment; is important work.

A second question is, what fire do we speak of? Unfortunately, there are thousands of injustices happening at any given time, and they merit our attention. There is war, death, poverty, illiteracy, homelessness, racism, unemployment, neo-colonialism, modern day slavery, exploitation, political manipulation, and many more, all co-existing to make the world a very heavy place. Some fires call out more than others, but all the time, something is burning. It is right to give space to what is glaring at us, to hope that lessons from this can be applied across the board; to hope that this tragic history of human cruelty stops its awful loop; but it is also important to acknowledge all the other stories that go unseen, all that continues far away from the lens of media channels.

Another option is not saying anything at all. This can feel especially hard if words are expected, or if it is a situation that seems to hinge on morality, allyship and taking a stand. I remember how it felt, after George Floyd, when the value of black lives was being discussed, to hear only an echo in some places. It took me a while to realise and appreciate that everyone has the right to speak, or to stay silent. I still struggle with this, I still wonder what viewpoint lies behind people’s pursed lips. However, not everyone knows what to say, and people are afraid to say the wrong thing. In a world of social media where screenshots are taken more quickly than posts can be deleted; where people are cancelled at neck-breaking speed, it is scary to speak, especially if an issue is sensitive, and is not within your sphere of knowledge/ experience. Also, it can feel like speaking up is performative. Like it is too easy to post something that only mildly moves you and pretend as though it shakes you. Even the authentic ones are scared of being seen to be fake — to be seen to say what is demanded in that very moment, and then, go quiet when the temperature cools down. What is important is to be quiet if you feel you need to, but not because you do not care.  

The final option, as I see it, is to say something else. As a writer, there are always words to create. There is beauty resting at your fingertips. There are stories of other people, other lives, other realities, where things are not set alight. Words can be used as a way to escape, and this can be desirable too, to fill your lungs with clean air every now and again. But there is guilt in this, because it can feel like a distraction, or a dismissal. It can feel like one is shallow or selfish, because at least silence seems more respectful. But isn’t it a great gift to make things? To be able to carry on making them? Isn’t that taking a stand, in itself? Creating more beauty to upset the balance of ugliness, wickedness, in the world? Living, the best way you know how, to affirm the value of life?

In their own way, all of these options can seem self-indulgent. Writing is self-indulgent. This piece is self-indulgent. There is always an inherent privilege in writing. First, even being able to do it— a glaring one in a world with so much inequality and illiteracy. Second, having the luxury of distance from whatever is happening in the world or in your own life, to be able to sit down and write. Third— the need itself. To say the thing, or to say something else. To process your feelings and thoughts in this way, to search for an outlet, to want to be heard.

I don’t know the answer— but what I do know is that words are not enough. The struggle only begins on the page. So, regardless of what form my words take, I must remain mindful and aware of my privilege, of being able to use words in this way, of being able to stand apart. And then, I must make sure my actions are clear, too.

Prompt:

What words do you reach for or stay away from in heavy times? Write about it. Share it with me (by sending it on instagram, or replying by email if you’re a subscriber) in the next week, and it will go up on the Instagram page.