Let me write a personal blog entry today. The world shows no signs of slowing down, of the catastrophe being calmed. There is no extinguisher in the arson'd room with us.

And I think I'm okay with that. I have found myself steadfast on a handful of principles. To help as much as I sustainably can, and to not let the oppressive and violent forces of the world remove my joy nor optimism for a hopeful, better future.

The suffering is nothing new, the modality of suffering is novel for our generation, though. We were supposed to bear witness to world peace, economic stability, civil discussion and debate. A well-nourished community of diverse neighbours who welcome us with open arms.

I am a cusp baby^[1], I was born in 1996. This is on the edge of marketing generational demographics known as millennial and generation Z. I do not know a lot of people my age in comparison to other ages, because there are statistically not a lot of people my age. There was a lull in birth rates in the 1990's. The overall birth rate declined 15 percent between 1991 and 1997, and fertility rates fell across all groups during that decade. We are a smaller cohort, caught between the echo boom of the late 80s and the millennial surge of the early 2000s.

And I bring this up because I grew up in a world that was only looking upward and progressive. I was twelve-years-old when Obama became President of the United States on November 4, 2008. After the geopolitical shift of 9/11 and the growing mainstream disapproval of the Iraq war, it seemed as though people were choosing love. Seeing that love is love. The American Experiment was still ongoing, still heartbeating.

I know now, nearly twenty years later, what an illusion this all was. There certainly was nothing progressive about Obama. But much worse than that, the great pendulum began swinging the other way once again. A pendulum I grew up believing could only go one way. I grew up in schools hosting assemblies to fight homophobia and racism. The walls were covered in the impact-font propaganda posters of acceptance and openness and tolerance. I went to my first pride parade when I was in middle school, and felt completely safe.

In my own province of Alberta, the conservative party lost their 44-year reign in 2015 when Rachel Notley of the NDP (New Democratic Party, more left than Canada's Liberal party) was elected premier. The so-called "Orange Chinook" swept through the province on May 5, 2015, ending the longest-serving provincial government in Canadian history. Even the stereotype of this cowboy-drenched oil-slicked city was turning a tide. Surely.

We know this did not hold. We know that malevolent powers-that-be itched for more. Power, money, resources. Anything. Not love, though.

We lost a lot in 2016. Trump's victory over Clinton, just months after Britain voted to leave the European Union, felt like the certitude of a turning point. Apolitical centrists and those on the right told us we were overreacting, deranged, or hysterical.

It has only taken a decade for us to be proven wholly correct. Children in cages. American citizens murdered by federal law enforcement. Elsewhere, genocides occurring with the help of American tax-paying money. With my tax-paying money.

But I echo back my original sentiment: what we had prior to 2016 was a nice, well-kept illusion. 2016 did not just spontaneously happen. It was just far easier to ignore, far easier to focus on the unimportant quarrels which distracted us from the well-hidden atrocities.

Hm. Why do I write all of this? I think to help myself recalibrate. I need to recalibrate often. I need to take stock of all that I ought to be grateful for, and by God, it is so much. And I need to remind myself that the optics are not the thing. The aesthetic of America's downfall is vibrant and pulsing right now, but the rot has been growing underneath the floorboards. We've known this.

I meditate on the immense suffering but I do not let myself fall into the seductive, gaping maw of the abyss it holds. It is my civic duty to continue, to forge hope and love where it is so desperately needed, and to share it with those who can no longer forge it for themselves.

As Ruth Ginsburg said:

“I am optimistic in the long run. A great man once said that the true symbol of the United States is not the bald eagle. It is the pendulum. And when the pendulum swings too far in one direction it will go back.”

I think this is why I am still stubbornly an institutionalist. I believe we can claw back civility. We can create a better future without yet another apocalypse. Maybe. I have faith in our governing capabilities the way I have faith in God. But how I wrestle. How could I not? The atheist can go line-by-line and so easily articulate my foolishness. But the sacred is invisible and the colour of the wind.