Against the Darkness
This is a time of accelerating homegrown terrorism. The Massacre at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburg followed closely behind the shooting deaths of two people in a Kroger parking lot in Kentucky. The killer had gone to the store after being unable to enter the First Baptist Church.
These killings, coming so closely after pipe bombs were sent across the US, along with the emerging details of the state-directed murder of Jamal Khashoggi, led me to ask students in my university classes if they wanted to have conversations about these events.
I often take time in classes for reflection on current issues. So, I was unprepared for the response this time. In two separate classes, most students said they really didn’t want to talk about any of this. They said they were numb. They did not want to think about it. They didn’t like that they were so shut down, but they were afraid. It felt like nowhere was safe.
This kind of reaction to the violence that is becoming normal in our public life is as dangerous as the violence itself. It is the necessary ground for fascism to flourish. Fascism depends upon our disconnection from each other and from ourselves. It not only requires that some of us be willing to commit unspeakable horrors against each other. It requires that most of us give up reacting to these horrors. It requires we no longer feel it matters if we care.
This is why I was especially glad to see that some students were organizing a public response to these killings. At my university students organized a candlelight vigil. “Our student leaders came up with the idea and the event has grown organically over the past 48 hours to the point where we have Christian, Muslim, and Jewish groups working together to participate in the vigil,” said Senior Director, Office for Student Involvement, Jean Ann Miller. Well over 200 people attended the event. People of Catholic, Protestant, Muslim, and Jewish faiths spoke about connection, courage, and the need to care for one another.
This group was one of thousands, large and small that have come together to publicly stand against hate, violence, and fear.
Speaking to the overflowing crowd of the small Newton Massachusetts synagogue, Rabbi Robbinson said, “Each of you who made the choice to come here tonight, to stand together, to pray together, are angels of peace. Let us raise our voices against the darkness.”
Trump’s words foster fear and violence. They matter. As Henry Giroux recently observed:
Trump’s language is neither harmless nor merely a form of infantilized theater. It is toxic, steeped in a racist nationalist ardor that stirs up and emboldens extremist elements of his base. It adds fuel to a culture capable of horrific consequences, …It is also the language of silence, moral irresponsibility, and a willingness to look away in the face of violence and human suffering. This is the worldview of fascist politics and a dangerous nihilism — one that reinforces a contempt for human rights in the name of financial expediency and the cynical pursuit of political power.
But our words matter much more. Through our words, we can foster connection and love. Our words, openly offered in the public sphere, become the strands to weave a new democracy, rooted in life-affirming values.