Hopelessness and vengeance

Is there anyone, anything, we can turn to?

I imagine a lot of us don’t feel very safe right now. Even across the ocean from the United States, Saturday night has sent shock waves. Both a targeted act of political violence, and also the repercussions which might follow. A lot of fevered discussion of conspiracy and of retribution.

I feel the problem is far deeper than that particular act. Far deeper than the intensifying rhetoric around existential threats.

I wonder to what extent it’s about seeking security, legitimacy, and belonging. In a world where these things are ever further out of reach.  

We’re all looking for answers. Why markers of success – home ownership, being able to support a family, a certain standard of living – are further out of reach than ever before. Why we feel so isolated, despite all the technology connecting us. Why the claims of politicians about economic prosperity feel like they’re disconnected from our reality.

“The rich get richer; the poor get the picture… Nothing ever happens, nothing really matters”

Maybe, if we find out who’s to blame, then we can be secure. We can be safe. We can let our guard down.

Some kinds of political rhetoric seek to demonise groups, claiming if we just deal with them, then things will be better for you. This kind of rhetoric is getting louder, all around the world. Less fringe.

As someone who could be several kinds of them, I regularly need to suppress my fear. Work through my feelings. Because – like many, including those who see me as an ‘other’ – I feel there are no easy answers to any of this.

I share a lot of their fears about markers of success, about loneliness, about the disconnect of political rhetoric. I just don’t think whipping up hatred will do any good. And I’m not sure that anger can be sated.

Photo by Andrey Zvyagintsev on Unsplash

I understand that anger, to a point. The gap between what we can achieve, and what we were promised. Paying into a system that provided us stability, a good quality of life for hard work. Maybe having pride, ownership, in the fruits of our labour. Over decades that’s been stripped away. And no matter how hard we work, we’re told it’s because kids these days are too lazy. (My generation are now up to early 40s – being told we struggle just because we’re petulant children has been old for awhile.)

I can understand why a lot of people my age have given up. Tuned out. Just focused on the struggle to survive. Trying not to dwell on the knowledge that things will only get worse.

How can we possibly feel like we’re part of a greater whole? A community, a nation? Rather than cogs in the machine who are expected to be grateful for whatever crumbs come our way, take it on the chin?

I can understand why people believe that they’re owed something. The promises that we’ve been given all our lives, our supposed place as citizens of a particular country. A country with enormous wealth, magnificent stories of success, wealth, and what it means to be from (insert country here).

Feeling exploited, expendable, lied to… it can all lead to dark emotional places. Despair. Nihilism.

In some ways anger is healthy. It was once explained to me that anger is a way of defending yourself. Lashing out against injustice. Proclaiming your worth. You deserve better.

Anger mutates when there are no legitimate ways to resolve the problems underneath it. From words to action. From action to violence.

These are not small steps. They have been festering for a long time.

Conspiracy theories bubbling up are an attempt to stabilise. Find control by imposing a story on situations, imposing order. Not knowing is worse than malevolent unstoppable forces, aiming at world domination. (To be clear, I’m seeing these conspiracies on both sides of the political aisle.)

People who gather these ideas have a sense of community, a sense of power. At least we know what they don’t. A common purpose interpreting tea leaves, examining entrails.

Photo by Michaela Murphy on Unsplash

Conspiracy theories are another potential pathway to violence. People feeling compelled to strike out against the bogeymen that they’ve created. To defend their messiah, their tribe, or both.

I’ve spoken before about the sociological theory of anomie, a breaking down of norms, and an instability that comes when people are blocked from achieving reasonable societal aspirations. In criminology anomie is cited as one of the reasons why criminal subcultures form. They develop alternative senses of community and belonging, so people can feel secure in themselves. So people can feel like they’re worth something to someone.

I’m not going to say I approve. But, once again, I understand.

As an autistic woman, undiagnosed for most of her life – community, belonging, and societal norms are unattainable for me too. Defiance still gets me through some pretty dark times. I’m not violent, though. I just stopped blaming myself. Channelling my anger against unfairness, and finding a life that works for me – that’s a much better use of my energy. I try not to resent anyone for what I’ve suffered. I just hope that autistic children are luckier than I was, and that the times have changed.

Hope keeps me going. Hope against hope.

I know that the alternative is plunging into an inky chasm of emptiness. And I know how hard that pit is to escape. It’s threatened my life many times.

Photo by Pedro Forester Da Silva on Unsplash

I don’t want to fall down there again.  

My hope is childlike, naïve. It’s like believing in Santa Claus. I know all this.

But the alternative is losing myself to despair, or insatiable rage. Both are in me. Both are primal, instinctive. I excise them in writing that never sees the light of day.

But how do we turn this around?

A lot of us lack the resources to make meaningful change in our communities, or even for our families. The neoliberal agenda seems to be political consensus, even as its promises ring ever hollower.

Standing out and trying to do things differently is an incredibly isolating experience. It’s one that many aren’t prepared to do. As someone who’s Covid cautious in 2024, I can tell you a lot about how much it’s cost me.

And doing it as an individual feels hopeless. Like spitting into the wind – you just end up with bodily fluids on your face. (Yes, I know the original expression isn’t spitting).

The spectres of populism, bloodlust, retribution, climate change, and more – they tower over us. I have no idea if we’ll succeed, if we try to make a difference. (A pro-social difference.)

But evil will certainly prevail if good men don’t even try.