8/30/20

By Josh Rubin

Despair.

Bodies turn up on the Matamoros banks. The worst leader since Hitler—I say that without hesitation—gins up a frenzy of hatred to distract us from the sea change in our lives brought on by his failure to respect a scourge of nature and the science that would have saved so many of us. And his minions work furiously to expel the tired and poor across the border to their wretched fates.

And we are heartsick. Hope is not easy to come by, even for those who have always known where to find it. And still there are those that rise each day and work to feed and clothe the needy, to campaign to change things, to do something, in this time when a deep breath is enough to remind us how close we are to tears.

Among our numbers here in this group are many who forgo sleep to phone bank and write postcards. Witness the Wave.

And if we survive this onslaught of evil, if we make it across this churning, treacherous river of our own, we will have much to do. Many of us are not young, so there is not much time for us to do what we must.

If we make it across, I will meet you there.