Dear Jasmine #23: In the Middle of a Broken Promise

"It might be difficult to remember, but know this – all the things you do matter."

Artwork: Silhouette of Woman by Window with Plants by Gertrude Käsebier

Question 23

Dear Jasmine, 

What is wrong with us, all of us? The news cycle in the last quarter, year, years has been so heart-wrenching — wars, religious fundamentalism, rising polarisation and intolerance, dire warnings to ACT NOW to save our ailing, grieving planet, disappearing species, unlivable cities, unlivable wages, blatant discrimination, distant relationships exacerbated by tech that is supposed to bring us closer, performance olympics and virtue signalling on social media, more wars we can honestly do nothing about but grieve in pain and change our online statuses — is it just me breaking down every other day unable to take all of this? Please tell me it’s not just me. 

I wish to take a moral high ground, the righteousness of angrily raging — what’s wrong with this world!???! — but I realise I am the world, we are the world, and all of us are trying to make decisions (right, wrong, grave, fair) with what information and whatever iota of control we have. The weight of passively watching the gutting, gutting news cycle is sinking me. Where do we go from here? Are any of us making a change, at all? Or will history repeat itself until eternity? 

The immense weight of privilege, survivor’s guilt, anger, intense empathy combined with lack of any concrete meaningful action, is weighing on me so much. Where do we start? What use are education, thesis essays, cutting poetry, stories and WORDS if they can be twisted to one’s agenda? Does anything matter? Do our actions matter?
— Curled Up and Wailing 

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Answer 23: In the Middle of a Broken Promise

Dear Curled Up and Wailing,

The question you have asked me is as pertinent today as it was months ago when you sent it through my inbox. What you’ve asked is a painful scream into the halls of this hollow universe we live in. It is central to our existence as human beings; a question on which all of humanity is unquestionably hinged at this moment in time. As this column is an endeavour to witness what it means to be alive, it is with great fear that I attempt to write to you a fourth time, hoping this time I’m able to be as kind as the situation demands.

Darling Curled Up and Wailing, I was paralysed by the monstrosity of truth in your question. Someone else is experiencing all this too; I was hoping I was wrong. The clarity with which you described our deeply diverse and yet disjointed world also made me feel less alone. Someone else has articulated how I feel; I was right. Unfortunately, I couldn’t muster a response to tell you sooner, my sweet mogra, that you are not alone. It is not only you. There are so many, many of us.

It is the nature of living that nothing survives in isolation. It is by law of the universe that growth and sustenance are made possible by a complex interdependence at play. Anything left to its own devices, withers. I suppose that is also why our questions demand answers; they can’t stand on their own. And their relentless regeneration doesn’t let them die. Small questions such as – why did my partner leave? Why am I paying taxes for terrible infrastructure? Why doesn’t the bigoted uncle go to therapy? What will my performance review look like? But there are bigger questions such as – where are the promises of the fables and legends? When will good conquer evil? Why is there so much suffering and not enough redeeming?

After all, isn’t all the fantastical lore (be it religious, spiritual, or allegorical) based on the triumph of patience and goodness in the face of great adversity? In the end of all stories, doesn’t the little girl find her lost umbrella, the evil ruler is overthrown, the people of the village are blessed with rain? Isn’t that how it goes? So, why doesn’t it happen in this fractured world that we live in? Small question. Against all evidence should we hope that tomorrow will bring change? Big question.

We are not only witnessing a breakdown of social order, but also a betrayal of all the stories that we were made to believe growing up. They said if you study hard, then get a job, marry well, and if you are good to everyone, you will be happy. Turns out, that is not entirely true (and rather simplistic). Turns out that even if you work hard and are good, you will have to forfeit your hard-earned provident fund because the powerful want to control domestic investments. Turns out that even if you are kind to your neighbours they will still prohibit people from your community to rent houses in your society. Turns out that even if you marry outside your caste, the marginalised will still be systematically discriminated against.

What is this, Curled Up and Wailing, if not betrayal? We are witnessing a reneging of all that we have been made to believe. It seems, therefore, that we are experiencing a great gush of grief. A grief so profound that it has no map for healing. Not yet. Not in my line of sight. Definitely not espoused by any spiritual leader or podcast host. I am starting to accept that we are in the middle of a broken promise.

And I, just like you, Curled Up and Wailing, am trying to grasp what happened to us, and how, and where do we go from here? A volley of thoughts cross my mind. I dance with demons in my anxious and darkest moments. I gather strength from the way people in my life hold me through many a storm. I rage, think, scribble, vent, and wonder.

Should we attempt to heal in fiction what we cannot fix in fact?

Should we look away and get lost in a world of high-brow privilege with tone deaf motivational posters?

Should we start a support group of The Worldly Wearies?

Should we dedicate some of our time to a collective that aligns with our positive beliefs?

I am not sure, sweet mogra. At this point, I don’t know if any of this will work because where is the evidence that any of it does? Our grief, even if we choose not to pay attention, still knocks at the door of our hearts, sits at the doormat of our mind. Our grief stems from the broken laws of life and land, where nothing stands to reason or compassion. What weighs on you, weighs on me, too. That is why I call it “our grief”. I promise you, little floret, it weighs on so many of us tender hearts and kind souls that we know not where to look for encouragement, for relief, for stillness.

We don’t know what to do, so we go on as we can, as we hurt, as we trudge. It might be difficult to remember, but know this – all the things you do matter. All the words you write, the anguish you go through, the endurance you muster, and the helplessness you feel on seeing the way of this world matters. Your resistance to the injustice of this world matters so much more than you will ever live to see. This is you not consenting to be a part of manufactured human suffering. This is you turning your back at the intolerance of different people living differently. This is you actively advocating against boundaries created by technology. Your resistance is love. I say it again, resistance is love. 

Yes, all of this is a damned emotional mess. But your emotions are valuable because they reassure yourself, the Jasmine community, and me that someone still cares. That even though moral clarity may be dim, it still lives on in the emotional expanse of people like you. That not all is lost even if one of us is able to so clearly see through the murkiness of our world order. I send you warmth, a long hug wrapped inside this letter, and a sprinkle of rest that your heart needs. Please accept your body’s demand to turn towards some nursing while the rest of us rage and feel forlorn on (y)our behalf. Throw out the guilt. It does not behove you, darling. You’re doing what you can. For now, that is enough.

It is without a doubt that uncertainty looms large. We don’t know if there will be enough food for us tomorrow, whether we will still hold on to our jobs, whether our relationship will sustain the course of tough times, whether our money will still hold good, or whether the next few years will be possible without crushing inflation. These are serious concerns. To make matters worse, the public reneging of human rights and the celebration of it all by those in power have dispersed a fear so great that it is a miracle we are all functioning despite the eternal anxiety of our time.

In such a climate, if you can go on even with an ounce of hope, a couplet of kindness, and a fistful of empathy, it is a mark of extreme courage. The time for playing by halves and taking kindness for granted is over. The resources that we have so long treasured mean zilch. Money is out. Fossil fuels are out. Minerals are out. Hope, kindness, and empathy are endangered human values. Anyone who has them holds the rare keys that could save us.

You are right when you say how can we be against this world when we are the world. How can we? We can’t. As they say, we are in this together for better or for worse. However, I have to confess that my well of acceptance of ‘the other side’ has run dry. I’m stretched out thin in trying to feel and see the story from an opposing point of view. I refuse to admit that there’s another side to wanting a sustainable life in which there’s enough for all of us.

Every single one of us deserves the means to live a life without having to worry about where the basics will come from. We deserve to live without the fear that the sky will fall apart on us tomorrow morning. Because let’s face it, in the thousands of years of its existence, the sky hasn’t fallen apart on us. What has happened, though, is that people have been systematically starved, discriminated against socially, economically, and legally, and pushed to the extent of violence in the name of faith, creed, caste, or class. All of this is not ordained by God or the universe. All of this is man-made and can be avoided.

So you see why I am wary of extending my empathy to the powerful that we have allowed to govern us - whether it be by a ballot vote or by social hierarchy. I’m suspicious of arguments that consist of ‘two sides’. Thanks to the Internet, we have scratched the surface of argumentation so much that we’ve bled out the core of what it means to have a conversation — to arrive at a common value system that benefits us all. I am so God-damn tired of this evil that we have unleashed that every single perspective requires a soapbox. No, it does not. Hateful, vitriolic, discriminatory behaviour does not require a mouthpiece, let alone a perspective. Some things are not okay and we have to start making it socially unacceptable for people to be openly bad, hateful, and antagonistic. While we stand up for what is right, we have to collectively shame what is wrong. We have to put the evil back into the box.

It is time we all agree that there is no ‘other side’. There is only one side — the side of collective human prosperity in tandem with the healing of the world we live in. The one side is that even if a handful of us are left behind, we are all left behind. The one side is that it is either all of us or none of us. We must form a fellowship. The evil that we’ve unleashed into the world must be captured and destroyed. That’s also how all the stories go, don't they, Curled Up and Wailing?

We have to openly resist the idea that only a handful of people deserve stability, resources, and emotional fulfilment. The human condition is a universal experience lived out by a myriad of people in a myriad of ways. We have to respect this as fundamental law. We have to denounce hatred, stand up against the tyranny of the powerful & majority, and shut down ‘othering’, whether it is on the basis of caste, town, or nation. I know it sounds vague and hard, but there is evidence that fuelling thoughts and actions of discrimination can be taught and ingrained. So we have to fuel thoughts and actions of inclusion and empathy.

If hate can be taught, love can be taught, too.

Perhaps this is the illusion we need. Even if it doesn’t exist. Even if there is no evidence of justice. Even if it is crushing in a way that we lose a part of ourselves every time we dare to believe.

It is impossible to say if things will get better in the coming months. Most likely they won’t. Most likely, it will all get worse before it gets better, if at all. It is imaginable that the planet will start to collapse and those who are socially and economically worse off will be greatly harmed before the privileged are affected. Our legal and social systems will collapse further increasing suspicion, corruption, and loneliness. More people might die of famine, insufficient food grains, state-sponsored violence, and heartbreak. Finally, the sky will finally tear apart.

Afterwards, a huge wave of stillness will arrive in a small town, it will settle around a withered tree. A few people might gather and swap bandages, last pieces of food, and stories of what it was like when all of us could live well. They will rest their backs against each other, forget the location of their old homes, but remember exactly how they would share a cup of tea with a friend. Someone will ask what tea is. Someone will ask what a friend is. The others will tell them. They will talk about water, the way it sprung life wherever it touched, as it rained, as it flowed, as it seeped; and of the jasmines that smelled like an otherworldly fragrance resembling a place of rest and ease. They will say that if we had another chance, we would have loved each other and the planet differently. On hearing this, the sky will stitch itself up, heal along the cracks, and through these pin-pricks, golden sunlight will shine on the ground.

And maybe, just maybe, they will get another chance.

Until then, we should probably join The Worldly Wearies. We must shun those who hate. We must learn and teach how to love. We must preserve water. We must call a friend. This might be the only chance we have got.

Love,
Jasmine

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Dear Jasmine is a monthly column by an anonymous writer. If any of you want to send in questions, please send them to Jasmine here.