![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Nov. 9th, 2016 09:32 pmI don't want to talk about politics, but—like many other people—I was devastated by the results of this election and I'm now fearful of the future. I'm going to graduate law school next year, but without the safety net of a law job and with the burden of having to go out and find some other job, and I don't know what the job market and the world will look like, especially for an autistic person of color.
This is what I will say:
Over the past few weeks, I've been contemplating the flat rejections I've gotten for the novel I just spent the past year of my life writing, about queer characters of color battling the structures of power arraigned against them. I've been reading about the racial imbalances within the publishing industry, thinking about how representation of marginalized groups in fiction still has a long way to go, and trying to figure out what I could do from my own limited position to continue the push for progress.
Today, I woke up to find that this country had elected a man who campaigned on an openly racist platform, and a man who openly believes LGBTQ people shouldn't exist.
I wish I could say that I was fired up to fight, but I wasn't. I may not be for a while. These past few years have been difficult enough for me on a personal level without my cynicism about humanity hitting a new low. The idea that everyone deserves equal rights and treatment should not be a controversial thing—and yet, somehow it still is.
It's clear that we need understanding and empathy now, more than ever. As the schisms in our society continue to deepen, as misguided hatred of the "other" grows more toxic and more frightening, it is so, so important to show that we are all human, that diversity is not the "other," and that we should be kind to each other in recognition of our shared humanity.
But for now, I'm sad and anxious and all out of emotional bandwidth.
This is what I will say:
Over the past few weeks, I've been contemplating the flat rejections I've gotten for the novel I just spent the past year of my life writing, about queer characters of color battling the structures of power arraigned against them. I've been reading about the racial imbalances within the publishing industry, thinking about how representation of marginalized groups in fiction still has a long way to go, and trying to figure out what I could do from my own limited position to continue the push for progress.
Today, I woke up to find that this country had elected a man who campaigned on an openly racist platform, and a man who openly believes LGBTQ people shouldn't exist.
I wish I could say that I was fired up to fight, but I wasn't. I may not be for a while. These past few years have been difficult enough for me on a personal level without my cynicism about humanity hitting a new low. The idea that everyone deserves equal rights and treatment should not be a controversial thing—and yet, somehow it still is.
It's clear that we need understanding and empathy now, more than ever. As the schisms in our society continue to deepen, as misguided hatred of the "other" grows more toxic and more frightening, it is so, so important to show that we are all human, that diversity is not the "other," and that we should be kind to each other in recognition of our shared humanity.
But for now, I'm sad and anxious and all out of emotional bandwidth.
