In November, following the election of Trump as the next U.S. president, I was at a loss for words, but now it’s January; the inauguration has passed and a terrifying new era is upon us. As is my despair, and perhaps yours as well.
I’ve heard all the voices, Quaker and others, saying Do not fear, and Don’t give in to hopelessness, and Turn your strong feelings into action. I don’t find these admonitions useful, or even doable by me.
I’m a therapist, and I spend my work days helping people turn toward their unwanted emotions, and encouraging group therapy members not to comfort one another out of shame, guilt, grief, or rage, or even out of despair. A feeling that is acknowledged and allowed to flow freely through the heart can become plastic, fluid, transformative, and the feeler can decide whether or how to act on a fully owned emotion. An emotion that is stuffed, disowned, minimized, or repressed simply waits in its dark and airless container until we are vulnerable and then roars out again, making all the noise that something locked in a trunk makes when it’s freed, allowing very little leeway for how, or whether, it is to be expressed in action.
So with despair. I am not saying that despair should be encouraged, wallowed in, or fed daily tidbits of hopelessness and gloom. I am saying that despair, like any emotion, must be felt as fully as one can on any given day, acknowledged, given room to crescendo, and only then pointed toward action.
If anger is the emotion that draws boundaries and prepares to defend them, and disgust warns that something is nasty and contaminating, and fear shouts to fight, flee, or freeze, and guilt shines a light on one’s own misdeeds, and shame warns of ostracism from the group, so too despair has its uses. Allowed to flow freely, it says, That which was so longed for will not come to pass. Hope—a different hope, wearing different clothes and speaking a different language and pursuing different goals—waits on the other side of a dark chasm. Like every hero in every hero’s quest tale that I love, despair demands that we go down into that chasm and be in that darkness.
I despair for the new administration. The climate hopes I had four years ago seem demolished on Day One, and I see no Lone Ranger of an equally powerful nation that might save us from ourselves. The Paris Climate Accords goal of keeping global average surface warming below 2 degrees Celsius above pre-industrial temperatures is beyond our grasp, and I don’t want to think about how bad the results will be. I release the hopes that we will avert what for some of us will be major inconveniences and for others will be catastrophe.
And in that “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” wail, I hear the voice of God. Not comforting me out of my despair, nor scolding me out of what I’m feeling, nor accusing me of faithlessness, but simply and quietly being with—the kind of accompaniment I sometimes feel when I have abandoned all efforts to squirm away.
I don’t know yet what to hope for on the chasm’s other side. I anticipate that there will be far more hard work, and substantially less joy, than I might wish. I try to prepare for human misery, both preventing it where I can and witnessing it where I must. I know I will need to draw very clear distinctions between what is in my power, and thus deserves all of my power, and what is outside of my sphere of action, and so must simply be known. I don’t know the future, which is sometimes terrifying and sometimes a relief.
I do know there is another side to the chasm. This knowledge does not mitigate that there is a long climb down into it, and an even longer climb up the other side. Like the kind souls who kept me company through 53 hours of labor when my first child was born, God does not take away any of the pain—and does not leave my side.
Listening to understand other views prevents unpleasant surprises, moves us beyond divisive and exclusionary politics, and refocuses us on core ideals of God’s infinite equal love and forgiveness for all, so we build our lives on solid bedrock.
Wrote in “All of the Above” to symbolize my core belief US executive power should be shared amongst many parties and candidates, proportionally to votes earned. Did not vote in a swing state, so my vote did not matter, which is fundamentally wrong. Not surprised or excited or disappointed by outcome, as hold many views from far left to far right with most balanced in the middle. We changed our Constitution many times before to include more people in our governments and we can do it again, so women, minorities, disabled, dependent, indigenous, etc. can all be better represented after every election at the executive decision table with a seat, voice, and vote. The Swiss have already proved this executive power model is viable. Are we willing to share power with our neighbors?
I am also a psychotherapist. In the last, month a day has not gone by that I don’t hear from clients who are scared, angry and despairing. LGBT folks, people reliant on Medicare or Medicaid, women who fear we are taking a major step backwards and the list goes on. I catch myself trying to alleviate their pain but this article helps me see that sometimes I just have to be in that darkness with them. It is surely not an easy thing to do, but Ms. Franklin makes the point well, that it is the faithful thing to do. It is compelling for me that sometimes my clients “Google” me and discover that I’m Quaker and have theological training. Now more than ever, they come with questions about faith in the midst of their despair and this article has helped me formulate a way to approach those questions and those people. I am thankful for Ms. Franklin’s words.
Friend, is it right to regard anything as outside our sphere of action? Prayer connects us with an omnipotent God, and Christ said “You do not receive, only because you do not ask.” There is a time for waiting in stillness; but also, when moved by the Spirit, a place for vocal prayer, which has been a part of Quaker ministry from the beginning.