I am witnessing genocide but doing nothing about it

A messy update for you this month. I have some confessions that have been weighing rather heavily upon me, as of late.

Genocide continues in Gaza, yet I have stopped watching, reading the news, keeping myself informed. I have become a slacktivist, occasionally reposting some pretty Instagram tiles onto my stories to absolve myself. I now scroll past headlines, and leave emails from APAN unread. I haven’t attended a rally since — I’m not sure.

This happened by accident. I suspect I don’t have to explain, because I’m sure too many of us are in the same boat. Insert explanation that is ultimately just an excuse here, boo-fucking-hoo: I’m sure Palestinians are exhausted too.

I’m laying this bare now, so that I can document, role-model and share my current, messy process of reconfiguring myself as activist. It is not because I am seeking forgiveness or sympathy, or because I think reflecting upon and naming privilege is a radical act in and of itself (I beg us to stop doing this, in fact). It is also not because I believe in moral perfectionism and one single way to be activist, and am self-flagellating because I have well and truly failed to meet expectations. This is not me subjecting myself to a public shaming — even though I do think shame is a vital part of social transformation, and that, often, what we mourn as cancel culture is really just accountability culture.

I don’t feel that it is generative, or particularly helpful to the cause, to punish myself (though, admittedly, it has been a little emotionally punishing to write all this out, knowing that you will be reading). Rather, I’m confessing because I need to write this all down, re-calibrate, make sense of how I am falling short, and find ways to do better rather than feel better.