I’m one of the approximately 72 million people who voted for U.S. Vice President Kamala Harris, but this post is written for all my fellow Americans. When I awoke at 4:30 am on November 6 and learned the results of the election, including that my own district in Maine went for Donald Trump, I lay in bed and felt my heart racing. I noticed my harsh and brittle judgments. I experienced incomprehension, sorrow, and fear.
And then I went outside as the sky turned magenta. A loon cried mournfully. An eagle soared above my head. Unlike me, these other species had no idea what could befall them because of human decisions made the day before. But then I realized I couldn’t know the future myself. I had strong evidence to believe that the election results would speed the rate of global warming; reduce the minimal protections for other species; and erode the rights of many living in the U.S., but neither I, nor anyone else, knows the end of this story.
So I asked myself, “Now what?” and the answer for me was clear: Work harder. Work harder to transform systems that are unjust, unsustainable, and inhumane. Work harder at helping those at risk. And work harder to understand others’ perspectives so that bitterness and anger don’t eclipse curiosity and love and so that the persistent perception of “us and them” fades, even in my most private thoughts. I could think of no other way to build a future worthy of our capacity for good and where the dominant pronoun becomes we. We, the people. We, the inhabitants of Earth. We, the parts of ecosystems where all sentient life arises.
If we strive to be a campfire rather than a forest fire, we have a greater capacity to build coalitions that can make a positive difference.
My answer was “work harder” because I can; because I do not face the same risks as others; because, like everyone, I still have a part to play in the unfolding story; and because, as Joan Baez once said, “Action is the antidote to despair.”
What does “work harder” look like practically, especially for those of us who are not at particular risk? I offer the following image for how to work harder humanely and effectively whether we voted against this shift in our government, voted for it with concerns about its potential negative impacts, or didn’t vote at all.
Picture a clearing in the woods. There, in its center, is a glowing campfire, encircled by people drawn to its warmth and light. Now imagine what happens if too much fuel is added to that fire. Suddenly sparks fly and ignite a tree. The beautiful campfire transforms into a blazing forest fire, and everyone flees.
Metaphorically, we all have a fire inside of us. It is the fire of our passions, of love and hatred, joy and grief, empathy and fury. Some of us are more “fiery” than others, but no matter our nature, our internal fire impacts not just ourselves but also others around us. If we strive to be a campfire rather than a forest fire, we have a greater capacity to build coalitions that can make a positive difference. But at a time when many of our emotions are burning so hot, how can we be a campfire? One of the answers lies in determining the right kind and amount of fuel to consume.
What’s this metaphorical fuel? It’s the news and information to which we expose ourselves; the books and essays we read; the podcasts we listen to; the people we seek to learn from; the social media we peruse; and the communities of which we’re a part. We can ask ourselves if we are consuming the kinds of fuel that help us draw a range of people close so we are able to build healthy, collaborative communities to advance solutions to problems moving forward.
It’s possible that instead of drawing people toward us, they are fleeing because we are full of anger and doom, or, alternatively, because we are gloating and dismissive of others’ deep and legitimate fears. If we are fueling ourselves with media that inflames us, we may become less able to respond wisely. We may diminish opportunities to build bridges for positive action, and our potential for collaboration may go up in smoke.
For some, perhaps the conflagration has seared so deeply because we added so much fuel that we are now burnt out, reduced to embers, unable to contribute much at all. We may need to turn inward to regroup, knowing that before long we must rekindle ourselves.
If ever there was a time to tend our fire carefully, surely it is now. What we do at this moment matters. Even amid our strong emotions, it is imperative to focus on being a campfire and not let what others do or say determine how we behave, not only for the sake of others, but for our own sake, too.
Here are three steps we might take:
- To the greatest degree possible, strive to be a person who radiates warmth. There are many solutionary ways to build systems that are good for people, other species, and the environment, and communication across divides will be essential to build coalitions that temper potential inhumane and destructive outcomes. To do this, determine the best methods to calm your mind and strengthen your resolve. Warmth is not weak; it is not giving up or giving in. It is, rather, helpful in creating positive outcomes together.
- Avoid scrolling through hateful or gloating rhetoric, and for goodness sake, don’t share memes that fan the flames of outrage, name-calling, or boastfulness. Before you post or share anything, ask yourself if you are adding fuel that might be incendiary.
- Allow yourself to become as curious as possible about the perspectives of others. Whether you voted for Harris, Trump, a third party candidate, or no one, seek out the fuel of knowledge for the purpose of understanding. With understanding comes the possibility of finding common ground with your neighbors who voted differently than you, yet with whom you can still work for healthier, safer, more humane systems. There are solutions to problems that the great majority of us can agree upon.
Doing these things will not make everything OK. We face potentially catastrophic challenges and terrible suffering. It is not lost on me that fires are not just metaphors for this essay. In the last decade real forest fires have been raging with ever greater force and destruction largely because we’ve failed to take action to reduce carbon and methane emissions, something we could have done and still can do.
That said, not doing these things will make everything worse and, to double down on the fire metaphor, may burn bridges at precisely the time we most need to build them—with our neighbors, in our towns and cities, across the aisle in our state legislatures where cooperation and compromise often still occur, and as a nation of people who are mostly of goodwill and who share a desire for a future in which we and our descendants can flourish.
