Because the universe has an interesting sense of humor, I have a soundtrack of exploding fireworks to accompany my reading of the news that the US has joined the attack on Iran.
This is taking me right back to January 1991. We had all been on edge since Operation Desert Shield, a cooperative effort of 42 countries, began in August 1990. It was clear that it was not a going to remain a protective stance, and would lead to war (despite the fact that it is listed only as “an armed conflict” and not a “war” in US military history).
On January 17, 1991, Operation Desert Storm began, a military action to free Kuwait from the invasion and takeover by Iraq.
My friends and I were calling each other to check in (email was not A Thing then, much less social media or online messaging). “Are you okay?” “Do you have anyone deployed?” “What do you need right now?”
The US attack on Iran today is nothing like that. It is not done in coordination with our allies. It is not to check the ambitions of a would-be tyrant and restore sovereignty to a nation.
It is a blatant attack on a country that was not in violation of its treaty. It is a sop to Trump’s ego and an attempt to further fray the people. It is homage to Putin, and the manifestation of his plans. It is horrifying in every aspect.
My friends and I are checking on each other—mostly text messages. “Are you okay?” “Do you have anyone deployed?” “What do you need right now?”
And this is what we do as we face One More Damn Thing in a year that has brought us Too Many Damn Things already.
We still have to get up each day. Make breakfast, feed our children and keep them healthy and safe, tend to our pets and plants, go to our jobs (or look for a job, which is also a job), do laundry, have the car’s oil changed, pay bills, and also take time for our own self-care, from brushing our teeth, exercising, and taking our meds to meditating and making necessary behavioral changes. Everyday life is a lot, already.
And now we have this work of trying to have a life during a war. All of those things still need to happen, and there’s a war lurking in the backs of our heads, and displayed in large type in the front of the news.
There’s fear, uncertainty, dread, and the frustration and anger at living in circumstances we can’t control, but to which we must adapt.
What do we do?
We protest this war as best we can. Some people can write letters, make phone calls, write speeches. Other people can be in the corridors of government. Others can be out on the streets. And some protest by getting up every day and getting through the day, in spite of it all. What you can do will vary each day, and there is no judgment on you for that—it’s true for all of us.
And we protect each other as best we can.
We check on each other.
We care for each other.
We stay in communication. We stay in community.
We do our best to take care of ourselves, so we can take care of each other.
We make bread. We make art. We make time for what matters.
We make it through, day by day, hour by hour. By the minute, or by the second, if that’s what it takes.
So, I am asking you now: “Are you okay?” “Do you have anyone deployed?” “What do you need right now?”
