Give All of My Love to the Savages

In the face of political turmoil, I’m returning to the words that taught me to love fiercely and hope relentlessly.

Donald Trump Swearing In ceremony. Image source: WhiteHouse official Facebook Page

Thanks for being a subscriber to Let's Not Be Trash. If you’re new here, we (Mostly me, Evan J. MastronardiandKarina Maria write about patriarchy, politics, race, culture, music, and ruminations. The goal is to talk about important issues, in a way that is digestible and relatable because nobody wants to read a Ted Talk.

It’s the holiday season, so if you haven’t already, consider becoming a paid subscriber. If you want to support me financially but don’t want to commit monthly, buy me a coffee, or a PS5, whatever is cheaper.

If you like my substack and want to discover other great writers, check out this directory from Marc Typo called The Cook-Out.

---

When I was in school, a particular set of books was required reading. And more often than not, those books were painfully dull, and I couldn’t understand why we were forced to engage with them. Whether it was Beowulf, Romeo and Juliet, or The Catcher and the Rye (I hated the protagonist. I found him petulant and annoying), I found myself uninterested. But it would be a lie to say that all of the titles forced on to me by the New York City Public School system were trash. In High school, my English teacher, Ms Davis, introduced us to the phenomenal anthropologist and writer Zora Neal Hurston.

We read her book, “Their Eyes Were Watching God” During my senior year. At 17, my ideas about gender and the role of women was deeply influenced by what my father and society told me. They were objects for sex and taking care of children; their narrative wasn’t relevant. Ms Davis was one of the first people to challenge my worldview, and through reading and discussing this book with her, I began to see the humanity in women. Later, she introduced us to the Auto Biography of Malcolm X; it painted the world in colors I had never seen before. My point with going down memory lane is that sometimes our schools and the teachers in them get it right. I would argue that most of the time, they get it right, and because of the effort they put into our education, we can learn things about ourselves and others through the words of strangers.

And that brings me to why we are here today. At the tender age of [redacted] years old, the greatest gift that reading and a love of books have given me is a door to the soul of others. You don’t think about it while it’s happening, but books can take you to places your feet can’t. Back then, I was desperate to escape reality; the day-to-day of my life was too full of helplessness and pain to face, so I would lose myself in fantasies that blew my mind and characters I could see myself in. Being pushed to read different experiences was an essential part of my development.

I didn’t always see that. For example, I didn't quite understand the point when I was forced to read the Diary of Anne Frank. I was a poor Black boy growing up in East New York, Brooklyn, and was being told I had to read about the experiences of a 13-year-old Jewish girl who had died long before I became a thought. Any apprehension I had disappeared when I stopped complaining and started reading. Anne lived in a country with leaders who saw her and people like her as a stain on their land. When the Nazi-led government began rounding up Jewish people to send them to concentration camps, Anne and her family went into hiding, and the book I read was her journal entries from that time.

What stood out in her story, besides the callousness of the Nazi regime, a government that chose to target and slaughter an entire group of people in the name of supremacy was the perspective she held throughout. Despite spending years in hiding with her family with the understanding that if discovered, it could lead to their death, Anne never lost her faith in people. There’s one part of the book that remains with me. In it, she say’s,

“In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can’t build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery, and death. I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness, I hear the ever-approaching thunder, which will destroy us too, I can feel the sufferings of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquility will return again.” -The Diary of Anne Frank-

Anne didn’t live to see the peace she so beautifully described; after two years of hiding, someone reported her family to the authorities, and they were taken to “work” camps. Everyone but her father died. When he returned home after the war, he found her diary, and to honor her wishes of one day becoming an author, he set out to publish her words. His actions led to the ruminations of a young woman trying to make sense of a world becoming one of the most important books in history

.

Anne's world fell victim to the power of hatred and fear, and for a long time, it looked like we would never make that mistake again. But things have been shifting rapidly, and I’m no longer sure of what can be promised. The return of Trump and the rise of right-wing populism have shaken me. It’s been challenging to turn on the news and see that the United States government has been taken over by people who don’t seem very interested in the well-being of its citizens. It’s been infuriating to watch the wealthiest man in the world, Elon Musk, throw up the Nazi sign only to have the Anti-Defamation League (ADL), defend his actions.

It’s especially infuriating after they spent the better part of two years trying to destroy the lives and reputations of anyone who spoke up in support of Palestine. It’s been more challenging to manage my anxiety knowing that Trump, with the support of Republicans, plans to gut our social safety nets, and I don’t know what I will do if my father’s social security is cut off or if the Supreme Court agrees with Trump and eliminates birth-right citizenship. If that happens, I will suddenly go from an American citizen to a stateless man under the scope of the immigration task force. I’m struggling to understand how Black and Brown people could enthusiastically vote for a person and a party openly committed to destroying us. None of these things make sense, leaving me confused and on the precipice of rage. But this isn’t my first rodeo, and I know that rage like fire, even when righteous, is not sustainable. Eventually, it will destroy everything in its path, including you.

So I returned to Anne because If I am to accept the ideas being pushed by Trump and those like him, there is nothing that I, a Black man, should have in common with Anne Frank or anyone else who doesn’t look like me, our differences should be the divisions that keep us separate. But what Anne taught me in high school, and reminded me again today, is that no matter how different we might be. We have much more in common than we know. if only we are willing to listen to and see each other.

Growing up Black in America can be a polarizing experience, but it’s also illuminating. I understand what it feels like to have someone hate me over something I can’t control, and the gift of time and learning has made it clear that this hatred is driven by fear. In my most radical moments, I understand that we are all a little afraid at some level. We are so scared of the unknown, things and people that are different from us, the inability to take care of those we love, or the bone-curdling nightmare of being erased.

I’m also more afraid than I have been in quite some time. But I won’t run from it, and I won’t turn someone else into a villain to cope with that fear. Instead, I aspire to open my heart. I believe at the moment when it feels like the world has gone to hell and we have all embraced our most savage instincts, there must be people willing to throw cold water onto that fire. You can only do that with love.

To the people who chose Trump as their president, the ones who think that undocumented people should have no rights, the proud boys, the racist, and the confused “moderates,” the white family suffering in poverty who feels like no one cares about your struggles, I see you. I love you, even if I don’t understand or agree with your vision for the future. Sometimes, the grimmest worldviews are driven by cycles of harm that have never been halted. I know there is good in you; we have more in common than we could possibly know. To my undocumented sisters and brothers, the trans people, the people languishing in our prison systems, The entire Black diaspora, my BIPOC sisters and brothers, and everyone struggling to exist in this capitalist system, I love you, and there is nothing you can do about it.

Whether you are Black, white, gay, straight, trans, male, female, tall, short, loud, or quiet, I want to recommit. I envision a world like Anne's, where we all matter, have what we need, and can live together in prosperity. I want to send my love to those cast into the shadows.

This might seem naive, but at my core, I think that’s the best part of me. As someone who represents a group that has also been cast into the shadows, I know very well that is where the light shines brightest. I don’t know what the coming days will bring, but I want to commit to being the change I wish to see—with my words, actions, and intentions. So, moving forward, send all of my love to the savages.

---

Congratulations on reaching the end! Thank you for reading my words. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post if you have a minute. I’m aiming to express radical love in a strange time. Can you relate to it? Why or why not? 

1. Have you read the Diary of Anne Frank? What did you think

2. Are you happy with the current state of our country, why or why not?

3. Why do you think things have gotten so polarizing in America?

4. Did I change your mind or challenge your thinking on anything?