They say that doom scrolling is bad for you, and intellectually I know that it is. I understand fully that the instinct I get every couple of minutes to pick up my phone is just an unhealthy coping mechanism. Some might argue that it’s just as bad as the smokers itch. I’m inclined to agree. Despite this, here I am, trying to put my thoughts on this paper while fighting the urge to grab my phone.
I am mildly fascinated by this tic, the hold this small device has over me is almost magnetic. I have tried to pull away before, but the withdrawal is far more painful than whatever healing would look like on the other side. That temporary burst of dopamine, or whatever raw emotion comes out is as intoxicating as the sweetest liquor. I desire it, but I don’t like it. In fact, I loathe it and the control it has over me. And, because I feel weak, helpless to this untamed desire, I choose to not bother trying to control it, because then I would be forced to face my many failures, and what good would that do?
You’re probably reading this and thinking to yourself, that I have an unhealthy attachment to my phone, and in my manufactured reimagining of your experience with this post, you are casting judgement on my flaws as you take breaks from each sentence to feed your own dopamine addiction. Before you do, hear me out, although it may seem like I am a slave to my own instincts, the hand that grasp for this electronic device isn’t just reaching out for comfort, the manipulative mistress known as my iPhone and I are bonded by a truth that is much more complicated than what you may initially see.
I’ll try to put it in terms that you may understand. I am running for my life. A life that while beautiful, is full of reminders that there are things to be afraid of. Stories that will break your spirits, ugly truths that I don’t want to face. Left on my own with no unhealthy distraction, and I will sit in my head and filter through all of the worst possible outcomes. I’ll light my path with the darkest thoughts and then be dejected by the lack of solutions for problems that may or may not exist. They have been manifested by my imagination, the validity of them doesn’t matter. It’s so hard to out run my thoughts. They live with me, so I escape to my phone. Or at least I think I’m escaping. Instead it works as a portal, amplifying everything that I wanted to hide from. And since it is clear that there is no escape, I guess you and I must now face these thoughts together. So here is what keeps me reaching for relief.
The most recent brain worm working its way through my consciousness was started by a political figure I admire. The Notorious Alexandria Ocasio Cortez. In a world full of politicians whose ultimate goal is to craft messaging that inspires the masses but delivers nothing. She seems to be fighting for real change. That authenticity has built her a strong base of support, and a voice that many people listen to. And during an interview in early August, she wielded that influence to push back on attacks against progressive and socialist candidates.
When questioned about some of the Criminal justice reforms progressive politicians pushed for, including the rallying cry to “Defund the police” AOC replied with “Woke 1.0 was crazy” I think what AOC was attempting to do was highlight that she and other progressives realized they needed to recalibrate, that maybe some of the policies they were demanding were not realistic. And maybe she’s right, maybe folks were asking for too much.
But I couldn’t help but notice that the policies that she and other progressives seem to be walking back from, the policies that rile up those on the right, and the center, all seem to be ones that would benefit Black people. But, If she is saying that, and other candidates are also stepping away from these ideals, where does that leave the millions of Black people living in a country comfortable sanctioning state violence against us, forcing institutions to erase our history, and flat out ignoring us when crisis occurs? Are our needs and interests an attack on everyone else? Are Black lives and demands that inconvenient?
To be clear, I do not think that AOC was dismissing Black people or our issues when she said this. I think she’s an elected leader with a real shot at running for president, and the ambassador of a movement that is targeted by those in power. She’s trying to create a lane for more candidates like her, by neutralizing an unfair critique from opponents. But the universal and collective de prioritization of Justice focused issues, Diversity Equity and inclusion, along with any efforts to amplify Black and brown voices tells me that society as a whole might be. I’m really struggling with this, and every moment of silence is overtaken with negative thoughts, do we really not matter?
It seems that way, because a few weeks ago, a 20-year old Haitian boy killed himself by walking into oncoming traffic. I learned about his death while doom scrolling. I read his instagram post discussing the shame of wearing an ankle monitor, the frustration of being punished because his family wanted better opportunities, and he wanted an education. I felt the small bubble of pressure that builds up in my chest when I feel helpless in the face of gross injustice, and then I jumped over to Tik Tok to watch NBA Finals highlights of Jalen Brunson.
The distraction didn’t work. Pierre’s post and his pain never left my mind. Thinking about his pain makes me think about my own mother, the conditions in Haiti are not ideal, and she is there because we don’t have many options. If I had somehow gotten her to the U.S., would she be one of over 300,000 Haitians who have lost their status in this country. Would she leave one war zone, only to find herself the casualty of another? Sometimes it feels so lonely to be Black in America. It feels like you’re in a fishbowl that everyone has access to, where everyone can observe you, but no one actually sees you. They look you straight in the eyes and ignore your pleas for help, they take your request for support as a threat on their own lives, and turn their backs in response. That’s what it feels like is happening to Pierre Haitians, Somalians, and every other Black community who is currently under attack because “our” president believes we come from a “Shit hole” countries. A little voice in my mind tells me that he’s not the only one who feels this way. I’m good at assuming the worst, that no one cares about Black people, so I try to break that thought pattern by searching for any kind of advocacy happening on behalf of Pierre and other Haitians. I stumbled onto a 2014 clip of Hakeem Jeffries shouting “”Israel today, Israel tomorrow, Israel forever.” Everyone else’s needs seem to trump ours.
The idea that standing up for Black people, and fighting for Black issues could be unpopular is an easy thought experiment to fall into, it’s why I run to my phone to escape from that dark place. But what I am finding more and more is that no matter where I go, I can’t help but have these feelings reinforced. The people who should be speaking up are not, the allies I thought we had, seem distracted, and protecting Black lives feels like it’s falling out of style. Should the lesson I take from all of this is that our lives do not matter? I hope not. Before I can fall into a deeper spiral, I jump on twitter to find a nice distraction. The first post that comes up is a news article revealing the criminal history of the lone Black juror involved in the Lindsey Clancy trial. Maybe there is no escape.
Congratulations, you made it to the end of this post. I would love to read your thoughts. Consider answering one of these questions, or leaving a comment on your own.
Was Woke 1 Crazy? What does that mean to you?
Is there space to care about Black people and Black issues, and still be politically relevant?
What’s your personal “I need to get off this app” moment?
What’s the most ridiculous place the algorithm has taken you lately?
When the world feels like too much, what actually helps?
To answer #3, I know I need to take a break when I’m cycling through news or current events and getting SO ANGRY. I mean to be black in this country is of course to be in a constant state of fear and anger but I don’t go on the internet for that. Like you it’s supposed to be a happy distraction. My saving thought, if we just all left this place would crumble. It literally would if we just left them to their own vices. But I don’t think they want us to leave truly, I think they truly want to go back to a time where they could just own us.
**anger cycles**
I’ve been an architect of internet pop culture since I was 19 on T*mblr. For the last twelve years, it’s been my “job” to make things viral. Unlike a lot of my influencer agemates, I never got famous from it. T*mblr wasn’t appealing as a platform so there were never brand deals or podcasts to be awarded to me for my visibility and contribution to “The Culture”. Just exploitative gig work because people like my vibes but are comfortable getting in the way of the better life I am desperate to write myself to. When I started blowing the whistle about how fucked up excessive time on the internet had my body and mind, especially being entertaining with memes during COVID, a lot of people shrugged me off. Any attempts I made to meaningfully disengage long term from the internet fail because my wages and social life are anchored on it. I’ve been called everything but a child of god for being visible, Black, and fat on the internet and I’m STILL poor while I scroll TikTok. My labor manufactures the distractions that erode our minds and keep us addicted. If I’m being honest, when I work, it feels like purposely making the world a worse place. I hope one day we won’t have to use our phones this way while processing Black suffering in the background.