I fear no fate, (for you are my fate)
We are packing to move the shop. Everyone else is packing to move.
They say that grief is love with nowhere left to go.
My grief overflowed five years ago, when the Confederate flag flew in the halls of Congress. It overflowed again last November. And it’s been welling up for months now, while my friends are making plans.
Daniel in Miami. One of his kids is gay. Daniel is eligible for Spanish citizenship; lots of Miami Cubans are. If he files his paperwork now, the kids can get their papers this fall, and maybe his son can go to school abroad. They could join the expat community in Spain. It’s easier to be gay in Spain.
I cannot imagine being fifteen years old and having Ron DeSantis issue press releases about me and my friends. It is a nightmare and that kid needs to get out.
If Daniel moves, I’ll never see him or his kids again and that’s okay, because I want his son to grow up somewhere safe. I want that kid out of South Florida and out of the culture war, and it’s not like there’s anywhere in this country that’s safer than Miami, for a kid with a brown-skinned brother and a Spanish last name and a crush on Malcolm Todd.
Eric in Chicago. He’s gay and he’s divorced from a man. He doesn’t look white or sound American. When he took the oath of citizenship, I was worried. “Are you sure you want to give up your Australian passport? That might be useful if this goes badly.”
Australians can keep both passports, so I stopped worrying and was happy for him. Then in February Eric called: he was packing his bug-out bag, just in case. He bought an extra fuel can for the car. Just in case.
Eric took the oath November 4th, registered to vote in the hallway outside the ceremony, and voted immediately, that afternoon. I know so many citizens who don’t bother to vote! Eric has been volunteering with the ACLU for years now, promoting civil liberties that he believes in whether he’ll get to enjoy them or not. Now that he’s finally a citizen, it looks like maybe….not.
I want Eric to be safe. I’ve always wanted him to be safe and happy and if he has to be safe and happy on the other side of the world then fine. I’ll miss him and it will be hard to schedule our weekly Zoom lunches but at least he’ll be okay. We talked through strategies for making an overland border crossing, if the airports are closed. Hair dye. Sunglasses. A camo jacket. An orange hat, or a red one.
Sarah in Cleveland. Her family came here as refugees in the 1920s, after WWI. They clawed their way into safety and security and home ownership; they couldn’t have owned land in the old country and their grandmother taught them never to sell, no matter what. But now they’re hunting for century-old paperwork, so they can go back.
Back to the old country. The old country is in Eastern Europe. They’ve never been there, don’t speak the language, and are the wrong religion but they’re looking for an escape. Any escape. Sarah’s kid is smart. Maybe her kid can get into college in Britain or Germany or France. That’s a lot of pressure to put on a kid, but we’re all feeling a lot of pressure these days.
Karen and Brenda in California. Karen is Black. Brenda is Asian. They’re married now and they’ve been building a life they love, but—they want to live, they want to live together, and they don’t want to live here. They’re making plans for a life in Schengen; they’re cancelling conventions and holiday plans because by next year, with luck, they’ll both be gone.
Di already left. She and her husband planned this for years and she’s written about it on her blog. Their departure wasn’t a sudden flight; she’s been answering questions from would-be expats for months. She’s the only person in this essay whose name I haven’t changed.
I do not intend to leave. I am white and I speak Broadcast English and I don’t look queer. I don’t have children. My life is my own, not owed to any one small person’s future.
I owe my life to all our children, and to all their futures, equally. I’m staying here, to make this place a little better. I owe the future that attempt.
I love my country. I believe we can be Reconstructed, and fulfill the promise of our history. I love my country and I want us to be better. I want to pay our old debts, and stop incurring new ones, and build a home that is fair and equal and good for everyone. I know it was my own ancestors, my own family, who broke this country. I will do everything I can to unbreak it.
I know I won’t live in that future myself. If I die old, still looking forward, it will be a blessing as well as a surprise. If I die like my ancestor did, still fighting for a better world, it will be an honor.
I love my country like I love my family and like I love these, my departing friends. As they leave, headed to faraway futures somewhere safer, my love goes with them. As the poet says, we carry each other’s hearts.
We are all walking, together and apart, from the known into the unknown. In one hand we carry our hopes, and in the other we carry our fears. Love is what keeps us moving forward.
I carry my love for my country into the future. It has nowhere else to go.