Renee Nicole Good. Fox non-news called her a “self-proclaimed poet.”

We are trained to listen to those with money, to those who are paid money by those with money to speak, to those who have been approved by those with money and given the right to publish words and earn money. Money equals audience. In many ways, money is our audience. We fight for its approval.

Self-proclaimed the equivalent of self-published. The self – which used to be personal, and is now used to make more money when attached to the words “help”, “improvement”, or “guided.” Self as a word when it is attached to proclaimed or published means that no one with money approved this message, allowed you a place in the society with a house, and a by-line, and influence. You didn’t pass the test. In many instances, you weren’t even allowed to take the test.

Self-proclaimed to say, “I’m not mad at you” and be killed for existing, for speaking out, for being a woman, for being different from a man with a gun who was given money by those with money to control those the people with money didn’t like.

He walks free.

Her child is lonely.

And some people say protesting is useless, not enough, never enough, why bother.

Today is the big protest. I was going to wait until afterwards to try and write something, but maybe its better to write anything, something right now. Even if the noise level is so high at the moment it almost feels as if to say something is to just shout, leaving behind a sound wave like fingernails on a chalkboard. Remember that sound? No, probably not.

Protesting is about combining voices. A band, a chorus. Something bigger than ourselves. Community.

Yet the webspaces are filled with people telling me not to protest. It’s a waste of time. It’s not what we need to do, it’s pointless, badly organized, etc. etc. Standing on a street corner as if that will help. Self-indulgent.

As if I don’t know  – in fact sometimes it seems the majority of people I do come across either don’t care or don’t believe in protesting. For some it’s a personal matter – fear of crowds. Others, depression and inertia. Others – they are busy – going out to do things with others who have money and can ignore for a little while longer any down turn. Others are young people who have been encouraged and find it easier to blame anyone older than they are, while riding on the coattails of those who did fight for rights they now take for granted. They are beginning to be astonished at the youthfulness of those not much older than they are. They may yet be astonished at what growing older themselves may show.

All these little factions. But there are those who will go out, even if it seems that it won’t help. Even if they’d rather not be near other people. They will try. Some will remember all the other protests – civil rights, women’s rights, Vietnam, no to racism, equal pay, LGTBQ, unions, AIDS, Iraq, no to Brexit, yes to clean water, air…

Again, a matter of hope drives any movement out the door to hold up a sign. As well as the certainty that an absence of protest would be seen as consent. Consent to being murdered in the streets by ICE, consent to have teenagers and now men and women up to age 42 sent to an illegal and ruinous war.

What was the slogan of the AIDS protesters in the 1980s –

Silence equals death.

There are a million critics. A million people telling us in a million different ways that our voices don’t really matter – AI will do it. Give up your imperfect voice and find approval. Learn or remember or relearn that the only people who matter are those who have power and influence and money.

Someone tried to lecture me the other day during what they called a $5 dollar therapy session. Was I offended? I suppose I was, but I did start out with hope. And I appreciate someone trying to help. But they got bogged down on the idea of doing things “right.” As though there was only one way of doing something, and if you went against that then your own willfulness was to blame.

Of course everything that someone says reflects how they see the world. Sometimes all that can be done is to draw a protective circle while pulling out any lessons that might emerge. And honor their effort. This person didn’t have to take any time at all to talk about anything. But they did.

We are all flawed, imperfect – whatever. But the solution is not a constant corrective towards correct action that leads to success. Because success in a society that worships money can only be defined as acceptance of rules that earn you money.

At this point, the compression factor of current circumstance is being twisted, like a press. We are being clamped down with illogic and danger, torment and sadness, corruption and complacency living in the same sentence as people report on evil while saying nothing about it. They can’t call out clues. They don’t point out illogic.

But they are paid to speak – so money gives their words a resonance that a regular voice does not have.

But is that true – or must it be true? Why don’t we listen to each other? We are all being driven mad by madmen who will destroy the world and not care. One would think we will be pressured into speech. Instead we are given prediction markets. Bet on your feelings. You might earn money.

Americans must understand how dangerous the current situation is and act in greater numbers than they do. For me, the fact that 29 percent or whatever poll has announced something today, approve of the government is terrifying. I walk past people who approve of racism and murder and graft. I talk to these people, even if I don’t know for certain who they are. At work, we are admonished not to discuss politics.

Someone with a sense of humor might say you can’t fix stupid.

But the rest of us are trying to make sense of chaos. Can you make sense of chaos?

I’ve recently learned that “chaos agent” in some circles is a good thing. It means you move fast – do things so quickly only those in the know will understand. Whatever they think chaos means, which in this instance appears to substitute the regular way of doing things for something new. In practice what it really means is that changing your mind at the last minute and having flunkies sweep up after you is exciting. Powerful.  

Meanwhile, Americans forget that the world is watching. They don’t think about the world. Half the country doesn’t have a passport. Half the country doesn’t leave this country. How pizza is made in different places is as cross-cultural as it gets. Like the ICE agents who were asked to leave the Mexican restaurant. Tone deaf? Untaught? Arrogant?

I saw a video put out apparently by Iran which used music and cartoons to mock the leadership of this country. One of the commenters was shocked. They should not do this, I can’t like this.

It’s always a shock when you see that the people you were told had no souls or intelligence do indeed have both. Which is why usually appealing to not harm children reminds everyone of a shared humanity. But America is now governed by someone who delighted in harming children.

Make sense of that, if you can.

So the commenter resented and was shocked by the cartoon, but unable to connect what it said to reality. It feels like that is where we all are being guided towards. We can comment on the cartoon, on the TV show, on the filmic propaganda, but we are told not to speak up about anything real, encouraged to disassociate from reality, can of beer in hand, watching mini shows about what we are supposed to buy. Underneath the messages, is the lack of space for any alternative. A commercial doesn’t have room for our voices. TV pundits don’t encourage discussion. And then we sink our heads back down to our phones, silenced. We’re not being paid for our thoughts, you see. Life has not led us to a pulpit or to an audience, or to success. Therefore, we are either told to watch what we say if we say anything, or that intermittent protest is the one outlet we have. Be sure to follow the rules. Don’t talk back. Don’t talk about politics at work.

I will go to my local protest, and maybe I will see people I know – and maybe I won’t.

But the activists of the 80s were right. Silence does equal death.

And so, imperfectly, I will continue to try and speak. Self-proclaimed poet, like my fellow citizen who was murdered.

There’s got to be more than this.