A letter from Canada, at the end of May

A walk in Parc Angrignon yesterday felt like a respite from the extremely difficult time in which we’re living. The world is screaming and yet so many are silenced, afraid of what will happen if they voice the truth or even simply say what they feel, as human beings. It’s a time when truth itself is under attack, as well as the institutions that teach people how to think critically, how to discern the truth for themselves, and express it in a coherent and rational way. A time when we are witnesses every single day to horrific violence perpetrated on the most innocent of victims, when sheer cruelty, corruption, utter disregard for the most vulnerable, and endless lies are becoming normalized. A time when being a journalist, a doctor, an aid worker, or a foreign student has never been more dangerous. A time when our own options for living with integrity seem smaller and smaller, and, as another Substack author writes, one longs for retreat from the madness:

Sometimes I fantasize about disappearing.

Not dying.

Just logging off.

Getting a job no one cares about.

Growing tomatoes.

Writing poems in the margins of a notebook no one reads.

Not as a failure.

But as a kind of freedom.

—Huy Nguyen

For those of us who do write, it becomes harder and harder to know what to say. My most immediate concerns are the welfare of those closest to me, wherever they live, and the necessity of protecting democracy and freedom here in Canada. In order to do that, I have to take care of myself first. I’ve been limiting my exposure to the news; I read it every day, but do not allow myself to get pulled into endless scrolling.

I had already cut my social media accounts in 2024, except for Instagram, where I have a community of artist friends, but now I check there once a day at most, and have been posting only rarely; I’m considering getting off completely. I no longer use Google as my browser, and all my email and messaging are on secure applications. My growing aversion is fueled partly by not wanting anything to do with the billionaire-owned companies that spy on us and use/sell our data both for commercial and government-related purposes, and partly because of fatigue with the endless, algorithm-based ads, but also because I get depressed seeing so much mindless material posted by other users. It’s discouraging to realize how many people are focused on trivialities, personal vanity, mass entertainment, and consumerism at a time like this — it’s an extension of the shock so many people felt at the results of the election, finally having to admit that a huge number of Americans had voted for the person they did. Now we realize that a great many have just tuned out: some are overwhelmed, but maybe really don’t seem to care, since the bad things aren’t happening (yet) to them or to people they know. Yet I also don’t want to be triggered into judgmental attitudes that only hurt me; everyone copes with life in their own ways, distraction is not only tempting but necessary at times, and it’s not easy right now for anyone.

Feeling helpless, however, is not an option for me. I may not be able to affect world politics in any large way, but I can take small daily actions and decisions as part of a collective resistance. The other day, looking at berries in a supermarket cooler, I was alongside a French Canadian man who kept picking up boxes of strawberries and putting them back. Finally he turned to me and said, in English, “I forgot my glasses and I’m trying to see where they’re from.” He handed me the box. “Produit des Etats-Unis,” I told him. “Merci. They can keep their freakin’ strawberries,” he said, turning on his heel and walking away, while I put two boxes of Mexican raspberries in my own cart. I see this behavior every time I go to the store, and wonder if Americans realize just how widely and deeply the feeling runs.

On a spiritual level, I can still allow myself to mourn, to meditate, and to hope for wisdom and a better future for humanity. I can allow the sorrow of the world to enter into me, and breathe it out with intention; I can find places of peace and solitude, for renewal. I can learn from history and feel solidarity with other artists and intellectuals who lived through very difficult periods of time. I can always be a better friend, participate in my chosen and familial communities with my full heart, and bring all of myself to my work and to the arts that I know are vital. I can choose what kind of person to be inside; no one has the power to take that away from me.

Lately I’ve been doing more music, and have been working as chair of the cathedral’s search committee for a new director of music. I’ve been taking care of my health as I heal up from my dental surgery and move on to the final phase of that nearly-year-long process. Along with walking (and the swimming I hope to get back to) I’ve added an exercise regimen with light hand weights that’s making me feel stronger, and will help protect my back. Reading and language practice continue to be important parts of my days.

Spring has finally come to Montreal, and we’re looking forward to some genuine warmth— the plants are out on the balcony, the herbs are tall enough to offer a sprig or two for cutting, and my studio windows look out, at last, on green trees. Instead of artwork, I’ve wanted to do something more concrete, so I’ve been sewing - more on that in another post. The work of making something tangible and practical, whether it’s a piece of clothing, a pot of edible plants, or a home-cooked meal, feels grounding. I only wish I could do it for those who have lost almost everything, and are suffering far more.