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Birds fly with their wings, people with their kin. ~ Armenian proverb

The other day as I was driving along a country road to my volunteer job at the used bookstore that raises funds for our local public library upstate, I listened to the news on NPR. By the time I arrived at my destination, after hearing story after story about violence, cruelty, and corruption, my nerves were jangling. In the shop, the manager, who was sorting through donations, handed me a ten-year-old non-fiction book about characters in American history who had been devoted to the ideas of democracy and decency. She said, “Do you think anyone will buy this or should we get rid of it?” I answered, “It’s about people trying not to do bad things, which could be instructive at this moment.”

Another thing that I find helpful in this troubling time is being out in the natural world among wildflowers, mushrooms, red newts, frogs, butterflies, and birds. And during spring migration, the birds are especially diverting.

On May 8^th I joined staff members of the Hawthorne Valley Farmscape Ecology Program (FEP) for a bird walk on their 900-acre farm in Columbia County, New York. The highlight of the walk was an open field where we saw six male Bobolinks in their spectacular black, white, and yellow breeding plumage. Bobolinks, who spend the winter in South America, have a 6,000-mile journey to return to their spring breeding grounds in North America. They make their nests on the ground in open fields and grasslands, and modern hay mowing practices have contributed to their annual 2% decline since 1966 in the U.S. Hawthorne Valley delays mowing in one large field to give the Bobolinks an opportunity to successfully breed.

Last week, at the height of spring migration, I went on three bird walks in Central Park: one with my friend and bird guide Gabriel Willow starting at the 81^st Street and Central Park West entrance, one with New York City Bird Alliance’s Tod Winston in the North Woods, and the third with The Linnaean Society of New York, also in the North Woods. Central Park is one of New York City’s top birding locations, particularly during spring migration when over 25 million birds fly over the city on their routes north. Many of them pause for a day or two in our area. As Tod told the Upper West Side Rag, “During migration, birds kind of funnel into New York City parks in this really high concentration, which is what makes New York City a world-renowned birding spot…” On Thursday with Tod, we saw 62 species of birds, including 5 Scarlet Tanagers, and an array of warblers, among them Blackburnian, Chestnut-Sided, Blackpoll, Magnolia, Hooded, Canada, Nashville, Tennessee, and Cape May.

How’s that for diversion?

Yours in struggle,

Nancy Kricorian

READ and LISTEN

I have been mentoring a young writer from Gaza named Sahar Rabah, who is currently enrolled in the creative writing master’s program at Trinity Dublin (she is one of 50+ students the Gaza Scholarship Initiative assisted with university applications that resulted in their evacuations to Ireland in August/September 2025). Earlier this month it was announced that Sahar had won the Calibre Essay Prize from the Australian Book Review. Her elegant, powerful, and devastating essay entitled “Between Reality and Dreams” is behind a paywall and if you would like me to send you a PDF, please let me know.

My novel THE BURNING HEART OF THE WORLD was featured in this list of works celebrating Armenian mothers and grandmothers.

On this episode of his podcast WHY IS THIS HAPPENING? Chris Hayes interviews cognitive scientist and UC Berkeley professor Alison Gopnik about intelligence, AI, and learning. Gopnik argues that a typical two-year-old routinely outsmarts the most advanced AI models.

I just finished reading and highly recommend Zayd Ayers Dohrn’s new book Dangerous, Dirty, Violent, & Young: A Fugitive Family in the Revolutionary Underground. It is a fascinating combination of family and social history about Dohrn’s parents Bernadine Dohrn and Bill Ayers, members of the radical revolutionary group The Weather Underground, and their lives and times. It expands on themes and materials that he used in his riveting 2022 podcast series MOTHER COUNTRY RADICALS.

Little by little the cotton is spun. ~ Armenian proverb

Every year on the 24^th of April, Armenians around the world commemorate the start of the Armenian Genocide in 1915. For me this date is firmly anchored in my memories of my Armenian grandmother and the congregation of the United Armenian Brethren Church that my grandfather helped to found. My survivor grandmother and the other survivors of her generation in our church, many of them having been orphaned as children, were carriers of a traumatic history that was rarely articulated, but which suffused our community. Their experiences of unspeakable mass violence, dispossession, and exile were passed to the next generations as both a burden and a legacy.

I have always felt that my commitment to fairness as a child and to justice and accountability as an adult are the fruits of having grown up in the Armenian community. In this violent and frightening time, each day I try to find one kind thing I can do or one cruel thing I can help undo. Sometimes I do this alone, but most times I am part of a group. And these small acts and the relationships we make as we do them are the best antidotes to despair.

Recommended viewing, reading, listening

In honor of Armenian Genocide Remembrance Day here is a short video about the history of the Armenian village of Anjar in Lebanon’s Bekaa Valley. It features my friend Antranik Dakessian.

As reported by LitHub, a collective of autonomous writers, artists, and musicians has launched the 92NO campaign to call on their colleagues to withhold their labor from the Arts and Culture Program of 92NY because of the institution’s support for war and genocide. You can follow 92NO on Instagram and X/Twitter.

My WANN mentee Taqwa Ahmed Alwawi wrote a searing piece for LitHub about scholasticide in Gaza.

This is must-read interview with Dr. Ghassan Abu Sittah about health sovereignty in Palestine.

This fascinating episode of the Psychic Militancy podcast features a discussion with Avgi Saktepoulou and Iris Hefets about the Palestine Global Mental Health Network’s call for all psychoanalysts of conscience to resign from the International Psychoanalytic Association.

Palantir posted a 22-point “Western” tech supremacist manifesto on X/Twitter the other day that was described as sounding like “the ramblings of a supervillain.”  Eliot Higgins of Belling the Cat had a good BlueSky thread in response, and Yanis Varoufakis offered a point by point translation. If you’re interested in taking action against this company that poses a threat to humanity, sign up for the Purge Palantir campaign. More information is available from the American Friends Service Committee.

I was impressed by Wikipedia’s guide to spotting AI generated writing, and if you want a short primer, you can watch this reel by Will Francis.

Nancy Kricorian

When the first crocuses appeared this year, I thought to myself, “We made it!” as though winter were a battle that we had survived. Now it’s April. The daffodils are blooming in Morningside Park, and the ornamental cherries are flaring their pink skirts along Central Park’s reservoir. I have never been a fan of practical jokes, hoaxes, or pranks, so April Fool’s Day is not a custom that I observe. April 1^st was, however, my Armenian grandmother’s chosen birthday. As an orphaned genocide survivor whose birthdate was inscribed in a lost family Bible, she knew neither the day nor the year of her birth. April brings spring showers, spring flowers, and in Armenian the word abril (ապրիլ) is both this month and the verb to live.

How do we live in this dystopian moment when mere minutes of reading the headlines is like sprinting through a raging fire? While walking down the avenue, I am struck by how normal and peaceful everything appears even as I am carrying with me the knowledge of the mass murder of schoolgirls in Iran, the targeting of journalists, medics, and other civilians in Lebanon, and the ongoing genocide against the people of Palestine. And then there are the domestic horrors. So, after I register all of this, I must find something doable and I must do it. I know you have heard this from me before, but I literally repeat these phrases in my head each day, sometimes more than once: The only recognizable feature of hope is action (Grace Paley); Choose your lane, find your people (Mariame Kaba); Freedom is a constant struggle (Angela Davis).

My WANN mentee Nadera wrote a beautiful, sad piece about celebrating Ramadan before and after the genocide. I’ve been going to weekly meetings of our neighborhood deportation defense rapid response (DDRR) group. I have also been working with the DSA-NYC Immigrant Justice Working Group and its efforts with the Purge Palantir coalition. I did some preliminary campaign research on Palantir—truly the stuff of nightmares. (If you want to see my draft research document, let me know and I’ll send it to you, but in the meantime, check out Palantir CEO Alex Karp’s latest shenanigans.) There was some good news this week as the New York City Health and Hospitals Corporation announced they would not be renewing their contact with Palantir when it comes to an end in October. On another front, I’m collaborating with an autonomous group of fierce and clever writers on a campaign to hold a major cultural institution to account. We are finding moments of satisfaction, and, dare I say, joy in our work together.

Gathering in the real world with friends and family is another way of fostering light in dark times. James and I recently hosted a launch party for our friend Tim Mitchell’s brilliant new book The Alibi of Capital. In February, we restarted our old tradition of a monthly Sunday brunch. At our second gathering in March, as I looked around the table at our friends, I remembered lines from The Elder Edda (as translated from the Icelandic by Paul B. Taylor and W.H. Auden):

If you know a friend you can truly trust,

And wish for his good will,

Exchange thoughts, exchange gifts,

Go often to his house.

Finding these moments of connection make the work possible.

Yours in struggle,

Nancy

READ, LISTEN, LOOK

On March 13, The Burning Heart of the World was knocked out in the first round the Tournament of Books, but the judge’s reasoning and the conversation below were interesting. On March 27, I lost in the Zombie round, but there was some laudatory commentary.

In the good news department, a federal court has found that Columbia University may have acted as a government instrument to suppress Palestinian advocacy in violation of the First Amendment. This finding means the suit will go to discovery and all those emails between the craven trustees and their sketchy congressional partners will become public.

Via Mondoweiss Psychoanalysts are Resigning from the International Psychoanalytical Association over Its Anti-Palestinian Double Standard. Dr. Avgi Saketopoulou, a New York analyst and theorist, named something rarely spoken publicly: that the IPA’s silence has ‘created a permissive professional atmosphere in which Zionist analysts feel entitled to eruptions — saying racist and discriminatory things to their patients and supervisees — both in the consulting room and on our email lists.’

Arundhati Roy on the war against Iran: Any regimes that need changing, including the US, Israel, and ours, need to be changed by the people, not by some bloated, lying, cheating, greedy, resource-grabbing, bomb-dropping imperial power and its allies who are trying to bully the whole world into submission.

We Live in a Time of Monsters—a message from Beirut by Lina Mounzer: But we have learned from Gaza that there is no rule of law, and there are no repercussions for the crimes of the powerful.

Listen to the brilliant Aslı Ü. Bâli via Jewish Currents’ On the Nose Podcast.

Via Instagram. Enjoy these Heated Rivalry themed posters from 28 March No Kings Day. And take the Heated Rivalry Quiz (should I be proud or embarrassed to say that I knew all the answers?).

Nancy Kricorian

Last month I went on a two-week journey to Colombia, the highlight of which was a nine-day birding trip that departed from Barranquilla and went through the Sierra Madre Mountains and to the Guajira Peninsula. In the cloud forest and on the Caribbean coast we got up before dawn to go in search of rare and endemic birds, including the Sapphire-bellied Hummingbird and the critically endangered Blue-Billed Curassow. In addition to hundreds of species of birds, we also saw Howler Monkeys, Cotton-Topped Tamarins, a vast array of wildflowers, and dozens of butterflies. I knew that Colombia was one of the most biodiverse places on earth, but to see the variety of flora and fauna was an absolute delight and a welcome distraction.

When I arrived home on February 3, a sense of dread overtook me. Now each time that I look at the headlines about the rampage of the horsemen of the apocalypse, I think of all the suffering they are unleashing, and my heart is torn to shreds. I feel like a tiny piece of flotsam in a raging sea and want to sink to the ocean floor. Then I take a deep, slow breath and think, I can’t let them paralyze me with grief and rage. That’s what they want. They want us to feel powerless in the face of their cruel, venal wrecking machine. But we have an obligation to ourselves and to each other to take meaningful action.

Daily I repeat the mottos that help me keep me afloat in these turbulent times.

The only recognizable feature of hope is action.

~ Grace Paley

Choose your lane, find your people.

~ Mariam Kaba

Freedom is a constant struggle.

~ Angela Davis

The voice of the people is louder than the roar of the cannon.

~ Armenian proverb

I have been volunteering with The Ark Immigration Clinic at CBST, and continuing my mentoring of young writers in and from Palestine via We Are Not Numbers and the Gaza Scholarship Initiative. I’m also trying to figure out what else to do locally to mitigate the worst effects of the horsemen, and have been feeling inspired by the organizing of the Columbia County Sanctuary Movement and For The Many in the Hudson Valley. The Working Families Party is also doing great work.

On a recent Substack post entitled You’re Not a Superhero, Joshua P. Hill of New Means put it beautifully:

You don’t need to save the world, you can’t save the world, but together we can move in that direction. It takes thousands and millions of us doing what we can taking the steps in front of us, reaching out to connect with others and to expand the actions we can collectively take and the power we can collectively wield.

In recent podcast interview (see below for link), the ACLU’s Chase Strangio said in a similar vein, If I could have listeners remember one thing, it is that our power grows when we are in solidarity with each other. Right now, there is a sense of collective exhaustion, fear, and not knowing where to turn. But the single thing we can do is build power with one another. And then my action item is to go take a risk for somebody who has less power than you do.

My literary mentee and friend Sahar in Gaza, who has been struggling with despair herself, reacted to my angst about the sociopaths at the helm of the U.S. government by sending me this message:

They won’t be able to steal our hope and our strength. We will weaken and grieve at times, but we will always get back up, right?

Yes, my dear wise Sahar. We will always get back up.

Yours in struggle,

Nancy Kricorian

RECOMMENDED READING

I received a lovely prepublication review of THE BURNING HEART OF THE WORLD by Eleanor Bader on New Pages. The official publication date is April 1, and you can preorder the book here.

Great piece by M. Gessen in the New York Times entitled The Barrage of Trump’s Awful Ideas Is Doing Exactly What It is Supposed to Do.

Check out this investigative piece from The Intercept about a WhatsApp group started by some members of Columbia Alumni for Israel and their efforts to get students who protested against the genocide in Gaza arrested and/or deported.

RECOMMENDED LISTENING

This Makdisi Street podcast interview with Aslı Bâli, Professor of Law at Yale Law School and President of the Middle East Studies Association, is absolutely brilliant.

Listen to the ACLU’s Chase Strangio in conversation with W. Kamau Bell discussing the current state of LGBTQIA+ rights across the country.

Listen to a beautiful new song from Lebanese singer-songwriter Yasmine Hamdan.

I woke up this morning with these words reverberating in my head.

When we humans are gone, having pulverized each other and made the planet uninhabitable for our kind, this lichen will still be growing on its rock in the forest, thinking, Finally we can live in peace.

When I shared these words with my friend the mycologist, she said, “Knowing the fungi will inherit the earth brings me peace.”

Nancy Kricorian

The past few days I’ve been saddened and appalled by the Turkish invasion of the Kurdish region of northeastern Syria. When I see in the news the name Ras al-Ain, a place that was bombed by Turkey yesterday, my heart clenches. Ras al-Ain was where my grandmother ended up in a tent camp, along with eight thousand other Armenian orphans, after the death marches of 1915. This most recent U.S. betrayal of the Kurds is seemingly the result of an impetuous decision by Trump on a phone call with Turkey’s president. I thought of the Kurdish proverb, “Kurds have no friends but the mountains.” The Turkish assault will likely bring an end to the Rojava experiment in democracy, and could well result in the resurgence of the Islamic State in the area. When I read that Armenian-inhabited areas of Syria had come under attack, I thought of the Armenian proverb, “Land of Armenians, land of sorrows.” By the end of Thursday, it was reported that most of the Armenian families had relocated from the conflict areas.

Many, including Republican U.S. Senators, the Armenian government, The European Union, and others, have denounced the Turkish incursion, recognizing it as an attempt to drive out the Kurds and repopulate the area with Syrian Arab refugees, who are increasingly unpopular in Turkey. When questioned about the Turkish offensive, euphemistically dubbed “Operation Peace Spring,” and the heavy losses the Kurdish people will likely suffer, Trump said that the Kurds had never helped us in World War II, “they didn’t help us in Normandy,” therefore he wasn’t worried about it.

In response to widespread denunciation, Turkish President Erdogan lashed out at his EU critics, threatening to allow millions of Syrian refugees to “flood Europe.” As Ronan Burtenshaw, editor of The Tribune in the UK, pointed out on Twitter, “The EU has no moral high ground on this issue—it did a grubby refugee deal with Erdogan, leaving hundreds of thousands of people in his camps. Now he can use them to threaten us, and deliver talking points for the Far-Right in the process. Reap what you sow.”

The whole thing is gutting and infuriating, and with the garbage mountain of cruelty piling up around us on all sides and with regard to so many issues and causes, it’s hard to know what to do but sputter with helplessness and rage. But there are things to do—demonstrations to organize and attend, electoral campaigns to work on, and ways to help those in our communities targeted for harm. There’s another Armenian proverb I like to remember: “The voice of the people is louder than the roar of the cannon.”

Nancy Kricorian

“Words from the Family”: Eulogy delivered on 23 July 2018

I want to thank Pastor Calvin Choi and the congregation of the Watertown Evangelical Church for welcoming us all here today to honor the memory of my father, Ed Kricorian. I want also to thank them for the warm and loving community that they have provided to my parents over the years.

Armenian Genocide survivors founded this church in 1937. It was then called the Armenian Brethren Church, and my grandparents Leo and Mary Kricorian were among its founding members. My father and his siblings grew up in this church, as did my sister and I. My grandfather’s funeral service took place here in 1962, and my grandmother’s in 1985. And we are here again today to say farewell to my father.

My father started driving the delivery truck for his father’s Lincoln Market when he was ten years old and could barely see over the steering wheel. He loved driving, and it was a hardship to him this past year when his poor health meant that he could no longer be behind the wheel. He never admitted that he wouldn’t drive again; he just said, “I’m not driving right now.” When he was no longer steady on his feet, we bought him a top-of-the-line walker, and after he got over his initial reluctance about using it in public, he called it the Lamborghini and offered passersby a chance to take it for a spin for a mere dollar. When he needed a transport chair, he called it the Cadillac Eldorado. And when a few months ago, he needed a mobility scooter, this he called the Rolls Royce.

In May my father was hospitalized for five days, and when he came home he was unable to walk. The physical therapist told him that if he worked hard enough and could walk down the hall to the elevator, and then walk through the garage to get to his Rolls, he could take it for a spin. This was Eddie’s goal, and despite the pain in his legs and his shortness of breath, he was determined that he would drive the Rolls again.

And he did. On the Thursday before he died, my dad took the Rolls out, with Calvin trotting at his side, and they came over to the church to see the finally finished new steps, steps that were sadly impossible for him to climb. My dad wanted more than anything to come inside this church again. He said to Calvin, “Do you think some of the guys could help me up the stairs?” Calvin said, “Sure, Eddie. And if they can’t, I’ll put you on my back and carry you up myself.”

My father had been praying for God to take him home since last October. He said he was ready to go, but I think he wasn’t quite ready until this month. He wanted to celebrate his 60^th wedding anniversary with my mother, whose devotion he treasured and whom he adored. They marked that milestone in April. And he wanted the reconstruction of the church steps to be completed so his service could be held in this sanctuary. He had said on more than one occasion that he prayed he could go to sleep, and then open his eyes in heaven. On Friday, July 13, he fell asleep in his recliner and that’s exactly what happened.

We all miss him—his kindness, his stubbornness, his harmonica playing, his funny stories, and the messages he wrote for us on bananas and melons. But he’s not suffering any more, and as the Armenian proverb puts it,

The water goes, the sand remains; the person dies, the memory stays.

–

Nancy Kricorian

It’s finally spring here in New York City. The appearance of the early spring flowers—crocuses, Lenten roses, daffodils, and hyacinths—makes me feel that there is hope. Hope for what? On the absolutely mundane level, it is a belief that the tulips will open very soon, and that after them the lilacs will appear. It reminds me of the Armenian proverb, “The sun will rise whether the rooster crows or not.”

When I walk the dogs early in the morning now, the trees are alive with birdsong. I recognize the songs of the cardinals, the robins, and the blue jays. I hear other songs that my sadly unmusical hear has not yet learned to identify, but I’ll be starting up again with my NYC Audubon classes next week and will expand my repertoire.

When I write to or talk with friends now, asking them how they are doing, I say, “Aside from the devastating political dumpster fire in which we are living, I hope you and yours are okay.” How do we do this? How do we wake up each morning to ever more cruelty, venality, and greed—each time I think we’ve hit rock bottom, I’m stunned to learn that it’s possible to go lower still—and still manage to go on with our daily routines? I have to count myself among the lucky ones who can carry on with my work and my relationships in relative peace while the unlucky ones, to paraphrase Wally Shawn, who are undocumented, or poor, or live in a country devastated by our wars and occupations, are struggling mightily. I hope for us all that we can organize to vote a bunch of these jerks out of office in the fall before they do even more damage.

These are sources of solace: flowers, birds, knitting, baking, walking, reading, talking with friends, and doing one act of resistance each day—phone call, letter, political organizing meeting, sanctuary accompaniment, street demonstration, donation, or a spontaneous gesture of kindness. May we all find moments of happiness and satisfaction that will give us energy for the work ahead.

Nancy Kricorian

New York City 2018

When I arrived in Beirut on the evening of October 27, I took a taxi to Baffa House, a guesthouse in Mar Mikhael where I would be staying for two weeks. The goal of my trip was to become familiar enough with the nearby Armenian neighborhoods of Bourj Hammoud and Nor Hadjin where the characters in the novel I’m currently writing reside so that I could thoroughly inhabit those streets, buildings, schools, and churches in my imagination. I had started writing the novel, but then got stuck. I wrote a scene in which Vera Serinossian, the narrator and protagonist, was walking from her school in the Armenian “suburb” of Bourj Hammoud, a 1.5 square kilometer municipality just outside Beirut city limits, to her home in Nor Hadjin, a small Armenian neighborhood of about four square blocks on the other side of the river within Beirut’s boundaries. As she was crossing the bridge, Vera sees an elderly Arab man lying dead on the pavement. He has a sniper’s bullet hole in his forehead.

After I wrote this scene, during an interview that I conducted at the end of this past summer with someone who had lived the war years within these precincts, I had been told that this bridge between Bourj Hammoud and Nor Hadjin was called “The Death Bridge” because of the snipers that targeted people who crossed it. The Phalangist militia was on the hill of Ashrafiyeh within shooting range, and to the north the Leftists and later Syrian troops posed a similar danger. It occurred to me that my idea of having my family cross that bridge from home to school and back on a daily basis during the war years might make no sense. I needed to go to Beirut to find out.

The guesthouse in Mar Mikhael was a five-minute walk from Nor Hadjin and Khalil Badawi, another Armenian neighborhood adjacent to Hadjin. It was another ten minutes on foot to Bourj Hammoud. So each day of my stay I walked those neighborhoods. Through my network of Armenian friends in Beirut and in America, I had the good fortune to meet and to interview a host of people who had lived through the war years and had stories they were willing to share. I met the editor of the Ararat Daily Newspaper who told me about the night the Phalangists had set off a bomb in the newspaper’s offices in 1978. I visited Dr. Garo, the sole physician in Nor Hadjin, who had treated everyone from survivors of the Karantina Massacre to wounded Palestinian fighters in Naba’a to local Armenians who had been injured during various rounds of shelling. I interviewed the principals of two Armenian Evangelical schools—the Gertmenian School in Nor Hadjin and the Central High School in Ashrafiyeh. I attended Sunday services at Sourp Kevork Church in Nor Hadjin.

My friend Antranig, who grew up in Nor Hadjin, gave me a tour of the neighborhood, pointing out the ironwork on the facades of some of the houses, knocking on doors so he could show me the beautiful original tile work in some of the apartments, and explaining how Nor Hadjin had been a completely self-contained Armenian village within Beirut. “We had everything we needed. There were three schools, a church, a dispensary, grocery stores, a compatriotic union, and all kinds of artisans and craftsmen. The only thing missing in the early days was a confectioner, so the leaders of Hadjin convinced one to move from Ashrafiyeh to open a sweet shop.”

He also told me a story about the Death Bridge. During a ceasefire, Antranig and his friend took bikes and crossed the bridge to Bourj Hammoud. The two teenagers had just made it to Bourj Hammoud when shooting broke out between the Syrians and the Khataeb (Phalangists). The boys ditched their bikes and jumped into a building where they waited out the shooting, which went on for over five hours.

Antranig’s father, who could make out the bridge from his balcony in Nor Hadjin, called a friend in Bourj Hammoud to find out what had happened. There were dead bodies on the bridge, he was told. So he went down to the bridge to check the bodies to make sure his son was not among them.

By the end of my two weeks in Beirut, I had accomplished what I had set out to do. The Serinossians would not be crossing the Death Bridge on a daily basis. I had decided to situate my family in the small, self-contained neighborhood of Nor Hadjin, with extended family living across the river in Bourj Hammoud. I had determined which school the children attended, the church in which the family worshipped, and even the house in which they lived. In addition, like a bird assembling twigs, twine, and grasses for a nest, I had collected dozens of anecdotes, stories, and historical details that would help me in pushing forward with the novel.

—

Nancy Kricorian

In the wake of the demoralizing election results and the terrifying prospect of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse taking over the government of this country, in our household we are attempting to institute a “harm reduction” program where we limit our intake of news and social media to certain hours of the day. Long walks also help, and reading classic fiction. I found some solace in this list of 25 Works of Poetry and Fiction to Inspire Resistance, and in talking with other politically engaged friends about what our next steps should be.

In the “Know Your Enemy” department, if you haven’t already, please take a look at the Hollywood Reporter’s interview with “Trump strategist” Steve Bannon. Mike Davis’s analysis of the election results is useful, as is Robin Kelley’s After Trump, which provides analysis as well as recommendations for action. Public Books have compiled a list of ways to get involved in the resistance.

Charles M. Blow, a columnist for the New York Times, wrote a sizzling piece entitled No, Mr. Trump, We Can’t Just Get Along, penned after Donald Trump’s meeting with Blow’s colleagues. It is well worth reading the entire column, but this was a highlight:

“I will say proudly and happily that I was not present at this meeting. The very idea of sitting across the table from a demagogue who preyed on racial, ethnic and religious hostilities and treating him with decorum and social grace fills me with disgust, to the point of overflowing. Let me tell you here where I stand on your ‘I hope we can all get along’ plea: Never.”

Masha Gessen, a Russian and American journalist and author, has written two eloquent and angry post-election pieces for the New York Review of Books in which she warns against “normalization” of the incoming administration. In the first, entitled Autocracy: Rules for Survival, she uses her experience in Putin’s Russia to recommend a course of action for the looming Trump Presidency. The second, Trump: The Choice We Face, recounts her great-grandfather’s experience in the Bialystok ghetto during World War II as a grim example of what happens when one makes accommodations with a reprehensible regime. One of history’s lessons, she says, is that “the people who wanted to keep the people fed ended up compiling lists of their neighbors to be killed.”

As I’m talking with other organizers and activists about how we create stronger coalitions and build new vehicles for organizing, I came across this heartening piece by Michael Hardt and Sandro Mezzadra about The Power of the Movements Facing Trump. They conclude:

“So, yes, every time the Trump government does or says something outrageous, go out in the streets in protest — and take your friends, and your parents, and anyone else you can find. There will be plenty of occasions. But behind the protests there must be a complex web of relations that extend both horizontally — that is, intersectionally, and in coalition across the various movements — and vertically, beyond the local and even the national to form relations and alliances with movements elsewhere. That is the only sound foundation for eventually transforming the many discrete protests into an effective and lasting project for social transformation.”

One of the movements cited in Hardt and Mezzadra’s piece is The Standing Rock Sioux’s encampment and protests against the Dakota Access Pipeline. The water protectors have received an outpouring of support from around the country, and will continue to need our solidarity in the coming weeks. Check out a list of ways to donate, as well as the #StandingRockSyllabus created by NYC Stands With Standing Rock.

I’ve been thinking a great deal about an old Armenian proverb: The voice of the people is louder than the roar of the cannon. In the current moment, the job seems to be to amplify the voice of the humane in the human.

Nancy Kricorian

New York City