His immense self-pity, his demand for sympathy poured and spread itself in pools at her feet, and all she did, miserable sinner that she was, was to draw her skirts a little closer round her ankles, lest she should get wet. In complete silence she stood there, grasping her paint brush.
~ Lily Briscoe’s response to Mr. Ramsay in Virginia Woolf’s To The Lighthouse
I’ve been thinking of this scene from To The Lighthouse, a novel that I have read at least a half dozen times, as the horsemen of the apocalypse continue their erratic assaults on all our systems and institutions. Of course, their doings are more depraved and destructive than Mr. Ramsay’s patriarchal self-pity and narcissism, but there is much to learn from Lily Briscoe’s refusal, her drawing her skirts closer to her ankles, and holding onto her paint brush as a tool and a weapon.
What is pooling at our feet is not water, but shit, because as Steve Bannon had recommended, they are spreading the stuff with great abandon. “The Democrats don’t matter,” Bannon told writer Michael Lewis in 2018. “The real opposition is the media. And the way to deal with them is to flood the zone with shit.”
Journalists are kept busy writing about the latest outrage, and the rest of us are barely able to react to one horrible news item before the next one appears. As AOC put it in a February Instagram live: “It’s important for you to understand that the paralysis and shock that you feel right now is the point,” she continued. “They are trying to induce a state of passivity among the general public.”
We must pay attention to what they are doing, but we can’t afford to let them overwhelm us with their crap to the point that we are paralyzed. I glance at the headlines, read various newsletters on topics that concern me, and check out the social media feeds of trusted sources who cover Palestine, the academy, immigration, climate catastrophe, abortion, and policing. During the horsemen’s last reign, a friend recommended a daily roundup curated by Matt Kiser called WTF Just Happened Today, and I find it particularly helpful—Kiser reads the day’s political news and starts with “what happened today in one sentence.” Below that are paragraphs with links going into more depth for those who are interested.
In addition to keeping abreast of the news (without being inundated), I try to push back against their cruelty in the way that I can each day. It’s up to each of us to decide what we care most about and to find the best people working on that issue and then to act. When people ask my spouse James what they should do in the face of the genocide in Gaza or any of the other depredations we are witnessing, he replies, “Do something.”
Yours in struggle,
Nancy K
READ & LISTEN
A long, thoughtful, and essential piece by Taner Akcam about the crisis in Holocaust and Genocide Studies brought about by the genocidal campaign in Gaza.
Publisher’s Weekly finally ran a review of THE BURNING HEART OF THE WORLD, saying, “…the lyrical latest from Nancy Kricorian…is an impactful story of trauma.”
A piece that I wrote about the Armenian genocide, Gaza, and Columbia that was published on April 24 by YES Magazine.
James’s speech at the 25-hour Columbia Speak Out (his is the second one).
I recorded a Podcast interview with Meat for Tea, and did a print interview with LibraryThing in which I discuss my research process, the female bildungsroman, and things Armenian.
As many of you know, my spouse James teaches at Columbia University, which has again been much in the news. Things have been moving so fast that it’s hard to keep up with a situation that grows ever more dire. On Friday, March 7 when the Horsemen of the Apocalypse announced that Columbia would be losing $400 million in federal research funding, with much of this loss hitting the medical school, James wrote a letter to his fellow Jewish faculty that was subsequently published on LitHub. The ostensible reason for the government’s ire was rampant antisemitism on the Columbia campus. Let us be clear, an administration whose members have been giving Nazi salutes and empowering known white nationalists does not care about actual antisemitism. They are using these charges as a sort of Trojan horse to muscle their way onto campuses to quash dissent and to stage a hostile takeover. They want to do to higher education in America, starting with Columbia, what DeSantis did to New College in Florida. The Education Department sent warning letters to 60 colleges and universities that they are being investigated for antisemitism, using a definition of the term that conflates antizionism with antisemitism and characterizes protest against genocide as illegal support for a U.S.-designated terrorist organization. And at the end of last week they sent a letter to Columbia that was a hodgepodge of wild demands. Meanwhile, the Columbia Jewish Alumni Association and far-right Betar U.S., the latter of which created and shared with the horsemen a list of students they want targeted for deportation, are at the very least cheering from the sidelines.
The day after James penned his letter, Department of Homeland Security plainclothes officers followed a recently graduated Columbia grad student named Mahmoud Khalil into his university housing, effectively kidnapping him in front of his pregnant and horrified wife, who filmed the proceedings on her phone. By Sunday evening, he had been, without due process, whisked to an ICE detention facility in Louisiana and stripped of his residency status. He is not accused of any crime—he is being targeted because of his role as a mediator in the anti-genocide protests on the campus and statements he has made against the carnage in Gaza. The Center for Constitutional Rights, the ACLU, and CUNY Clear attorneys are representing Mahmoud Khalil in his fight against his incarceration and possible deportation. A federal judge issued a stay preventing his removal while the case is adjudicated.
Last Monday afternoon Columbia faculty held a press conference in support of Mahmoud and denouncing the university administration’s draconian punishments against student protesters. Professor Marianne Hirsch, who is a Holocaust scholar and the child of survivors, gave a moving and impassioned speech about growing up in a totalitarian dictatorship in Romania and the echoes of that experience in Mahmoud’s mistreatment. Professor Nadia Abu El-Haj spoke about the twisted notion of campus “safety” that has been employed by people who don’t want students protesting what is happening in Gaza and the West Bank, and about the fact that it is Mahmoud Khalil who is not safe.
On Thursday, the phenomenal organizers of Jewish Voice for Peace and JVP NYC staged a mass civil disobedience action in Trump Tower in Midtown Manhattan calling for the release of Mahmoud Khalil. Among their banners were ones saying: FIGHT NAZIS, NOT STUDENTS; JEWS FOR PALESTINIAN FREEDOM; and NEVER AGAIN FOR ANYONE. I was unable to join them because I was home sick with COVID (another story), but James was there, and was quoted in the New York Times coverage:
James Schamus, a Columbia professor who participated in the protest and is Jewish, said he thought the notion that the campus was “somehow a hotbed of antisemitic intolerance” was ridiculous.
“We all know that if anything, Columbia is a hotbed of students raising their voice and conscience, and in protest against the inhumane policies that this regime is imposing,” he said.
Since the start of the genocide in Gaza, this has been a fight with two fronts—one struggle is to stop the mass violence against civilians being carried out with our tax dollars and with the full participation of our government, and the second is to resist the repression of political dissent in this country. To be clear, the Biden Administration’s full throttle support for Israel’s murderous campaign in Gaza, coupled with its demonization of the student protests, set the stage for what we are seeing now.
It’s a scary time—they are doxxing, harassing, and targeting individuals to cow the rest of us into submission. One of our neighbors, a brilliant Columbia research scientist named Jennifer Manly, was just denounced on the front page of the New York Post. As another of our neighbors put it in a group email, “Their attack on her shows how little any of this has to do with antisemitism or even with Gaza. This one is just a straight up attack on Jen’s work on race and the social determinants of health.” They are out to destroy livelihoods and lives, as was done during the McCarthy era. Keeping in mind relative risk and relative privilege, we must all do what we can to protect each other and to stand for what we know is right.
Nancy Kricorian
*
LISTEN
An excellent episode of The Dig podcast, featuring Olúfẹ́mi O. Táíwò, Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor and Mike McCarthy on the MAGA and DOGE war on woke. It’s LONG, but the first hour is particularly good, and I found Keeanga’s trenchant analysis to be helpful.
Interview with the ever-brilliant Palestinian novelist Adana Shibli.
Muskism and McCarthyism: Fascinating discussion with political science professor Corey Robin about fear in the workplace. “Fear is an amplification method. Governments only have a certain level of coercive power; they can’t map, let along control, all of society. What they can do is use fear to extend the coercive power they do have further than it might otherwise god. Fear, then, is a way of getting people to do what you want them to do, without having to exercise the coercive power that might otherwise be necessary to get them to do it.”
The official publication date of my new novel THE BURNING HEART OF THE WORLD is April 1, but friends have told me they are already receiving their preordered copies. Nanore Barsoumian wrote a beautiful and thoughtful review in The Armenian Weekly. Library Journal said, This is a fast-moving, relatable story that would be a good addition to a historical fiction section or fiction of special interest to women. Fans of Lisa Wingate and Chris Bohjalian will also enjoy it.
The first phase of the Gaza ceasefire started on Sunday, and my friends in Gaza experienced the relief of knowing that they had survived fifteen months of a relentless and brutal military campaign against them. One friend went to the shore for the first time in months without fear of being killed by a drone or a quadcopter. Another said they felt joy akin to that of a national holiday, despite the devastating losses that they were still reckoning with. Much is still unknown about what comes next, but there is hope and there will be nights without the constant sounds of missiles, rockets, and drones. I have heard that Trump may force Netanyahu to stick to the phased agreement because Trump, ever in competition with Obama, wants a Nobel Peace Prize and he also wants a deal between Saudi and Israel. Trump has no ideological commitments, unlike Biden who is an avowed Zionist, and perhaps in this case his self-interest will result in something less horrible. May Gaza rise like a phoenix from these ashes and mounds of rubble.
With the ascendancy of Trump and his horsemen of the apocalypse, I’m going to take my news in controlled daily doses. They want us exhausted and demoralized, so we’re going to have to pace ourselves for the hard work ahead.
In other news, when esteemed fiction writer and Nobel laureate Alice Munro died in May 2024, the obituaries were full of praise and the remembrances were glowing. In July, Munro’s daughter Andrea Robin Skinner published a piece entitled, “My Stepdad Abused Me. My Mother Chose to Stay with Him” that reverberated like a bombshell throughout the literary world. Skinner detailed the sexual assault she suffered at the hands of Munro’s second husband and the woefully inadequate way that her parents responded to the abuse when they learned about it, her father months after the incident and her mother years later.
In the 80’s and 90’s, Munro had been one of my favorite writers, and I still have my copies of her books on the shelf. When I read her 1994 Paris Review interview, I had copied out a few lines that I loved into my book of quotations.
I’m doing less personal writing now than I used to for a very simple obvious reason. You use up your childhood, unless you’re able, like William Maxwell, to keep going back and finding wonderful new levels in it. The deep, personal material of the latter half of your life is your children. You can write about your parents when they’re gone, but your children are still going to be here, and you’re going to want them to come and visit you in the nursing home.Maybe it’s advisable to move on to writing those stories that are more observation.
In December, heavily researched pieces about the deeply disturbing story of her daughter’s abuse and Munro’s reactions to it, including ways the writer plumbed the experience in her fiction, were published in The New York Times, The New York Review of Books, and The New Yorker. Writers took to social media to express their dismay and disappointment about someone they had considered to be a literary model, and there were a number of articles about how this new knowledge informs readings of her work.
Last week, New York Magazine dropped an article entitled “There is No Safe Word” about writer Neil Gaiman’s years of sexual predation, which he denied in a statement that I found less than convincing. His former spouse Amanda Palmer didn’t come off too well either. I wish I hadn’t encountered some of the grim details described in the piece, and you might want to read about the article rather than reading the thing itself.
What are we to do about the work we admire by people that we discover have done hideous things? Cultural critic Glen Wheldon has decided to keep past books, but not to engage with future work (which is not an option with Munro, who is no longer alive and writing). I often think about Louis Ferdinand Celine, whose vertiginous and compelling 1932 novel Voyage Au Bout de La Nuit I read and loved when I was a grad student in Paris. How to reconcile the fact that this brilliant author also wrote virulently anti-Semitic pamphlets and embraced fascism? In the New Yorker, Adam Gopnik claims that, “You can’t separate what’s powerful about his writing from his vile anti-Semitism.” He goes on to suggest that the work and the man require a compound response: “an ability to admire, a refusal to censor, and a readiness to condemn.” I find myself, in this rare instance, agreeing with him.
Yours in struggle,
Nancy Kricorian
Recommended reading
Mohammed El-Kurd’s new book PERFECT VICTIMS will be published by Haymarket Books on February 11, and you can pre-order a copy here.
An excellent piece by Jane Partizpanyan via the Armenian Weekly about Genocide in Gaza, a media cover-up, and our moral obligation as Armenians.
Also from the Armenian Weekly, Armenian Women Bake Bread and Hope: “…during the blockade, we understood what bread truly means — standing in line all night for just one loaf and returning home empty-handed without knowing how to feed our children.”
Samia Saliba has made a list of 31 recommended SWANA books being published in the first half of 2025, and my novel THE BURNING HEART OF THE WORLD (which can be preordered here) is included.
Recommended viewing
Wonderful lecture on the origins of Armenian-American music by Ara Dinkjian via Houshamadyan.
After the dismal, if predictable, election results, I am trying not to get sucked into the vortex of constant doom scrolling. The incoming administration’s motto seems to be “A fox in every henhouse,” and they want us shocked and incapacitated. The fascist clown car is coming for us all, with immigrants at the top of the list for unspeakable cruelty. We’re going to be running around putting out fires on every corner, and it really has an end of empire vibe. Perhaps the scariest prospect is their plan for an extractavist carnival when we have such a short time to turn climate catastrophe around. Everyone I know is thinking about how best to organize for resistance—I keep hearing Mariam Kaba’s advice: “Choose your lane, find your people.” I will continue working on Palestine and immigrant justice, lanes where I have connections, some knowledge, and a few skills.
I am still mentoring three young writers in and from Gaza—two are still in Gaza (one in the north where starvation is rampant and ethnic cleansing is underway, and one in central Gaza where regular missile attacks and food scarcity hold sway) and the third escaped to Malaysia. Each morning, I check my messages to make sure they and their families have survived the night. Their suffering is immense, but the bravery and ingenuity with which they face each day are remarkable. My mentee Nadera Mushtha wrote an eloquent piece about giving English lessons in her home to young students whose schools had been destroyed.
The situation in Lebanon is also heartbreaking where my friends in Beirut are being terrorized by drones, planes, and missiles. Israel continues using its Gaza playbook—targeting hospitals, medics, and civilian apartment buildings, while pulverizing entire villages in the south. There is talk of a ceasefire deal, something that is being reported as a planned gift from one depraved authoritarian to another.
While immediate and medium-term prospects are bleak, we must find ways to keep ourselves sane and ready for action. I have shifted away from spending time on Musk’s increasingly hostile X/Twitter, which has been losing prominent users, to more hospitable Bluesky, which now has over 20 million users and has seen traffic increase by 500% since the election. You can find me on Bluesky here. You will also find me walking in Central Park and on country roads, looking for birds and mushrooms.
We need to gather in the real world with like-minded people and build the power of our groups and institutions to protect ourselves and others. We will need to defend public libraries, public schools, universities, Social Security, immigrants, LGBTQ rights, abortion rights, Palestine, and the planet. Choose your lane, find your people. Friends and comrades are and will be our refuge.
Yours in struggle,
Nancy K
RECOMMENDED READING
In response to thirteen months of genocide in Gaza, over 7,000 writers, myself among them, have now pledged to boycott complicit Israeli cultural institutions.
Mosab Abu Toha’s new poetry collection, FOREST OF NOISE was published last month. You can listen to an excellent and moving interview with Mosab on the LARB Radio Hour.
Swedish climate organizer Greta Thunberg penned a powerful op-ed in The Guardian decrying the hypocrisy of the petro-dictatorship of Azerbaijan’s hosting COP29. She went to Armenia, where she visited the genocide memorial and later learned how to make Jingalov Hatz.
Wasafiri 120, an issue of the UK literary journal devoted to Armenia and Armenians, is now available for pre-order. My new essay about my father, entitled “His Driving Life,” is included.
I have been meaning to write about Columbia’s Gaza Solidarity Encampment since last week, and if I had written this last weekend, the tenor would be very different. Two nights ago, the encampment was destroyed by the New York Police Department, and the students barricaded in Hamilton Hall were arrested along with others in the encampment and outside the university gates. At the same time, hundreds of students were also brutalized and arrested at City College twenty blocks north. But for almost two weeks, the encampment on the Columbia Quad was a beautiful space of community and learning where Palestinian freedom was the focus. And students at Columbia started a movement that has to date spread to over 150 campuses around the country, and their principled actions were seen and appreciated by Palestinians in Gaza and around the globe. My Palestinian friend Haya, who escaped Gaza and is now in exile in Malaysia, wrote: These students are so strong and so great; I swear they’re teaching a generation how to fight for freedom. They are talking about Columbia University’s protests everywhere on Arabic website and my friends’ Facebook pages.
When the students took over Hamilton Hall in the early hours on Tuesday and renamed it Hind’s Hall, after a six-year old Palestinian girl whose desperate and doomed calls for help were heard round the world, I could only think back to the 1985 blockade of Hamilton that I was part of (and my post on X/Twitter about this went viral). I wasn’t one of the organizers, but when my friends and I heard what had happened we immediately ran to the newly named Mandela Hall and were there in shifts for the next three weeks. In 1968 the students had barricaded themselves IN the same building, but we were outside with the exterior doors padlocked. In the daytime there was a festival atmosphere, and at night it was mostly calm, although I remember at least one night when we were afraid the NYPD was going to come in to clear us—it turned out to be mostly a scare tactic. There was a lot of surveillance by Columbia security–which seems quaint now. Back then it was men with cameras. Now they have surveillance drones buzzing overhead and have deployed new—not always reliable—facial recognition technology. And Columbia’s president in 1985, Michael Sovern, came out to speak with us, unlike the current president, Baroness (yes, she is a literal Baroness) Manouche Shafik. I remember singing a version of a freedom song, “Sovern can you hear us, we shall not be moved, like a tree that’s planted by the water, we shall not be moved.” And we all despised him because he represented everything oppressive about the institution. But in retrospect, compared to the Baroness, he seems downright cuddly.
My spouse teaches at Columbia, and we live near the campus. James has been speaking out repeatedly and strongly about the misuse of accusations of antisemitism to smear and undermine the student movement, hurling all his Jewishness against the conflation of anti-Zionism and antisemitism. It was so awful two nights ago when hundreds and hundreds of cops streamed into the Quad and the surrounding blocks. Our entire neighborhood was a closed military zone. And I heard they were using tear gas, but apparently not. “No tear gas was used, but flash-bang devices designed to distract were used as police moved in, the NYPD spokesperson said.” Flash bang devices. So sad that the beautiful encampment was cleared, and all those students were arrested and that there will be cops on the campus until May 17, at the request of Manouche Shafik.
What transpired on Tuesday night was much scarier and uglier than what we faced in 1985. The current students are principled and brave in the face of this unconscionable level of violence and repression. On the night of April 24, I went to the encampment for a teach-in on the Armenian Genocide led by the students of Columbia Armenians for Palestine. They talked beautifully and movingly about the 1915 Genocide, the ethnic cleansing of Artsakh, and the connections between those tragedies and what is unfolding in Gaza right now, as a trapped civilian population is being bombed, starved, and immiserated. While they spoke in turn, they held up three flags—Armenia, Artsakh, and Assyria. Their solidarity was authentic, intelligent, and inspiring.
These students are watching a genocide stream in real time on their smart phones, and they are seeing the bankruptcy of all our institutions: political, academic, and cultural. They keep insisting that all eyes should be on Gaza, not on them. Gaza is their Vietnam. And the Baroness who runs Columbia—along with billionaire trustees and cartoon villain politicians egging her on—has radicalized a generation.
Nancy Kricorian
P.S. If you are in NYC, please join us next Tuesday, May 7 at 7 p.m. for FREEDOM TO WRITE FOR PALESTINE at Judson Church. Roster of writers and tickets available here. I’ll soon send an update on the Authors for Change at PEN America Campaign.
I have been distracted, lately cycling between rage and grief, while having difficulty sleeping. Images and stories about Israel’s horrific genocidal campaign in Gaza are the stuff of nightmares. I often think about my Armenian genocide survivor grandmother’s stories about her experiences during The Deportations. They were starving, the dead and dying were all around, and she ended up one among 8,000 orphaned Armenian children in a refugee camp in the Syrian desert on the outskirts of Ras al Ain.
I wake up in the middle of the night to check Instagram and WhatsApp to see if my friends in Gaza have posted updates or responded to my messages. I want to know whether they have survived to see another day. One of them has lost thirty pounds because of how little food there is. Another has been displaced four times and is living in a tent.
Since 2015, I have been part of the We Are Not Numbers literary mentorship program that pairs established authors with young writers in Gaza. Enas, one of my former mentees, left Gaza for the first time in her life to attend the Palestine Writes conference in September, and was unable to return home—she’s living with an aunt in New Jersey and is worrying around the clock about her family, who are displaced in Gaza with little access to clean water, adequate food, and medicine, and under constant threat of being killed in Israel’s indiscriminate bombing campaign that has to date murdered over 11,000 children. I helped raise money for Hossam, another mentee, who has a large social media presence and is therefore a particular target, to get across the border with his family, but the list is long and the wait seems interminable. I started with a new mentee, Haya, several weeks ago, and I’m sick with worry about her and Hossam. I recently worked with Haya on this moving piece about what daily life is like for her right now.
In addition to this brutal reality, repression on the Columbia and Barnard campuse are entirely bonkers, and my spouse James, who has been teaching at Columbia for over thirty years, is spending hours writing letters to the new “Task Force on Anti-Semitism.” This task force includes no actual experts on the subject—and there are a few of those on the faculty who might have been invited to join. The task force is co-chaired by known Israel boosters, and when James asked them how they define anti-semitism, they replied that they don’t have a definition. They are just getting a sense of the feelings and the vibes on the campus. Meanwhile, two weeks ago several Israeli students used a banned chemical weapon against a protest on the Quad, sending close to a dozen students to the hospital.
On the German cultural scene, it seems that collective guilt about the Holocaust has morphed into a feeling that Germany must stand by Israel no matter how genocidal the Israeli government’s actions are. An artist friend, who lives half-time in Berlin and half-time in Brooklyn, has been sending us weekly updates about the cancellations and other forms of punishment being meted out against writers and artists who call for a ceasefire or advocate for accountability. She told us about her friend the Bosnian-Serbian novelist Lana Bastašić (I read her award-winning novel CATCH THE RABBIT recently and was very impressed) who has been subject to this harsh discipline. This week I saw Lana’s principled and humane statement on Instagram, which was then published on LitHub.
It is clear that we need to be fighting on two fronts—and excuse me for using military metaphors, but this really does feel like a struggle for survival. We must redouble our calls for a ceasefire and our efforts to push the Biden Administration to stop arming, funding, and providing diplomatic cover for a genocide in Gaza. On the same day that the International Court of Justice ruled that South Africa had presented a plausible case of genocide against Israel, the U.S. government announced it was “pausing” its support for UNRWA, the largest and most effective aid agency on the ground in Gaza, increasing the threat of more deaths by hunger and disease. You can donate to UNRWA’s life-saving work here. And at the same time that we take action to stop a genocide, we must also push back against the silencing of advocacy for Palestinian freedom.
I don’t need to enumerate the newspaper headlines that make the world feel like a dark and calamitous place right now. Everyone I know is struggling to keep from sinking under the weight of so much cruelty and venality. One case in point is the leaked draft decision indicating that the Supreme Court is on the verge of overturning Roe v Wade, which would undo 50 years of legal precedent and allow the banning of abortion by any state government with the will to do it. Alito’s draft decision states that “the Constitution makes no reference to abortion, and no such right is implicitly protected by any constitutional provision,” so if the all white, all male drafters of the constitution hadn’t intended it at the time, we are afforded no protections by the document. If that isn’t scary enough, some legal analysts say that Alito’s draft opinion, by referring to fetuses as human beings, grants them rights that could give momentum to efforts to enact a federal ban on abortion. And to be clear, that is the stated goal of the forces behind this decision.
An interesting piece in The Lever shines a light on anti-abortion zealot Leo Leonard who has been working for many years to undermine Roe. His Judicial Crisis Network and its anonymous donors have toiled long and hard to build an ultra-conservative majority in the Supreme Court that could now rule for decades. The piece goes on to detail the dithering of the Democrats that allowed this to happen, but then offers strategies for what that party might yet do to protect reproductive freedom. One promising tactic is federal protection for and expanding the reach of medication abortion.
In this week’s Special Edition of the At Liberty Podcast Brigitte Amiri, the Deputy Director of the ACLU’s Reproductive Freedom Project, recommended that each of us connect with our local reproductive health, right, and justice organizations, as well as practical community support groups and abortion funds. She further suggested that now is the time to contact our elected officials to let them know where we stand on this issue. While I will certainly support electoral organizing to put progressive and leftist candidates into office, much of my attention will be focused on radical grassroots groups such as New York City for Abortion and mutual aid efforts such as the New York Abortion Access Fund and the Mississippi Reproductive Freedom Fund. On The Cut, Bridget Read and Claire Lampen put together a helpful annotated list of abortion funds in states with the most restrictive abortion laws.
Yesterday I read a beautiful and scary piece by Grace Paley about what life was like before Roe. Paley wrote, “I think women died all the time when abortions were illegal. The horrible abortions were one way; the other was the refusal of institutions—medical, church, and state—to care for you, their willingness to let you die.” The upcoming Supreme Court ruling will not outlaw abortions altogether throughout the entire country at this time. Access to this essential medical care will be determined by where you live and how much money you have, which is already the case in many places, and on our battle to maintain and even expand this access. As Melissa Gira Grant points out in this excellent piece The Real Fight for Abortion Rights Is Not in the Courts or Congress, even before the court strikes down Roe 89% of U.S. counties do not currently have a clinic that provides abortions.
Melissa Gira Grant concludes her piece with this paragraph:
As true as it might be to say, “If they come for Roe tonight, they’re coming for marriage equality tomorrow,” there are plenty of people they have come for already, from trans kids seeking health care to people giving birth in jails to sex workers sharing harm-reduction information to criminalized survivors of intimate partner violence. If you are today feeling for this first time like the government is demanding control over your gender and sexuality and bodily autonomy, you are, sadly, in numerous company. But that also means that there are countless people around you who already know that freedom, certainly now and maybe always, will not come solely from what the law can recognize. Either the law must be pushed to recognize those rights, or those rights must be won despite the law.
Abortion rights were won in this country because tens of thousands of people took to the streets and millions of others were organized to support the cause. We must continue the fight because as Angela Davis put it, “Freedom is a constant struggle.” But our organizing can’t be narrowly focused on abortion—it must include all those vulnerable to concerted right-wing assaults on autonomy and dignity. As Reverend Jacqui Lewis put it, “Liberation is collective. We only get free when we fight for all of us.”
I recently listened to a podcast interview with geographer and prison abolitionist Ruth Wilson Gilmore in which she said, “And while I think a feeling of despair in this day and age is not difficult to understand, I also feel that, as my grandparents taught me, that despair was a luxury that I didn’t get to sport.” Let’s shrug off the coat of mourning and get to work.
A few weeks ago I received a request from a friend at Agos
Armenian Weekly in Istanbul. They were soliciting responses from Armenian
artists to the following questions: How
has being quarantined/isolated influenced your creative process? How do you foresee the future of your art
and creativity once the current situation of isolation fades away?
This was my
response:
For
the first several weeks of our confinement I was unable to focus on reading or
writing. My spouse was sick with the virus, and we were quarantined from the
world and from each other in our home. We slept in separate rooms, washed our
hands dozens of times a day, wiped down doorknobs, handles, and counters, and
sat twelve feet apart at the kitchen table and in the living room. We were
lucky: his case was “mild” and I didn’t get sick. It took four weeks for his
energy, as well as his sense of taste and smell, to return. Once he was better,
wearing masks, we were able to go outside for short walks. The trees were
flowering and the birds were building their nests.
In
the past few weeks, finally able to concentrate for an hour or two a day, I
have returned to work on my latest novel. The book has three sections: the
story opens in New York City on the morning of the 9/11 attacks, the second
part is set is in Beirut during the Lebanese Civil War, and the final section
is a folk tale set in Hadjin on the eve of the Armenian Genocide. The novel is
about generations of trauma and resiliency in one Armenian family, and the fear
and stress of the present moment are permeating the descriptions I’m writing
about those other difficult times.
There
is so much suffering around us as people continue to be sickened by this
illness that has taken so many lives in New York, and around the world.
Prisoners are in crowded cells without soap to wash their hands. Millions have
lost their jobs; so many are worried about how they will pay the rent, and how
they will feed themselves and their children. Immigrant families without papers
are not eligible for the meager assistance the government is providing.
Even
as we are isolated in our homes, we are finding ways to support each other
through mutual aid projects in our neighborhoods, through car protests outside
detention centers, and through online organizing to create collective power. My
creative life has always been entwined with my activist work, and as I continue
writing, I will join friends and comrades in our struggle for a kinder, more
equitable, and greener future.
Nancy
Kricorian
New
York
May
2020
You may read the other artists’ statements on the Agos site.
Yesterday when I started drafting this blog post, I ended up spending two hours writing about the December 11th killing of Barnard Freshman Tess Majors in Morningside Park and the subsequent NYPD Security Theater outside my kitchen window. I realized there was nothing edifying, informative, or helpful in what I had written, although it was cathartic for me, and so I put it in the failed drafts folder.
We made it through a turbulent 2019,
and we’re now into a new year that started with an illegal and provocative
assassination of an Iranian General and, if anxiety and incertitude are a
measure of length, this very long year will continue with the longest Presidential
election cycle in human history. So herewith is my “listicle” of ways to
maintain sanity and equilibrium in 2020, which was composed in part in the
middle of the night as I turned in my bed like a rotisserie chicken.
1. ORGANIZE: Housing is a Human Right
Read about #Moms4Housing
in Oakland, and how community organizing turned a violent eviction into a
big win. This is an inspiring story, and something to build upon.
2. ORGANIZE AGAIN: Why We Need A Green New Deal
Listen to The Dig Podcast Episode “Planet
to Win,” a detailed and hopeful discussion about how the Green New Deal
might change America for the better.
3. WATCH A GOOD FILM
Go see Kitty Green’s The
Assistant, a brilliant and dark film about one day in the life of the
junior assistant of an abusive boss. It’s not just about predation—it’s also
gimlet-eyed view on capitalist exploitation of young people. The film is poised
to become part of a
movement to change the culture of Hollywood. Watch the trailer here. Opening in NYC and
LA on January 31, theaters and show times may be found here.
4. MAKE COMFORT FOOD
Order a copy of Lavash: The Bread
That Launched 1,000 Meals, Plus Salads, Stews, and Other Recipes From Armenia,
and cook an Armenian meal for your loved ones. You can read more about the book
and try sample recipes here
and here.
Onnik Dinkjian’s many decades of performing Armenian folk music is
covered in this piece
from Houshamadyan, and it includes recordings of some of Dinkjian’s most
beloved songs.
Last week I went to the Whitney Museum to see Making Knowing: Craft in Art, 1950-2019. There were a lot of great pieces in the show, but I was absolutely bowled over by Liza Lou’s KITCHEN, a life-sized beaded room filled with furniture, appliances, pots, pans, cereal boxes, and more that took the artist five years to produce. The show is up through January 2021, and a new show of Mexican muralists will be opening at the Whitney in February so you could take in both.
11. GO FOR A WALK IN THE WOODS
I’ve been reading out-of-print books by naturalist and writer Alan Devoe, who lived down the road from our house in the country from the 1930’s to the mid-50’s. In the middle of World War II, which was a time of destruction, violence, and despair on a global scale, Devoe wrote, “It is good, for instance, just to shut off the radio for a while, throw away the newspaper, and go out into the warm darkness of a country night and listen to the frogs.” He also recommended listening to the wrens singing, and said, “They are singing directly into our aboriginal ears, an information that all the pessimists and pedants are mistaken, and the life adventure is a greater and gladder thing than mere learnedness might ever surmise.”
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.”
