We need to talk about 2020

For a year demarcated by so much loss, so much grief, this should be a much welcomed eulogy.

Unfortunately it is not- to write a eulogy would be to acknowledge the reality of what has happened; to truly grapple with the monumental loss we’ve experienced as a collective.To write a eulogy, we would be putting the year to rest; and while numerically speaking, yes we have buried 2020, has there been a collective moment of mourning ? How do we bury the spirit of what is very much still alive?

5,7,12 : these are the contested numbers of the stages of grief. Have we even begun at 1?

I fear there has been a rush to seek lessons in what has happened to us, a push to make lemonade, see the brightside, you know...silver linings.

And while this is all good- our hopeless optimism which I love so much- I wonder, will we make space for grief ? Will we allow ourselves to bask in sadness momentarily, in acknowledgement of all that has been lost ?

2020 was a painful year for so many. For me, it was about Black death- be it by disease, by state sanctioned violence, by police, by prisons, by poverty, by cisheteronormativity: there was death. I am sure, many other communities experienced loss too- but I can only write in my capacity as a black woman, trying to make sense of a year which has required me to answer “how are you” with a “in the grand scheme of things...”

I have asked more questions than provided solutions to anything: I think we all did in 2020. Some went beyond that and provided the rest of us with solutions, all we needed to do was pick up our banners and echo the rallying cries of siblings across the globe. A lot of us did this, we adopted new strategies and adapted old ones. Some of us ushered people into our long held perspectives and guided them through narratives- others, already tired from labouring this way for years, sat back and watched sceptically. No approach was wrong- it was all hands on deck.

Finally, it has come to an end. However, I can still feel 2020 lingering in the air. Trauma does not go away just because you refuse to talk about it- matter of fact, it gets worse. In our bid to move on from a less than ideal year, I hope we become open to talk about it frankly. To express how scared, irresponsible, lonely, guilty, exasperated we were, alongside how hopeful we are. And if we do not feel hopeful yet, that is okay too.

P.S: A friend posted something on IG today that made me think of everyone who has been going through this alone. Like, physically alone.

So today, I am thinking of anyone locked up, who for all intents and purposes, today isn’t a bank holiday. It is a day like another where society has decided your situation warranted your permanent segregation and exclusion. I am thinking of those miles away from family and support systems. I am thinking of those who do not have either. Finally a special thought to the martyrs of causes- those who never asked to be made posthumous heroes .

May we find ways to celebrate your lives and may the sacrifices you never consented to, ever be in vain.