I Can’t Write About It. But I’m So Thankful For Those Who Can.

Please read the newsletter I’m sharing here.

I’ve been posting brief notes, on Facebook and Substack, since last week-end’s attack. Most of them are about what I often write about: the problems with the way we talk about and represent things. The words, images, narratives that somehow become culturally embedded—in history books, in the mainstream media, in academic discourse, in casual chatter among friends and relatives—have enormous power to lock our minds and perceptions in place. And thinking back on my books and articles, much of what I’ve done is to try to dislodge the blocks of thinking that seem unfair, untrue, or destructive. I try to do it by taking down the obstacles to clarity, by providing evidence and argument, sometimes by sharing my personal life, and by establishing trust with readers. The most gratifying responses I’ve gotten from readers are when they tell me they’ve felt understood or had their own thinking and experience represented in a way that’s relieving, affirming, or helps them put things together in a way that they’ve been struggling with. The “OMG, someone else gets it” response is very precious to me.

Usually, writing and establishing connection in that way is my pleasure, my solace, my liberation, and I go to my computer in the early hours of morning, when it’s still dark, as eagerly and hungrily, as full of desire as if I were meeting a lover.

I always care very much about what I write, whether it’s a movie or a political outrage. But sometimes, I care too much to write. Sometimes, my fear and anger and frustration is so overwhelming that I can’t manage to harness my thoughts and feelings into the kind of writing I usually do without falling into incoherence. The most I can manage are brief sputters of notes and posts. And the anger and fear bristle and burn inside me, more helplessly because I can’t put them into writing.

During those times, I read a lot, waiting for someone else to do what I can’t. And I am so, so grateful when I read something that says what I would say (more or less) if I could get myself together enough. This morning, Steve Schmidt, speaking his mind and heart through Julia Ioffe and Elie Wiesel, has done that. So instead of my own words, I urge you to read theirs, and to share them as widely as you can.

The days ahead