Hope

Spring drew on…and a greenness grew over those brown beds, which, freshening daily, suggested the thought that Hope traversed them at night, and left each morning brighter traces of her steps.

                                                                           Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre, 1847

Every week The Berkshire Eagle publishes a column about the weather. Clarence Fanto tells us what to expect locally and provides a national outlook and a climate update. This week he concluded with the quote above, which perfectly expressed how I wish I were feeling about spring.

I left the warmth of Florida a few weeks ago to return to the still cold Berkshires because I didn’t want to miss the spring. I wanted to watch the crocuses come up, the trees bud and the fields turn green. I wanted to see and feel the rebirth. And, since I arrived home, two new babies have been born into my extended family. What could be more symbolic of hope for the future?

And then came Justice Alito’s memo signaling that the Supreme Court is about to overturn Roe v. Wade. Every day I am plunged anew into rage or despair. I cannot hope.

The memo and the decision were not a surprise. What took me aback, although given the tenor of our times it shouldn’t have, was the cruelty it represents. I have often said that all the progress we have seen over my lifetime is only a veneer. And then Donald Trump came along and ripped the veneer off. It’s fine, he said, you don’t have to pretend any more. You can be misogynist. You can be racist. You can be antisemitic. You can blame women and marginalized groups for the problems in your lives, as though that will make them go away, as though the people like Trump and his cronies making these promises actually care about you. The lies and the hypocrisy are stunning.

I know I need to channel the rage. I can’t give in to despair. But how many times must I fight this battle? And those two new baby girls? What lies ahead for them?