Yesterday morning I emailed an old professor and friend, Jack. We’d lost touch ten years ago. Since college, our communication has been spotty. I didn’t know if I’d get a response.
A memory of us hanging out in his office resurfaced. The map on his wall with pins marking his travels. His warmth and humor. The videos of Mongolian hip hop he showed me on a website I’d never heard of: YouTube. The videos took ages to load. We waited patiently.
And other memories too. My work-study in the anthropology department. The kind secretary doling out advice during smoke breaks. Sleep more, she said. Make lots of friends.
From this well of remembering came the feeling that sweet friendships were, in fact, made back then and somehow, with time, lost.
Yet, in the afternoon yesterday, Jack wrote back. An update about his life and well wishes. He signed, “onward with hope.”
And that’s what I feel. Sometimes vanished connections are found again. The ember of a forgotten friendship might still burn.
In the intimacy of our own lives, the choices we make (including those made by simply not deciding) might feel permanent. But sometimes—often?—they’re not. Maybe it’s not too late to apologize for harm done, to return to the work we’d wished we’d continued as kids, or to join others to build something bigger than ourselves.
It’s not lost on me that I’m nestled in the comforts of Switzerland, musing about hope, while people are struggling to get their most fundamental needs met, are under the threat of violence, and are being targeted and killed. According to CrisisWatch, large-scale conflicts include those in Sudan and South Sudan, the violence in Kashmir, and Israel’s genocide in Palestine*. And these are just a snapshot of the global grief.
*A number of human rights scholars and organizations, including the UN Special Committee and Amnesty International, have deemed Israel’s mass killings of Palestinian people in Gaza a genocide. (Maybe I’m preaching to the choir). One can simultaneously be in support of interfaith peace, Jewish and Muslim, and also criticize the war crimes Israel commits against Palestinians.
Amid the tragedies, it’s important to keep connected, especially for those of us living far from friends and family. But how? Social media helps us link up across disparate places and stay informed on what’s happening in the world. It also divides us, as we well know. Negotiating the algorithms, which juxtapose memes with scenes of horror—e.g. Israel’s latest bombing of a school in Gaza with terrifying images of burnt children—feels insurmountable. The feeds feed our anxieties.
I haven’t cast aside social media. It’s facilitated my making income as an artist. Alternatives to Instagram and Facebook, like this newsletter, help me connect in new ways. Substack isn’t perfect, but it helps. I’m able to see how others choose to express themselves, to organize, and to resist. I feel less alone.
My key message here is that more direct modes of long distance communication—emails, letters, postcards, phone calls, video chats—are uniquely gratifying. They often require less of an intrusive intermediary.
Sometimes, like my email to an old professor, a small, direct effort can contribute to a reconnection. Or to a new friendship. Or to the collective work of supporting people who are suffering.
There are thousands of movements globally that involve people taking action to improve their communities, whether it’s going to the streets, boycotting businesses, making art that moves, or signing petitions.
I have one: Sign this petition demanding a ceasefire in Gaza! It’s a small step. It’s not enough. There are countless other petitions. But it’s something.
To strengthen my own bonds across the pond, I’m starting a small postcard project for my paid subscribers! A slow, handmade way to connect. Consider joining!
Let’s not forget: In community with others—through new relationships, through sustaining existing ones, through reconnecting—we can shore up our shared resilience and resistance in the face of difficulties.
With love,
Joseph