I was in Washington, DC last week, with the teens, one fourteen, the other sixteen. On our walk around the National Mall, I remembered my own trip to the capital when I was in eighth grade. The teachers sold the trip to us like we would be walking on hallowed ground—and that's how I'd thought about DC for a long time, even for the year that I went to college there, miserable and lonely and just waiting for whatever thing might be next. 
We sell an idea of brilliance and possibility about Washington, DC, one that can be hard to unlearn, especially if you're a young person. After we recreated a Harry Styles photo, we decided to walk toward the Capitol. We walked past a whole bunch of military statues or memorials before we got to the new MLK memorial, which I hadn't seen before. I was glad to see it, glad for its location beside the Potomac, the relative quiet and solitude of its location and thoughtful design.
I just finished How to Hide an Empire, a book about how the US has colonized the world—first by land, now through the maintenance of 800 bases around the world, through our technology and simple threat of our giant military. We decided not to visit the FDR memorial, or the Jefferson memorial. We took some fun photos of the Washington monument, had a look at the Capitol and White House from afar, and talked—briefly, generally, they're teens after all—about how to improve democracy, about the problems with so many white male presidents, about how to do better and keep doing better. With our vote, and our voice, and our knowledge of what doesn't work, and what never has.
One of the things I remember most vividly about our eighth grade trip to DC—aside from a cringey "dance" in a weird hotel ballroom—was being the only Jewish person at the Holocaust Museum. There was nobody who really knew what my experience was like walking through that place, nobody would prepared me for how alone I would feel, how hard it would be to walk through a boxcar. There was nobody who comforted me in the way that I needed afterward. I remembered that on the Mall, as I mourned for the AAPI community after the shooting in Atlanta. I remembered the Tree of Life shooting and how I wept at a big event and sought out my Jewish friends, even though they weren't the people closest to me in the room.
The promise of democracy, of what's possible here in the United States is something we're taught from birth, it feels like. But it's on us to make that reality possible, to weave our identities and history and grief together to form the "more perfect union" that those white guys banked on us never actually creating. There's a lot of work to do to make that visionary future real. But I know we can do it, one policy, one teenager, one story, one minute at a time.
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"Non-profit workers are not volunteers, & our labor is not less valuable because it's rooted in love for people, birds, & the planet." 3/24
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"The people of the 56th deserve someone who denounces supremacy of all kinds." 3/24
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Fighting Violence This Week
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The violence of the past two weeks has felt extreme, even in a lifetime and a world history filled with violence. Here are a few things you can do now to support AAPI people in your life, demand common sense gun legislation, and ensure that sex work gets decriminalized.
Stop AAPI Hate: If you are looking for ways to support people in your life, this is a great place to start. Find links to donate, organize your networks, report hate, and more. And if you are reading this as a victim of AAPI hate or holding yourself gently as an AAPI person today, know that I am sending you much love and care, today and every day.
End the Filibuster: Read this Twitter thread for context about the racist history of the filibuster. But the filibuster doesn't only apply to civil rights issues. Now is the time to pass meaningful gun legislation, and ending the filibuster can help us make it happen.
SWOP: Find your local SWOP chapter and help fund their crucial work, or get involved yourself. SWOP is an organization that supports decriminalizing sex work and ensuring that sex workers can live and work with dignity. Want to learn more about how sex work and the Atlanta murders are connected? Listen to What A Day from Thursday, 3/25
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The last two weeks were the most time I've spent with teenagers in many years. They were a ton of fun, even as they groaned through homework and rolled their eyes at pretty much everything we said. It was a thrill to get to know these sweeties better, and I can't wait to keep building this relationship.
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As you read this: I'm definitely still recovering.
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