"The Privilege To Look Away"

We can turn off the news without turning away from our responsibilities to each other as humans.

Recently, a friend was explaining how difficult the past few weeks have been for her.

“I’m too sensitive,” she said.

“You’re not too sensitive,” I said. “You’re an empath.”

But I know what she was really saying was: “this hurts too much.”

And what I was saying was: “I know.”

Photo by Anthony Tran on Unsplash

So many of us, so many of the caring and big-hearted people I know, are having similar conversations. We’re grappling with how to align our actions with our feelings, at such a fraught time. We are struggling to figure out what is helpful, what hurtful, what is “our lane.”

Let’s be frank: we ordinary, non-experts in geopolitics are trying to determine what is “acceptable” to say and do publicly during an incredibly horrific time, when everyone is extremely sensitive (with good reason) — and that’s a really weird place to be.

What is right to say right now?

(Or not say?)

What questions are right to ask right now?

(Or not ask because we’ll sound stupid?)

What funny stories can we tell?

(Or not show, because what is wrong with you, telling funny stories at a time like this? And shut up about your kids’ damn Halloween costumes.)

If I say this one thing on social media will someone try to draw me into an argument that I’m not ready to have?

(Or…worse? Will I be unfriended? Flamed? Doxxed? Given a warning by HR?)

It’s exhausting to constantly be in your own head, second-guessing everything we want to say.

So forgive my longer-than-intended absence from my Substack, but I’ve been struggling too. I have felt a little stuck in my own ping-pong tournament of a brain, and let me assure you—that’s not nearly as fun a place as it might sound.

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I stepped away from writing here for a bit while attempting to extract myself from the guilt of it. (I feel very accountable to you all!) I’ve thrown myself into some work I’m loving, into my family’s needs, movie nights, kid activities, making the phone calls and catching up with old friends. And yes, posting on Instagram and Threads here and there. But not all day, every day.

Does that mean I have “the privilege to look away?”

Because I’m hearing stuff like that. A lot.

I see a lot of people internalizing that idea, confessing that right now, more than ever, it feels wrong to turn off the TV or put down phones. That it feels insensitive (or looks insensitive?) because people at war right now don’t have the privilege to look away or take breaks.

I’m sure you’ve heard something similar. Or thought it yourself.

I know I have.

Here I will remind you that if you think about privilege at all in the first place, it’s a decent indicator that you’re not exactly sticking your head in the sand, refusing to let your carefree life of leisure be interrupted.

I will remind you that finding balance in your life, tending to responsibilities, making a living, or just hitting pause is not the same as not giving a shit.

I will remind you (and honestly, myself) that watching the news 24/7 is not in fact doing something.

Watching the same tragic footage over and over is not helping a single person in need. It’s not creating conditions for peace, it’s not bringing home hostages, it’s not ridding the world of terrorism, it’s not stopping a single bomb, it’s not supporting people in crisis, it’s not slowing the chilling rise in anti-Semitism, it’s not building more affordable housing, it’s not closing the pay gap, it’s not getting out the vote for sensible candidates, it’s not putting more kindness into the world.

What it is doing is rewarding the Outrage Industrial Complex with clicks and views, so I guess there’s that.

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If you know me, you know I believe in the importance of bearing witness; but I am sincerely concerned that we are conflating “bearing witness” with the incessant consumption of nightmarish images of man’s worst inhumanity to man.

I believe it’s easy to fall into the trap of using our well-intended understanding of privilege to throw ourselves into the vicarious trauma of war, as if it evens the score somehow.

It doesn’t.

It makes me think of those mid-century black-and-white TV parents telling their children to finish the food on their plates because there are children starving in Europe.

(Like how about serving smaller portions and giving your grocery savings to a nonprofit? Ever think of that, black-and-white TV parents? Call me, show runners. I’ve got more where that came from.)

In my opinion, the equation— if I can remember my 1st grade math lesson in comparative values—goes something like this:

Doing > Watching

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If you struggle with the “privilege” of taking a break from the news, please allow me to share with you what smarter people than I suggest that activists (and other caring people) do during these times:

They Rest

We understand that rest is political. That it is a resource that replenishes us, supports us to transition from surviving to thriving, and enables us to honour our movements and ourselves…Rest is an act of centring one’s wellbeing. It is a radical intentional act of ensuring our physical, mental, spiritual, and emotional wellness.
-Lucky Kobugabe and Nxumalo-De Smidt of CoFem

They Restore

Take time to breathe, restore, and heal …cultivate joy and find support in the friendships that feel and mirror transformation. The work is here and you don’t have to run yourself in the ground. We can do this work from a sustainable place.”
- Patrisse Cullors to Teen Vogue

They Find Moments of Joy

Let's face it, we don't get into activism because things are great…Joy is how we gather the energy to go back in, to do the work. Joy is how we remind ourselves what we're fighting for.
- Karen Walrond to NPR about her book, The Lightmaker’s Manifesto: How to Work for Change Without Losing Your Joy

I beg you: If you believe you are someone with privilege, there are so many ways to use it well.

Speak out against bigotry, dehumanization, and threats directed at minority groups that are not your own, and to call out hate when you see it—whether it’s online, at a PTA meeting, or at your own Thanksgiving table—because that is truly meaningful action. (And as someone who falls into one of those minority groups, I thank you personally.)

If you have the means to send money to trusted organizations, please do.

If you have the time to spend 30 minutes fighting with a rando on Instagram about military policy, redirect that time into contacting your Member of Congress, who has a wee bit more say in such things.

And if you have the privilege to take care of your own mental health and well-being, by all means, use it. Without guilt and without shame.

We can turn off the news without turning away from our responsibilities to each other as humans.

That distinction matters.

As Audre Lord famously said about activism, “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.”

Or as I wrote here (in a far less quotable way): allowing yourself to rest or play or experience joy is not a sign you don’t care. It’s a sign that you that you do care—enough to keep yourself healthy and whole for yourself, and for those who rely on you.

We always talk about being kind. Let’s not forget to be kind to ourselves.

Comments are open. Be thoughtful and be considerate. Those are the rules.

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More resources:

• I found this helpful Amnesty International zine on staying resilient while trying to change the world.

• I also highly recommend Karen Walrond’s book, The Lightmaker’s Manifesto, mentioned above. So much, that I’m linking it twice!

• If you want some tips about how I learned to cut back on news consumption for my own mental health, I wrote about it here: