On Crisis and Chance

Time oscillates. Moments of pleasure follow those of pain, euphoria by lethargy, day by night. However, there are moments where time stops, crashes, and seems to repeat itself. These are moments of crisis, moments such as this. 

June 7, 2020. We are living through an extraordinary moment. We are enduring the relentless hold of a global pandemic and preciously guarding our physical and mental health. We are witnessing the emerging crest of economic depression and have not fully realized its impact on the health of our purse, our homes, and our communities. And as we wade into summer, bearing brutal witness to the disregard of Black existence, we are also forced to reckon with the health of “America.” In this extraordinary moment, we find ourselves bound, torn, tattered, confused. Gasping. Numb. We find ourselves surrounded. We find ourselves in crisis.

Crisis (n.)

1. A time of intense difficulty, trouble, or danger. A time when a difficult or important decision must be made.

2. The turning point of a disease when an important change takes place, indicating either recovery or death.

I would argue that we are observing crises layered on crises. Pain on pain. Anguish on anguish. Despair on despair. Crises that reveal themselves in shaded variants but remain intrinsically connected. This is a crisis of self and other. A crisis of sickness and health. A crisis of mercy and justice.  

Furthermore, this crisis is not momentary. It is our inheritance. Spanning generations. Seeding in blood. Passed down through tears.

While in this cloistered state, it has also become apparent that I hold this moment with generations past. Those fearless souls who unwillingly passed over the Atlantic were held in bondage and forced into serfdom and servitude. Those that strived and at times had the perverse pleasure of being degreed or ranked. Those that migrated, stacked up, and reared me. I’ve realized that this crisis is the continuation of a steel thread that has run through our nation’s history unabated. It is a violent reminder that our pain, their struggle, my disappointment did not end in 1863 or 1954 or 1964 or 2008. This crisis, our crisis, is real, it is alive, it is here, and it is now. 

Today, I also find myself in the throes of a personal crisis. I am forced to reckon with what it means to be here – at this time, at this moment, inhabiting this space. I am forced to reimagine what it means to be secure, to be protected, to be privileged, and of service. Sitting with this hurts. For far too long, I naively pretended that my stature (I’m a lanky man with glasses, y’all), education, relative economic standing, and access to creature comforts would create a bulwark against the unrelenting crisis that fervently knocks on my front door. I sought and yearned for protection. Though I dreamed of it, it was never truly there. I am forced to acknowledge that gilded gifts, laurels, and intellect will not protect me, and the pain of generations past shines through with unabashed clarity. 

Now I sit. Forced to reflect, reimagine, and reorient. 

As we navigate this precarious moment, countless people are positing the question(s): “What is this moment asking of me? Of us? What is this all in service of”? These are appropriate questions, but they seem elementary and frankly self-serving. These questions do not go far enough. 

On reflection, I am drawn to a different question: “What is the chance that I – that we – would meet a moment such as this”? What is the chance that this year would provide an opening to bend the moral arc of history and snap that steel thread of subjugation, heartache, and deceit inflicted on so many generations? What is the chance that this moment would specifically call on me? On us? 

Chance (n.)

1. A possibility of something happening.

2. The occurrence and development of events in the absence of any obvious design.

Chance (adj.)

1. Fortuitous; accidental.

Chance (v.)

1. To do something by accident or without design.

2. To do (something) despite its being dangerous or of uncertain outcome.

I started this observation saying that time oscillates. At this moment, I am eager to quickly move from exploring chance to envisioning change. But in doing so, I have succumbed to the weight of time. The time this is needed to process and mourn. To sit with uneasiness and acknowledge discomfort. I’ve noted that oscillation, in itself, requires time.

Throughout human history, we have learned to move with time. We have learned to bend, grow, and prune ourselves to meet the moment. Our adaptability has nurtured our genius. Bear witness to this by watching the dancers of Ailey or listening to the changing timbre in Kendrick’s bars. Noting this, I ask us to take time and consider what it means to navigate this extraordinary moment. 

Let’s take a moment to interrogate the concept of chance.

I invite you to reflect with me as I ask myself this question: “What is the chance that I – that we – would meet a moment such as this”?

What is the chance that from these crises a new way of living, being, knowing - dare I say loving - could emerge from this period of perpetual tumult?

What is the chance that we could dismantle the systemic imbalances that have purposefully endangered, suppressed, and silenced the voices of countless generations?

What is the chance that our voices could unify into a mighty choir that ushers in an era of reinvention – where justice and liberty indeed reign supreme? 

Simply put. 

What is the chance? Our chance? And what are we going to do with it?