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I have a confession: I haven’t watched the local or national nightly newscast in six months.

It feels like a deep sense of shame to say that out loud as a self-proclaimed news junkie, ex-DC wonk. The heartbeat of my life drums to the rhythm of understanding the world around us with all its nuances, complexity, and perspectives. For all of Brendan’s life (and well before that), we were turned into local and national news every night from 5 to 7 pm, often watching Meet The Press on Sunday mornings. No matter the day’s events, we could always discuss it with Brendan with age-appropriate conversations, helping him contextualize any international or domestic conflict. It was a teaching tool, a homeroom civics lesson.

Since last November, I’ve had trouble reconciling the fact that our nation elected a president with felony charges and a moral bankruptcy that is difficult for me to comprehend. One whose administration cares so little for humanity and the rights of me, my daughter, my husband’s former colleagues at the NIH, and my son’s classmates - and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. A leader who causes more division than healing, stoking fear and hate.

In January, it became clear that we couldn’t keep the news on at dinnertime anymore. Brendan watched as daddy’s friends, who were leading cancer research and infectious disease prevention, lose their funding and not be able to work. He saw his dad and I think through the various ways we could help others in our community who were out of work and needing financial assistance. He noticed the antisemitic graffiti on a local business, news conversations about hostages and ongoing war, as well as images of women mourning their children in Gaza. One night, he watched a news recap of the Oval Office meeing with Ukrainian President Zelensky and blurted out, “Why did it look like our president treated that other leader like a little kid? That’s not kind.”

It was too much for him - and us - to hold. We started switching to PBS Kids on “special nights” and turning the TV off altogether, silently mourning the fact that our deeply feeling kid, who is growing up in a complex world, needs the touchstone moments of context that are often easiest around a dinner table.

The whiplash has been challenging for me to even think about writing, even here on Substack. I mean, if everything feels like it’s fraught, what even is the point of making art? What good does it do to share our stories if we’re the ones impacted by these policy changes, but not as badly as others? Does my voice even matter, or is it adding to the noise around us?

In times like these, I return to Toni Morrison - one of the first authors and thinkers I’ve ever studied who had a steady, grounded approach that I both adore and envy.

In her April 2015 article for The Nation, she recounted her mood around Christmas 2004 after George W. Bush was re-elected.

I am staring out of the window in an extremely dark mood, feeling helpless. Then a friend, a fellow artist, calls to wish me happy holidays. He asks, “How are you?” And instead of “Oh, fine—and you?”, I blurt out the truth: “Not well. Not only am I depressed, I can’t seem to work, to write; it’s as though I am paralyzed, unable to write anything more in the novel I’ve begun. I’ve never felt this way before, but the election….” I am about to explain with further detail when he interrupts, shouting: “No! No, no, no! This is precisely the time when artists go to work—not when everything is fine, but in times of dread. That’s our job!”

She goes on to list the many times in history that we’ve faced similar fears and a three-step process of how oppressive power flouishes (pick a person or group to “other,” limit the critical thinking of media or imagination of artists, and distract with “themes of superior religion or defiant national pride that enshrines past hurts” - sound familiar?)

Her message: We’ve been here before. It is not time to give up. It’s time to create.

Toni’s words are a balm to me. Yes, we’ve been in this space before, even though it feels more heightened than ever. And yet - her message is that even though the world is “bruised and bleeding”, we cannot give in to the rancor we may see or feel. We cannot give up our agency to stand tall, or our power to create and speak out.

If she were alive today, I wonder what she’d add to this article to address these current times, specifically the first time a U.S. President has deployed the National Guard without a governor’s request since the march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama in 1965.

I know what I’d add.

We are strong people. I watch LA protest en masse to decry deportations of their community, as is their right. I watch those I know who are the literal boots on the ground, seeing an accurate representation of what’s really going on. Now isn’t the time for self-pity or silence, as Toni would say. Now is the time for community care and for seeing the humanity in others. Now is the time for art, for our language and voices. It’s time to metaphorically and physically stand in the gap and help our neighbors. (Beyond time, really.)

It’s time to ask questions. The most dangerous thing in the world to power is a thoughtful question.

The funny thing about that is that I find the best questions come from my 8-year-old. When it’s too hard to examine the world in front of us, knowing what I know, I’ll ask him what questions he’d ask those in power.

Chances are, his questions might be more thoughtful than the ones I’d come up with anyway.

One More Thing: Creative Prompt

This week, I’m asking our Creative Studio crew (more on that soon!) to put Toni’s words in motion with a list. Sometimes, when we get stuck in our heads (our ego) about the art that should flow from us, it’s easier to begin if we have a list.

Today, I’d love to offer you the same prompt so we can create together around the world. Here’s the deal: set a timer for 10 minutes and make a list for this question.

When have you seen magic show up in your day?

It can be a hummingbird that popped in to say hello or your favorite song on the radio. It can be as big as someone saying “I love you” or as little as someone saying “hi.”

Think about where you find magic in the mundane.

I’ll post mine in Substack Notes and on Instagram on Friday - leave yours in the comments or tag @amylizkugler on Instagram if you share yours there!