I remember those long nights in the library as an undergrad, inhaling Red Bull and speed-reading my way through the set texts on asymmetrical warfare and the Geneva Conventions.
I remember, in high school but not from my high school teachers, learning about Walter Rodney. I remember how hard it was to finish reading The Feast of the Goat. I remember where I was when Dana Seetahal died.
When I was younger I thought I would be, variously, a forensic scientist; a scholar of Shakespeare and Blake (and how they informed Caribbean literature and music); some sort of high-ranking FIFA official; an intellectual property lawyer; an international human rights lawyer; an international humanitarian lawyer; a management consultant.
Instead I live somewhere between technology and media. Instead I suppose these days I could add “writer” to my bio and not be totally wrong. Instead I hold fast to the belief that the people must know before they can act, and there is no educator to compare with the press.
On we go.
$ subscribers will receive a second edition this week, containing some riffs on how to get through this never ending drumbeat of breaking news without falling too hard for misinformation.
Hear the darkness blow like wind?
I watch this prosperity through alien eyes.
I am addicted to my despair.
Hear the darkness blow?
This minute, inside this night,
something’s coming to pass. The moon
is troubled and red; clouds
are a procession of mourners waiting
to release tears upon this rooftop,
this rooftop about to crumble, to give way.
—from “The Wind Will Blow Us Away” by Forugh Farrokhzad / Translated by Sholeh Wolpé