We Can’t Afford to Lose Count

34,000+ Gazans murdered. 

8 million Sudanese displaced. 

2 million people in U.S. prisons and jails.

37.9 million people living below the poverty line in the United States.  

$849.8 billion for the U.S. military budget. 

We can’t afford to lose count. Our humanity relies on us keeping count. It relies on our ability to remember the 34,000 individual lives that made up 34,000 murdered. That 8 million people, roughly the size of NYC, have been displaced from their homes. Losing count means that we lose sight of ourselves in the face of devastation and therefore, our power and vulnerability in it. 

The U.S. relies on upholding an illusion of safety to desensitize those within its borders to the devastation  Depending on the identities that you hold, this illusion starts to crack as time goes on. As a queer Black woman born into poverty in the South, my relationship with safety has always been tenuous. Nonetheless, we are presented with the illusion that our “safety” in this country and the need to defend us makes the destruction of places and people within and outside of its borders necessary. Billions of dollars are pumped into the military defense budget but does the lack of universal healthcare, millions unhoused, stagnant wages, unchecked gun laws, underfunded schools, and police brutality make you feel safe? 

Ask yourself: If your safety is predicated on the death or subjugation of someone else, how is safety? And if we’re being desensitized to death, why would our deaths matter?

This illusion of safety is predicated on our ability and necessity to lose count. It demands we be desensitized, and turn away, and believe that not seeing is the same as not knowing. 

Who & what keeps us safe? I find comfort and a directive in the fact that our neighbors will often be first responders in disaster. Not the military. Not the government. Your neighbors – those in your community. It’s directive to build and expand my community to the edges of the globe. A directive to reject the notion that governments, politicians, militaries – and the destruction of others keep me safe. 

On a recent solo trip to Istanbul, I was navigating a busy neighborhood en route to dinner with two people that I had met just the day before. New to the country, I kept falling behind as I took in everything new to me but Ahmed, always a few steps ahead of me would look back every few feet to make sure I was still there and just smile. 

Ahmed taking the time to turn back and acknowledging that he was keeping eyes on me in the crowd is what keeps us safe. We keep us safe. Valuing someone else’s humanity without knowing them keeps us safe. Understanding that your freedom and liberation are tethered to the well-being of others keeps us safe. Not losing count keeps us safe.

INHALE My soul is disturbed EXHALE because it's still intact - Cole Arthur Riley