Being affected

In the piece I wrote for The Marshall Project while still in prison I said, “ I’ve learned that we care less about things we have no emotional connection to—that’s just human nature.” I was just reminded of this by reading an op-ed in The Oregonian from a young woman who admits she doesn’t actually care about the Amazon burning because it doesn’t affect her and she can’t see it. I appreciate her honesty—it’s far more authentic than the standard liberal nod and sympathetic social media post in response to international crises.

I was one of those people who made that sympathetic social media posts on Twitter. But because I knew the Amazon was burning before most Americans by watching my Brazilian friends’ Instagram stories. I am honestly and emotionally affected by the fact the Amazon is burning. It is affecting people I actually know. They’re breathing in its smoke. While I can’t see it and it’s not happening to me—the degree of separation is small. It’s happening to people I care about.

I struggled with drug addiction for years. My mom was career military and I too joined the Air Force. My mom was gay in the military before don’t ask don’t tell—forced to be closeted. I was conceived through artificial insemination and thanks to a DNA test I have met 4 of my many half-siblings. I get my medical care at the VA. When my then-boyfriend called 911 to save my life during my overdose, he was arrested for possession of heroin, fired from his job, and we were evicted. He ended up homeless on the streets of Portland for years. I cycled through questionable rehab centers that emphasize abstinence-only recovery and 12-step. I relapsed immediately every time. I was prosecuted for drug use and treated like a criminal, cycled in and out of jail. I am queer, second generation.

My mom, under the care of the VA, overdosed from her excessive prescription load of opioids and benzodiazepines. A few months after that I sold a gram to my friend Justin, he overdosed, and I was sentenced to 5 years in prison for his death. I was housed at FCI Dublin, a low and not a camp. Mass incarceration is a domestic human rights crisis. Nearly 40% of the population were Mexican citizens. They were (or will be) deported upon their release. One woman is serving life without parole for a drug crime, she was not granted clemency, presumably because of her Mexican citizenship. My friend Monica had her parental rights permanently revoked because she was incarcerated, she was then deported. I fell in love with a Mexican woman who was then deported. Immigration detention is truly awful they tell me. My Facebook feed is now full of people that live in Mexico. It’s not uncommon to see dead bodies or the police response to said dead bodies on the street. I have mounting student loan debt. I’ve struggled with my mental health most my life. The list goes on.

I have an emotional connection to so many things that the news exhausts me. I can’t do what the woman from The Oregonian op-ed does and block it all out because it doesn’t affect me. Sometimes it seems like I care about too many things—but I can’t not. I care about all the things that affect me or affect someone I know.