To Be Courageous Is To Be Vulnerable
On cultivating quiet, sustainable courage
Earlier this month, I wrote how each January, I ask myself How can I be more courageous? How is fear holding me hostage? For me, these questions often revolve around personal relationships and my writing, but this week, I’ve been reflecting on what it means to be courageous in a country where fascism is now firmly rooted.
There are those, like Alexei Navalny, who are willing to sacrifice their lives to resist dictatorship and oppression. There are others, like Claudette Colvin, whose single, defiant act leads to a tidal wave of resistance. We know these stories—loud, outspoken defiance. But courage doesn’t need to be loud to be powerful.
Courage is complicated. To be courageous is to be vulnerable. Courage cannot exist without some level of vulnerability. The question is, what level of risk are we personally willing/able to take on?
There can be a policing of sorts, an imposition by others who critique how people choose to resist. It’s a terrifying time for many, and I too feel disheartened and infuriated as I hear people say We survived the first four years, we can survive these next four or I’m not going to let him ruin my life. In these moments, I have to force myself to remember very few of us live entirely within the bounds of our values. As individuals, we can’t help but feel helpless when combatting rich, powerful, exploitative systems, and sometimes it feels easier to acquiesce because we cannot imagine a different reality.
Humans are fierce, resilient, but we are fragile creatures. Though we like to distance ourselves from our mammalian family, we are wired for survival. For some, what feels like the easiest, safest thing to do is nothing—to privately disagree with what’s happening but to become quietly resigned in the hope that they and their loved ones remain unscathed. And for those most vulnerable to persecution, who are in immediate danger of losing their lives or their livelihoods, can we blame them if they don’t actively resist? I don’t. Fear is a primal, powerful motivator.
I too have been overcome by fear, unable to find the loud courage to resist. I have bitten my tongue for fear of losing my job. I have abandoned my body for fear of what would happen if I resisted his advances. Looking back, I was just trying to survive, but even in those moments I was quietly courageous, finding ways to subvert those who had power over me.
On Tuesday, I watched as Mariann Budde, the Episcopal Bishop in Washington D.C., used her platform to plea with Donald Trump to show mercy towards the immigrant and LGBTQ+ communities. I imagine she knew her plea was unlikely to sway the direction of this administration, but her words weren’t solely for him, they were for every single one of us watching.
Her sermon led me to contemplate my own courage—how to use my time and energy to resist, to advocate not only for myself as woman whose rights are dissolving, but for my LGBTQ+ siblings, for the immigrants seeking a better life for themselves and who contribute so much to our communities, for every child in school who fears active shooters, for democracy.
Courage can be loud or quiet. I recently read Claire Keegan’s Small Things Like These, a short, beautiful book about quiet courage telling the story of a man who has to grapple with the potential consequences of resistance to the status quo. It served as a reminder of how we as individuals have the power to make a difference.
Quiet courage isn’t resigned, quiet courage is subversive. It’s more challenging to squash, its roots run deep. It sustains us when we can’t be bold.
Courage is writing the truth even if writing it risks censorship. Courage is sharing resources. Courage is cultivating joy in the face of oppression. Courage is asking for help. Courage is offering refuge. Courage is remaining engaged and aware. Courage is distributing banned books. Courage is saying No. Courage is communal. Courage is collaborative.
Courage and community are the bedrocks of resistance.
I’d love to hear from you all. Who or what is inspiring you? How are you cultivating courage? What quiet (or loud) ways are you showing up courageously in your communities? I’ll see you in the comments.
P.S. If you enjoyed this essay, please click on the heart at the bottom or top of this e-mail. It helps others discover The Understory and brightens my day!
Monthly Writing Circle Updates
If you’re looking for a safe, communal writing space, our next writing circle is Sunday, February 16th at 10 AM CST. Generative writing circles are open to all levels of paid subscribers. We read, discuss, and write together. These monthly sessions are a balm, a place of connection and vulnerability. If you feel compelled to write more this year, we would love to have you join us!
Below are the poets we’ll be exploring over the next five months:
10 AM CST on Sunday, February 16th - José Olivarez
7 PM CST on Wednesday, March 12th - Gabrielle Calvocoressi
7 PM CST on Thursday, April 17th - Alberto RÃos
7 PM CST on Tuesday, May 20th - Diane Seuss
10 AM CST on Sunday, June 22nd - Ilya Kaminsky
Really says it all about courage and the times. Working at a food pantry I see a sort of KIND COURAGE all the time from the volunteers, and it makes me strong enough to face another day. I work at the local political office and have confronted many people, and it is so discouraging when I realize there is no changing their views. Still, I have hope when I see her tell it like it is to his face.
This is lovely, Danielle. Thank you. I'm all about building community, and as a queer, aging, Jewish, single woman, I've been doing that my whole life. I've found new and inspiring comrades here in Substackland, and I have it in my hometown. And now, because of the wonders of the internet (which is also pretty toxic at times) and Zoom, I'm building connections internationally. I will write stories, stand in my truth, and hopefully make people smile and think. xo