11 July 2025
My parents called me their why child for a reason.
I wasn’t necessarily defiant (although sometimes it felt necessary to be defiant), but I was curious. I wanted to understand cause and effect. I wanted to understand antecedents and outcomes. I wanted to understand motives and methods. I was always, always, always asking why about everything.
My parents quickly learned how disinclined I was to accept “because I said so” or “because that’s just how things are” or even “I don’t know” as the final answer to anything.
I’m still this way.
Honestly, I have some difficulty understanding why everyone else is not this way. Why wouldn’t you want to know why?
Eventually I landed on an answer that explains a lot, but leaves me unsatisfied: a lot of people simply do not want to know.
Occasionally (more frequently lately), I have been asked a why question myself: Why don’t we talk anymore? Or Why did we grow apart? Or – my favorite – Why can’t we still be friends?
These questions come most often from friends, neighbors, family, well-meaning people who wear red hats and claim they want to make America great again.
It’s tempting to respond with a detailed explanation about differences in values, or perception, or understanding. On its face, the question seems sincere: why can’t we be friends?
While they wait for my answer, I have to remind myself that they really do not want to know. What they want is for me to acknowledge the rightness of their choices. They want me to validate their views.
I get it. I’ve been there. I’ve been them. As a former adherent and now recovering survivor of deep theocratic indoctrination, I understand the source of their questions, and I understand why they make the choices they make. I understand that they are not seeking to understand me. They seek conformity. When I do not conform, it makes them uncomfortable.
So when someone asks me why I said this thing or that thing (because I tend to say what I think, which can make some people uncomfortable), or they ask why I keep my distance from them, my first response these days is, “Are you sure you really want to know?”
Most of the time, that ends the conversation because they really do not want to know.
For those who persist, those who declare that they do want to know, those who are determined to let me know that they care about me and what I think, or they care about how I feel, or some variation on that theme, my response now is this:
Before I tell you my why,
I need you to tell me
Because I really want to know
Why
Why you thought it was ok
To vote
For me
To die.
That’s what you did you know.
YOU know.
You KNOW.
YOU KNOW.
If you did not know it before,
You must – most assuredly – know it by now.
So please look me in the eye
And tell me why.
Surely you know
If you know me at all
That I am one of the
Marginalized “they”.
Even if you can’t see it
(Because not all of my challenges are immediately visible)
I am pushed to the edge
In more than one way
(in so many ways I’ve lost count, really).
You tell me you believed the loud ones
When they promised greatness,
And in the next breath you say
You didn’t think they were serious
About the threats they made against
The “monsters” they wanted you to be afraid of.
Remember: I am one of those monsters.
Perhaps your child is also one.
Perhaps your boss is a monster, too.
Perhaps you will soon be added to the list of monsters.
Perhaps that is why it is so important to you
To conform,
To look “normal.”
Never mind that, though.
The loud ones told you they would make things better
And you believed them.
You were worried about the price of eggs,
Or the “invasion at the border,”
Or people who enjoy sex in different ways than you do,
Or people who simply don’t look or dress or
live their lives the same way you do.
So you voted for a “greatness” that looks a whole lot like
Your unchallenged comfort level.
Tell me,
Is the cost of a dozen eggs so important to you
That you’re willing to sacrifice my life
And many more lives of living, breathing, fellow beings
To save a couple of bucks?
I look like you (except for my wheelchair and my oxygen tank).
I live in your neighborhood (even though you never see me).
I do essential work that I am uniquely skilled to do.
I am on your lists of people you “should” care about
(church rosters, neighborhood directories, local social groups).
You say all are welcome
But you make me feel unsafe
Because your life choices
Empower those who consider my existence irrelevant, inconvenient,
Those who would happily deprive me of my life if it would profit them.
That is what they are doing now, at every turn.
They are kidnapping people and sending them to concentration torture camps.
They are destroying the social safety net
That net helps to keep me and millions of marginalized others
Alive
And maybe, even possibly,
Somewhat more healthy than we would be otherwise.
The net would help you, too,
At whatever moment you become marginalized
(it will happen, you know, eventually, if you’re lucky enough to survive).
They are intentionally destroying the infrastructure and
The delicate ecosystem
Every living entity on this planet relies on for continued existence.
They are doing all of this
Because you, and millions more like you,
Voted to let them do that.
If you now regret that vote,
And truly I hope you do,
Why do you still wear that red hat and
wave those signs and
spread those memes?
Why have you not impaled your faux superhero posters
And your golden sneakers
And your battle flags
And your horned cosplay helmets
On a roasting fork,
Held them over searing flames of absolution,
And painted yourself with the ashes?
Why have you not foresworn your allegiance to
any and all aspects of authoritarianism?
If your question to me means you’re trying
to reconnect, to learn, to change,
To comprehend,
You must be honest enough to look at yourself
To understand what you helped to create,
To understand why you made the choice you made.
To come clean,
You must be born again
And commit to a new way of being.
You must see me
– really see me –
And see yourself in me
And see me in yourself.
If we are to still be friends
(or even friends for the first time),
You must understand this
Before you can truly understand
The role you’ve played
And the changes you need to make now,
The work you must do now
To try to stop the horror,
Arrest the harm,
Heal the rift.
This you must do
Because
Whether it’s what you intended or not
The law of unintended consequences never doesn’t apply.
If you’re serious,
do not look away.
Look me in the eye
And tell me why.
When you can do that,
You will understand:
Your answer is my why.
If you can’t do that
There is nothing for us to talk about.
~
I say this with all the love I can muster:
Let your conscience be your guide. When you’re ready to turn away from the festering toxicity that has led us to this impasse, when you’re ready to actively advocate for a community where there can truly be liberty and justice for all of us, I’ll be ready to listen and learn and talk with you.
I’ll be here to help…
I hope.
~
I’m so glad to have you join me here. Knowing I have readers waiting for updates energizes me and inspires me to keep writing. Your presence makes all the difference; it means I’m not alone and neither are you.
If my writing resonates with you, please 💜 and restack.
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~
Please note: all writing and photography in this post is the original work of the author unless otherwise noted, and is subject to applicable US Copyright restrictions and regulations. CJ’s Dancing On My Own Grave © 2025
CJ,
Your words pierced straight through me! I cried reading this—not just because of the heartbreak in it, but because of the clarity. The integrity. The grief. The righteous rage. You articulated what so many of us feel but struggle to say.
“Tell me why you thought it was okay to vote for me to die.”
That line shattered me. Because it’s true.
Thank you for being brave enough to write this! Thank you for staying open, even after so many doors have slammed shut. I’m one of the ones still here. Still learning. Still fighting. Still hoping.
You are not alone. Your words show your strength and your superpower! Thank you-
With deep respect,
Joy 💜
Your words have such power and resonance for me. This morning I finished reading Night, by Elie Wiesel, and there is much in common between your questions and his story too many for comfort.
I have been known to respond to the why with, “do my words matter to you?’ I want to ask, “Are you willing to hear, to see, to care? Are you willing to speak out about the issues, to hear facts, or at least listen to more than one side?’
We may disagree on some things, but when it comes down to it we depend on one another to do the right thing, to acknowledge and care for and about our neighbors, friends, and families.