I told myself, that for the birds…

C texts me back, “You must be braver.”

He’s referring to me not giving a like to a stranger’s comment I saw on an acquaintance’s Instagram post about writers’ backing out of the AWP conference in Kansas City because the AWP will not declare themselves Pro Palestine and denounce Israel. The stranger’s post is a long one asking why we don’t denounce Hamas instead. The commenter listed all the ways in which what is happening to the Palestinians is Hamas’ fault. I sent C a link to the post and comment because I thought it to be a really good one, and a balsy one given where they posted it.

C wrote back, “that’s a good one. One of the best I’ve read. Why didn’t you like it?”

I wasn’t afraid to tell him I probably wouldn’t like the comment, because I had no idea who that person was. He told me to be braver, –as he heads to Kansas City to participate in a Jewish Anthology reading and his essay on his Jewish identity has recently been published in the The Times of Israel–but to have liked the post would not have felt brave, but weak. To hide behind the anonymity of social media feels so disingenuous and fake. It’s what those who are afraid of real life confrontation do. And I’m not afraid of real life confrontation. If you were to ask me in person how I feel, I’d have no problems telling you, though it would be nothing you’d want to hear. But I’m not combative about it, like when one of my birders said, “I think we can all agree on a cease fire.”

As I looked through my binoculars, I said, “There was a cease fire for years. Hamas violated it on October 7th.”

“I am in a meeting,” I replied to C. I wasn’t lying, it was 9 pm and I was still in the middle of an Audubon meeting. The meeting had gone on for a while because we had a lot of important issues to cover. One of them being, the casual mention by our Nominating Committee that next year, I will not serve as president, or on the board at all. I didn’t remind C, that at the very moment, I was being brave in my own way by stepping down. I had decided to step down, not because I was just getting on my moral high horse. I told myself that, for the birds, I should ignore that we had just participated in canceling a man, who lived 200 years ago, whose accomplishments and contributions to birding and ornithology should not be ignored inspite his sins. That, for the birds, I should look past the fact that I am against the toxicity and righteousness of cancel culture, which expects everyone to be super human and not have ever faulted in anything since birth. That, for the birds, I should get over my frustration that after the name of Audubon was dropped, I privately received notes from members saying they really regretted we had given in to the mobs that the name Audubon had meant something to them. Why hadn’t they spoken up before, when there was time to speak up? Because the mobs are bullies. I told myself that, for the birds, I should ignore that the name change had been sold to everyone as a means to be inclusive so people of color would feel safe joining our bird club, yet, since the name change, there have been zero people of color wanting to join our bird club, because there are no people of color here. And that, for the birds, I should get past my anger that so many hours had been wasted, and continue to be wasted, on the name change while we could have been out there saving birds–which was, in a nutshell, the reason why National did not change their name. So while I told the birds, that for them, I would carry on, it was no longer feasible. My heart is no longer in it after this. And to put in that many hours as a volunteer, attending city council meetings, board meetings, and events after my stressful full-time job, is no longer a good idea if your heart isn’t in it. It isn’t good for my peace of mind.

In a way it is what I did with the publishing world and why I stopped writing.

I told the birds I will continue to watch them and love them, house them and advocate for them, but just in a different way. And of course, I will always write about them and practice bird medicine and scream in excitement when they fly by, like I did this morning when on my way to work, a red-tailed hawk flew in front of my car to say hi.