Awaiting the political solstice and what follows
As surely as the seasons change, so will the political chill we now feel
What message were ancient people seeking as they considered the solstice? (Photo by Jacob Amson on Unsplash)
Five years ago, Donald Trump declared himself a Florida man, abandoning New York because, he said, Democrats “haven’t treated me properly,” and had pushed up taxes and the cost of living.1 It’s the kind of prattle you hear on talk radio — well, minus the pose of the wounded victim. “Tell you what, I retire, I’m outta here,” a guy said ominously on one local station the other day.
But I have my doubts about what really motivates the right-wingers. Out-migration from this part of the country is a fact: Nearly 5 million people have moved to the Sunbelt over the past decade, mostly from the Northeast and Midwest. Seems to me, though, that they’re probably driven less by politics and finances than by sunlight. People follow the light and the warmth it brings.2
That comes to mind now, especially, because we’re at the winter solstice, when there’s less daylight than at any other time of the year. Those of us in northern communities are at a disadvantage: By sunset on Saturday, the day of this year’s solstice, our Upstate county will have gotten 9 hours and 2 minutes of sunlight, about an hour and a half less than Mar-a-Lago. People get grumpy at this time of the year because their dog expects a morning walk before the sun comes up, and then it’s dark again before their workday is done. (Or am I speaking only for myself here, folks?)
Yet we know that after the solstice, we move inexorably toward longer days again, which makes this a hopeful moment. And now we’re poised for Christmas, when things always look brighter — and which this year, for the first time since 2005, coincides with the start of Hannukah, the Jewish “festival of lights.” This confluence of factors promising more light couldn’t come at a moment when we need it more.
We’re talking here, of course, about more than literal darkness. The winter solstice aside, it’s a dark season emotionally for a lot of us. I keep hearing from readers who tell me that ever since the re-election of the Florida man, they have found the news too upsetting to follow. It’s understandable: For people who care about fairness and equity for all Americans, about the stability of the world order, the forward progress of democracy and even something as basic as competence in governing, things look pretty dark just now.
But I’m taking some comfort from the solstice. It’s not that the calendar and the change of seasons can offset the likely awful effects of the pending presidency. Understanding the cycles of things, though, may help us keep what’s coming in perspective, because it’s in the seasons of darkness that we prepare for growth.
Despite the darkness, the solstice has been a moment for awe and celebration as far back as the Stone Age. It was apparently with the solstice in mind, scientists say, that people built Stonehenge, a project that took some 1500 years, starting in about 3100 BCE. Later, in ancient Europe, the solstice was viewed as the death and rebirth of the sun, and a time to worship the Sun God. Ancient Romans turned this into a weeklong celebration, Saturnalia, which some historians suggest is why early Christians decided to celebrate the birth of Jesus at that same time of the year: Since people were already accustomed to a wintertime festival, a religion that wanted to offer a message of hope found it sensible to appropriate the holiday that celebrates light.
Over millennia, Christianity has come to make full use of images of dark and light in its depictions of Christmas, beginning with the star in the east that guided the wise men through the night to Bethlehem, and the angels that appeared to shepherds watching their flocks in the night. Those notions are evoked in the favorite carol, Silent Night, where “all is calm, all is bright.” Artists have usually depicted the nativity scene at night, featuring visiting shepherds and magi summoned by the light. It is as though the origin of Christianity itself is one arising from darkness. These days, the lights that sparkle on Christmas trees across America illuminate the symbol of the season against a backdrop of darkness.
As to the holiday itself, agrarian societies surely welcomed a break for celebration in midwinter. Notwithstanding the difficulties of winter in the northern hemisphere, people whose lives were tied to the land would welcome the change of seasons. After all, plants need a period of dormancy to rest and conserve energy in their roots, to aid spring growth. Trees are especially aided by the cold and dark of winter: while trees are defoliated, their root systems can expand, making the trees more hardy. Freezing temperatures preserve organic matter in soil and suppress harmful pests and diseases.
We tend not to think of that these days as we rush about in well-lighted communities. When it comes to climate, some of us who live in the North truly appreciate winter: We are invigorated by its challenges, and renewed by the brisk cleansing of cold. But perhaps partly because we’re no longer so tuned in to the value of dormancy in nature, we’re nevertheless often disabled by the darkness that inevitably confronts us all on a personal level — that is, the adversity that comes to each of us eventually, some sooner and more acutely than others.
Psychologists tell us, though, that darkness in our lives can present an opportunity to similarly experience growth and gain resilience. That is, challenges press us to develop new skills and perspectives, and to accumulate inner strength. And they help us to later appreciate the more positive aspects of our lives.
How we deal with adversity matters, research has found. More growth occurs when people confront the challenge at hand, rather than turning away from it — if they engage in “opposing” rather than “coping,” as one team of researchers reported a dozen years ago.3 Then, when we have experienced darkness — that is, when hardship has occupied our attention and we have emerged from its grip — we tend to more deeply value the good times that follow.
You can see where this is going: If adversity is a catalyst for positive change, the precarious moment in which we live is clearly offering us an opportunity.
Many of us have little doubt that we are entering a dark phase for America. The progress we have made in addressing climate change and economic injustice, limited as it has been, is likely to be attacked by executive orders on Trump’s first day in office; the full access to equal rights of LGBTQ Americans and people of color seem likely to be less secure; the health of our families and neighbors could well be imperiled by the new administration’s overt hostility to science and learning; the stability of the international order may well be undone by Trump’s propensity for isolationism and economic protectionism. In that, and much more, the presidency of Donald Trump is likely to chill us all.
But our democracy offers a regularized moment for rebirth, and it tends to bring new currents before too long. As surely as the winter solstice comes each year, a political solstice will arrive in America — a moment probably yet ahead of us, which will be furthest from the hopes that we all have held for our country, but which, if we engage fully, will then yield to our movement toward more light. After the solstice, that is, comes the march toward the equinox.
To carry on the metaphor, let’s be clear that the period of dormancy that allows rest in the political sphere is necessarily a short one, because elections that can change things come with frequency and certainty. Fortunately, people who work in public life are already making plans for the next election cycle. You might say that they are making the soil richer and the roots stronger, preparing us for the next opportunity for growth. Our path away from the darkness will be more fruitful, if psychologists’ work is to be believed, if we engage fully in the task.
So at this time of the year, as we are just beginning to emerge from the darkest of days — at first by a few seconds of added daylight each day, and then by more minutes and hours as we move into the warmth — it’s good to remember that this is not how things end. It is how we go on to a new beginning.
Amid these yet cold and dark days in Upstate America, then, I wish you all a season of hope for what lies ahead.
https://abcnews.go.com/Politics/longtime-yorker-president-trump-now-florida-resident/story?id=66684657
https://www.clarionpartners.com/insights/sun-belt-apartments-multifamily#:~:text=Over%20the%20past%20decade%2C%20national,in%2Dmigration%20in%20the%20future.
https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC3389758/
MORE FROM THE UPSTATE AMERICAN
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-REX SMITH
“The first step towards getting somewhere is to decide that you are not going to stay where you are.” -J.P. Morgan
Ho, ho, hope!
Thank you, Rex.