The 'Blame Board'

Well, this wasn’t the outcome many of us had hoped for. I stayed up until Pennsylvania was called around 1:30 a.m., then crawled into bed, that same sickening 2016 dread coiling in my stomach. I remember waking up that next morning, randomly hitting play on What’s Going On, and just lying in bed, crying—a few solitary hours of reckoning. Later, I went to the Coffee Bean on Ventura, where I ran into an old friend who, of course, chose that exact moment to tell me he’d campaigned for Ron Paul. The heat that rose in me could’ve scorched beans. CrossFit champion too, apparently, so yes, my personal disdain for CrossFit began in that moment, irrevocably.

Blame is a deliciously easy instinct, one that calls for ritual finger-pointing—white women, white men, Floridians (they get their own demo), Gen Z, Hispanics, etc. Once again, Black women are the only ones who’ve earned the right to evade the finger-pointing. We let them down again.

Back when my partner Stephen was alive, he drew a ‘Blame Board’ on our son’s chalkboard wall. Meant to be a running joke, we’d mark down anyone who pawned off responsibility instead of owning up. It felt more like a life lesson than a laugh though—blame, after all, is an utterly empty response to defeat. Losing hurts, but it’s where the best lessons are found.

So what are the lessons here? I’m no political strategist, but it feels like Democrats are forever in defense mode, while Republicans stay firmly on offense. In any game, you can’t score if you don’t shoot. Right now, the issues gripping Americans are immigration and the economy. Ironically, the economy is doing well by many measures, but high grocery prices paint a grimmer picture in most people’s daily lives. For all the talk of the national debt, capital gains taxes, and loan forgiveness, Americans care about the tangible, today’s dinner bill, tomorrow’s jobs.

I can’t help feeling close to assigning blame myself, but as the ‘Blame Board’ taught me, it rarely illuminates or changes anything. As I mentioned, I have zero expertise in politics, but I would suggest that messaging matters more than the messenger’s agenda. Yes, misogyny and racism undoubtedly linger, stubborn beasts in the room, but the truth is, you can’t change the world without speaking directly to it. It seems the age of nuance is dead. I don’t really know where I’m going with this—maybe it’s just a vent, honestly. But here’s what I can promise, I won’t spend the next four years fuming over posts on X or watching pundits volley blame while farming rage. Tried that once already, and it left me feeling pretty empty.

So, what to do? Social media stole our third spaces from us, slowly, systematically, until we barely noticed they were gone. But step outside the screen, and you’ll find real places where engagement and impact happen. I’ve been volunteering at 826NYC lately, learning to play Dungeons and Dragons alongside the kids, and it’s a blast. It’s grounding, a reminder that communities still exist off-grid. If you catch yourself doom-scrolling, consider putting the phone down. Find something that brings a touch of contentment—real, tangible, not the synthetic highs and lows the apps peddle. There’s a richness in community that social media simply can’t replicate, and it’s something worth investing in. Time is, after all, our rarest currency, and these next four years will demand that we be careful with it. Spend it where it counts.

Sorry this is so random, but I refused to cry in bed this year.