United in Grief: A Call to End Purity Politics Before It Ends Us
Some of us are grieving justice that never came. Others are grieving a future we thought was possible. Some are grieving the children of Gaza.
We are grieving. All of us.
Some of us are grieving justice that never came. Others are grieving a future we thought was possible. Some are grieving the children of Gaza. Others are grieving what they thought this country stood for. But no matter what brought us here, we are grieving all the same. And instead of holding each other close, we’ve built walls made of pain and distrust. We’ve started to believe that the only way forward is to go it alone. And that belief is destroying us from the inside.
The left is fractured. You can feel it in the tension that lingers in rooms full of people who supposedly believe the same things. You can hear it in every conversation that starts with hope and ends with a quiet sigh. We are not losing to the right because they are smarter or stronger. We are losing because we’ve turned the grief we carry into a litmus test, demanding that others bleed in the exact same places we do before we let them stand beside us.
I know this because I’ve been both.
I spent most of my life as a liberal. I believed in decency. I believed in democracy. I believed that good people in office could create good outcomes if we just gave them enough support and time. I canvassed. I voted blue. While I didn’t watch Rachel Maddow I might as well have. I thought the path forward was paved with petitions and policy memos. And honestly? There was comfort in that. There was a kind of moral safety in believing that the system could still be fixed if we just worked hard enough. I believed that justice could be slow, but still real.
And in many ways, that worldview kept me engaged. It made me believe I could make a difference. It made me feel hopeful in a country that feeds on hopelessness. That’s not something to dismiss or shame.
But then I started asking deeper questions.
This is partially what lead me to making this Substack. I was doing “deep dives” and I was shocked at the information I was finding. So I want to share it here with all of you.
I started noticing how often the people I voted for turned around and quietly voted for things I never would have supported. I saw Democrats take massive donations from corporations and lobbyists, then cast votes in favor of the people who paid them. I watched AIPAC pour millions into both parties to ensure bipartisan support for an apartheid state, and I realized that this wasn’t just a Republican problem. It was structural. It was bipartisan. And it was deadly.
I started talking to people I used to think were “too extreme.” I thought they were angry just to be angry. But once I actually listened, I realized they weren’t extreme. They were right. And they were tired.
The disillusioned left isn’t mad for no reason. They’ve been protesting police violence for decades while the rest of the country looked away. They’ve seen movements co-opted by influencers and nonprofits. They’ve buried friends. They’ve been mocked, blacklisted, and arrested while liberals tried to play nice with institutions that were never designed to protect us.
Their anger is not the problem. Their grief is not dangerous. What’s dangerous is a system that uses our divisions to keep killing, stealing, and lying without resistance.
But I also know what it feels like to be a liberal, to be cautious, to worry about saying the wrong thing. I know how overwhelming it is to start waking up to how deep the corruption goes. I know how much people care, even when they don’t always know what to say.
I’ve seen liberals give their time, their money, their energy, their lives to causes they believe in. They show up to protests. They knock doors. They try to make sense of a country that keeps contradicting its own values. That work matters. That care is real.
At one point recently, I almost lost myself trying to prove I was radical enough.
I started throwing around words like “shitlib,” thinking I was being sharp, but really I was just echoing pain I hadn’t fully processed. That wasn’t me. I wasn’t thinking … I was absorbing. I felt their grief so deeply I started speaking in it, without realizing I was starting to forget who I actually was.
But this isn’t a judgment of the people around me. I love my friends. I am grateful for them every day because they hold me accountable and help me grow. Especially the ones who are radical, the ones who’ve been in the trenches, the ones who taught me how deep this fight really goes. I understand their grief because I’ve tasted it too. I just don’t want that grief to calcify into division. If I can be the olive branch — if I can be even one small thread that helps stitch this fractured movement back together — I want to be that.
We cannot afford to keep fighting each other harder than we fight the people in power.
We’re all trying in our own way. But trying alone isn’t enough anymore. Not when fascism is growing louder and more organized every day. Not when lobbyists are writing our foreign policy. Not when children are dying while politicians smile for the camera and cash their checks.
We cannot afford to shame people for not knowing what we had to learn the hard way. We cannot afford to discard potential allies because they are just beginning to understand what we’ve known for years. And we cannot afford to romanticize radicalism while forgetting that new people are joining this fight every single day, often scared, often unsure, but willing.
Purity politics will not save us. It never has.
What will save us is a united front. A real one. A coalition of people who are brave enough to grow, humble enough to listen, and honest enough to admit when they’ve gotten it wrong. We need to be able to say, “I didn’t know, but now I do.” We need to be able to hear that and respond with, “Good. Let’s keep going.”
We are not going to agree on everything. And that’s okay. That’s human. What matters is that we agree on this: that the world we are living in is not sustainable. That injustice is not something we can compromise with. That lives are on the line. And that we are stronger together than we will ever be apart.
I know some people won’t like this. I will probably be told that I am being too soft on liberals. Others will say I am giving too much airtime to radicals.
But I am not here to be liked. I am here because I care.
Because I still believe something better is possible. And because I believe we won’t get there if we keep treating each other like enemies.
We do not need more gatekeepers. We need more welders. More bridge-builders. More people who understand that movements are not made by sorting people out. They are made by bringing people in.
We are united in grief. Let us also be united in purpose.
Before we lose what little time we have left.
Note from the Author
I don’t have all the answers. I’m just someone who cares enough to keep showing up, even when I’m tired, even when I’ve gotten it wrong.
This piece isn’t about being right. It’s about choosing each other while we still can. We are grieving. We are growing. And if we’re going to make it through what’s coming, we have to do it together.
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Thanks for being here.
Love, Dissent in Bloom.
I stand in solidarity with you.
wow, what an inspiring essay. thank you!