I will always fail

[prompted by a discussion about wanting/failing to be a White ally, by thinking about the impossibility of achieving what I want with my thesis - because it is actually impossible (maybe), and thinking with love of the people who keep believing in me when I don't believe in myself]

The fact I will always fail does not mean I have failed. There is no need to give up. There is no need to feel guilt.

By tackling that which is impossible, I highlight a problem. The problem is that what I am doing should not be impossible. I highlight it by noticing something that is so deeply woven into the current reality that in general no-one notices it. If I point out, I get comments like 'but that's just how things are' or 'that's life' or 'just accept it' or 'there's nothing you can do'.

Defiance in the face of that is a powerful weapon. "Hold my beer" or "Watch me!" followed by failure. Followed by failure. Followed by failure.

And so I continue to attempt the impossible. Perhaps it makes others see the problem. Perhaps it makes them wonder if the current reality is the only reality.

Do you know what keeps me going? It is those who tell me that they see what I am doing. That they could not do it. That if anyone can, it's me. That they are relieved and grateful and quietly (or loudly) cheering me on.

I know they mean it. They are there for me when I am broken. They never tell me I should get back up and get into the fight. But when I do, they shout or whisper encouragement.

And I wonder. They talk about me 'giving them a voice' in places they don't want to try to go but where they want what they say to me to be heard. There's an entire research literature about the rights and wrongs and impossibility and moral necessity and methods and reasons and contested meanings of speaking for and giving a voice. But maybe the reality is that they give me a voice. They patch me up. They actively support my healing and mental stability. Without them, I have no voice because I give up. They trust that, when I speak in places they cannot or will not go, what I say will be as full of them as it is full of me.

As Michelle Fine puts it, I'm not a ventriloquist, and I am not a tape recorder replaying their literal voices (page 12, Just Research in Contentious Times, 2018. If you can't pop to a university library, on Amazon you can search in her book for 'voice'. It's worth doing that). Maybe I am someone they have heard speak out about things *they* have put in my head, and who they choose to speak to, so I can speak of more things.

Will I fail in the impossible challenges I set myself? Undoubtedly.

Will that keep me from trying? Hold my beer.