Introducing...The Dissidentsia

In Defense of Dissidence and Dissidents

Dear Reader,

We find ourselves in the strangest of times.
For some of us, it’s all we can do to make it through each day, putting one foot in front of the other, seeing to our responsibilities and those in our care and trying to stay above this high water everywhere.

If I’m being honest (and I just about always am), I really can’t stand writing these types of emails, which is in part why I haven’t written one in so long. But it’s hard not to acknowledge what an epic and devastating and (OK fine I’ll say it) unprecedented shit show we’re enduring at present and feel the need to try to do anything and everything in my power to address it as fully as possible.

I myself am struggling to process it all, and it’s certainly interfering—as has life in the U.S. generally—with my ability to live a healthy and stabilized life. I’d venture to say that you don’t even have to possess a particularly sensitive disposition to be affected by everything that’s happening. And, for those of us who are hypersensitive, and furthermore those of us who struggle with mental health (and let’s move beyond the damn stigma: this shouldn’t delegitimize anyone; in fact, per Krishnamurti, what does it mean to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society?)...well, it’s a rough time to be living through. We’re all doing the best we can, and some days we’re lucky just to make it till the sun goes down.

Lately I’ve been pondering how best to meet the moment, and I was reminded of the community fostered by The Raffish, the offbeat literary journal I published from 2017-2020 with my partner Caitlin Davis. The idea for this project was birthed ten years ago, in the incendiary summer of 2016 (sidebar: I’ve recently heard about an online trend of nostalgia for this particular year...the year Trump was first elected; the year of the brutal police killings of Alton Sterling and Philando Castille, as well as the ambush and killing of police officers in Dallas...so apparently these folks are remembering it quite differently [if they’re remembering it at all]), and the goal was to share the stories of disenfranchised individuals and communities, including prisoners, combat veterans, and the working poor.

I wrote an essay some months ago, the title of which—'The Dissidentsia'—was lampooning the concept of the Intelligentsia while also nodding to what I deem to be a more important and compelling cohort, especially during this time. I began the essay by shouting out the great abolitionist, antiwar, women’s rights, union, and prison publications throughout American history. I always intended The Raffish to exist in this spirit, and I was always sad to have to close up shop on that endeavor.

If you’ll permit my tangential musings for a moment...
I’ve written previously about my struggle with the spotlight, the performance compulsion developed throughout my youth, and the self-importance it engendered in me as a younger man. I’d like to think that anyone who knows me now would acknowledge how far I’ve come from those halcyon days; while I do tend to write in the first-person (which allows me to effect [but not affect] intimacy and honesty), it’s been quite a few years since I’ve had any interest in self-promotion or personal recognition beyond that which might allow me to square debts, put food on the table, and effect a modicum of stability. In fact, I’m perhaps unreasonably (and idiotically) resistant to embracing the contrivances that so many today utilize to strike out on their own, e.g. social media, a podcast, etc. This certainly could (read: may have to) change at some point, but I continue to resist because of my aversion to the attention economy and all things trendy and newfangled and self-promotional in the vein of our Dear Leader aka the Micropenised Ignoramus.

The “I” which I employ, in art and in life, serves chiefly to ground my experience, intimately and honestly. But lately I’ve been wrestling with that, too, and longing to get even more out of the way. I always appreciated the way The Raffish allowed me to do this, and I’ve always been looking for another way to get back to that work. Alas, being a starving artist in the United States is particularly brutal—and while living as an expat in developing countries, I’ve had many an interesting conversation with others who are unable to believe the extent of poverty in the U.S. : Per the Nobel laureate Angus Deaton (via Matthew Desmond’s Poverty, By America): Beyond the 38 million+ people living below the poverty line in the U.S. (over 10% [!!?!??!]), 5.3 million Americans are “absolutely poor by global standards” (italics mine). “There are millions of Americans...whose suffering, through material poverty and poor health, is as bad or worse than that of the people in Africa or in Asia” (italics mine). While this is a mind-boggling reality, it’s also disconcerting to me that it comes as such a surprise—that is to say, that so many of us live ensconced in such affluence as to be unaware of the abject poverty and suffering around us (suffering which, as Matthew Desmond convincingly argues in his powerful book, is perpetuated by those of us that live so comfortably, and our unwillingness to compromise—even moderately—these comforts). Anyhow, hungry people do what they must, and a starving artist—even one as stubbornly principled as yours truly—has to pull out all the stops and is liable to get caught up in a wayward hustle. But lately, in conversations with my collaborators and comrades in Minneapolis, the Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola, and elsewhere, I’ve resolved to get after it again, in a new publication I’ve decided to call The Dissidentsia. There’s simply too much happening right now, here in the United States and the world over, to not be sharing these stories, comforting the afflicted, afflicting the comfortable, and championing dissent. So I give you The Dissidentsia, on Substack and Medium for now, published as often as/whenever the hell I can manage. I hope you’ll find import and value in this effort and become a reader, and I remain eternally grateful for your readership and support over these unruly years.

To be clear, Divagations is still a thing, and you’ll still be able to find my more personal work—short stories, vignettes, essays, and novel excerpts—there. And of course, you’re always welcome to unsubscribe at any time, with no hard feelings and only gratitude from my end.

OK, basta for now. Thanks for reading, and please remember that if you’re going to take the time to read any of these emails, it’s always better to simply click the little sepia Justin-on-truck-with-flowers icon on the top right and read from the website; this work often is not afforded the luxury of time to painstakingly revise and edit (as is my wont and preference), and I often have to make changes or edits after the email is sent out. Additionally, I’ll likely be posting things and skipping the email option (because I really don’t like it beyond its utility as update or reminder)...so, if you’re a fan and appreciate this stuff, just get in the healthy habit of checking out thedissidentsia.org.

Sending my deepest gratitude and warmest wishes to all, always.

Justin

p.s.