The End of Men

by Christina Sweeney-Baird

I think my editor, and lots of other men who are gatekeepers to information around the world, are terrified. They are so frozen by panic that they can’t bear to look reality in the face. So I’m here to do their job for them.

What I do know, from years of reporting, is that ignorance, incompetence and fear so often go hand in hand with government that none of us should be surprised if the institutions we thought would keep us safe would in fact be woefully inadequate in the face of a pandemic.

Journalism is an odd mix of the pursuit of truth and knowledge, and going on a hunch.

he had no right to such wisdom, that love is more than fireworks and declarations. It is steady, certain sureness. It is knowing that you are loved. It is knowing that you are not alone.

This must be what men used to feel like. My mere physical presence is enough to terrify someone into running. No wonder they used to get drunk on it.

Sometimes honesty can feel like a betrayal.

We have seen men wage war since the dawn of time. Nobody wins the wars men fight.

I really, really like my life. And when someone isn’t there anymore, you adapt.

“Bad things and good things can coexist,” Amaya says with a sad smile. “And we have to find the good where we can.”

Iris is nodding furiously along with everything James is saying. Is she a wife or a cheerleader? Perhaps he thinks they’re the same thing.

“You know, the world doesn’t have to remember you for you to matter. We were loved by those we loved.

“Perhaps some traumas are too overwhelming to recover from.” On an individual and societal level, perhaps recovery is too great a goal. We can never regain what we have lost and we must accept that, mourn that, grieve what cannot be, and find a new way to exist.