Now Is the Time to Care

 

I have been meaning to write this post for some time now, or at least something along these lines. I do not often delve into activism or politics on this blog, but this is something—if one can call it that—that has been weighing heavily on my heart. I cannot, in good conscience, remain silent while these atrocities continue to unfold, often right before our eyes.

As South Africans, I believe we often adopt the stance that if something is not happening to us or to someone we love, it is easier to look away. However, history has shown us that this mindset is dangerous. Patterns repeat themselves. Situations escalate—slowly, almost imperceptibly—until one day they are impossible to ignore. Whether or not it directly affects us now, or ever, we have a responsibility as human beings to remain aware of the struggles faced by others, even when those struggles are not local.

I recently completed The Handmaid’s Tale, a series I had long avoided because I knew it addressed themes I would find deeply triggering. I was not wrong. The first two seasons, in particular, were incredibly difficult to watch. There were moments where I had to pause and step away—moments where I felt such anger and emotional overwhelm that I struggled to articulate it.

Finishing the series brought certain real-world issues sharply into focus and ultimately prompted me to write this.

Let me begin with a disclaimer: I acknowledge that people have different cultures, beliefs, and personal preferences when it comes to how they live their lives. Everyone is entitled to those beliefs—provided they do not cause harm to others.

However, there are countries—particularly one first-world nation—where human rights, women’s rights, and LGBTQIA+ rights are being eroded at an alarming rate. This is not something we should ignore.

In the United States, and for some time now, under a particular administration and its ongoing influence, families have been torn apart through immigration enforcement practices. There have been reports of children being separated from their parents, sometimes used as leverage, even in cases where those parents were following legal processes. Stories have surfaced of mothers being detained while awaiting documentation, and in tragic cases, being denied the opportunity to be with critically ill children in their final moments.

At the same time, there is a stark contrast in how immigration is experienced depending on one’s resources and status. This raises serious questions about fairness, equity, and the integrity of the systems in place. Narratives blaming immigrants for broader societal challenges—such as unemployment or crime—echo sentiments seen in various troubling periods throughout history.

There are also growing concerns around restrictions on access to information and education, with reports of books being removed from libraries, curricula being altered, and historical narratives—particularly those relating to racism and colonisation—being reframed or minimised.

The overturning of Roe v. Wade has further intensified global attention on reproductive rights in the United States. Access to abortion and birth control has become increasingly restricted in several states, raising complex and deeply personal ethical questions. At the same time, support systems for families—such as child welfare assistance and food programmes—have faced significant challenges. This has led many to question the broader implications of policies that emphasise birth without corresponding support for life after birth.

Additionally, there have been reports of healthcare providers refusing certain treatments based on personal beliefs, which has had serious consequences in some cases, particularly for women requiring urgent medical care during pregnancy-related complications.

Members of the LGBTQIA+ community have also faced increasing legal and social pressures, including restrictions on gender identity recognition and participation in certain sectors. For many individuals, this has created an environment of uncertainty, fear, and exclusion.

I know that this is all a small measure of the greater issue, but where does this leave us?

It leaves us at a crossroads—one that humanity has faced before. We can choose to look away, to convince ourselves that these are isolated incidents happening “somewhere else,” or we can recognise the warning signs for what they are. History does not repeat itself in identical ways, but it echoes—and those echoes are becoming louder.

The uncomfortable truth is that rights are rarely stripped away all at once. They are eroded gradually, piece by piece, often under the guise of protection, tradition, or necessity. By the time the full impact is realised, it is often too late for those already caught in its wake.

This is not about politics. It is about people.

It is about the understanding that dignity, autonomy, and safety should not be conditional. It is about acknowledging that when any group is dehumanised or marginalised, it sets a precedent that can—and often does—extend further.

The future is not something that simply happens to us; it is something shaped by what we tolerate, what we question, and what we choose to stand up against.

Standing up does not always mean grand gestures. It can be as simple as staying informed, having difficult conversations, challenging harmful narratives, or showing support to those whose voices are being silenced. It is about refusing to normalise injustice, even when it is inconvenient or uncomfortable.

Because one day, it may be closer to home. One day, it may be someone you know. Or someone you love.

And if that day comes, the question will not be whether it mattered—it will be whether enough people cared when it still could have made a difference.

So let us care now.

Let us pay attention.

Let us choose empathy over indifference, awareness over ignorance, and courage over silence.

Because the world we are moving toward is being shaped in real time—and we are all, in some way, responsible for the direction it takes.

 

The Space Between What We See and What Is

 I think, in one way or another, most of us have fallen into the trap of “performance platforming” at some point in our lives—especially in a world where social media encourages us to present the most polished version of ourselves.

We’ve all seen (and probably shared) those perfectly curated moments: the family photo where everyone is smiling, coordinated, and seemingly effortless. What isn’t visible are the moments just before—the negotiations, the tears, the sibling squabbles, the stress. And that’s human. Most of us don’t feel comfortable sharing the messier parts of life, and there’s nothing wrong with wanting to put your best foot forward.

At the same time, there are people who choose to build platforms around honesty—the raw, unfiltered realities of parenting, adulthood, and struggle. That kind of openness can be powerful. It reminds others that they’re not alone, that imperfection is normal, and that behind every “put-together” life is a story with depth and challenge.

But there is a line that, for me, is difficult to ignore.

It’s when a platform is built on a cause—on care, protection, or advocacy for others—yet behind the scenes, that same care is absent. When something deeply meaningful becomes more about image than impact. When the very people meant to be supported are, in reality, overlooked.

Over the years, I’ve learned some hard lessons about trust. I’ve believed in people who promised support, guidance, and compassion, only to be disappointed more times than I can count. With time, I became more cautious. I asked more questions. I thought I had refined my circle to those I could truly rely on.

And yet, even then, I found myself placing trust in the wrong person again.

Last year, that trust had real consequences for my family. What was presented as a space of support—particularly for special needs education—did not reflect the reality we experienced. While the outward image was one of dedication and advocacy, the actual support my son needed simply wasn’t there. As a result, he had to carry an immense burden on his own during a critical academic year, teaching himself and navigating challenges that should never have been his to face alone.

It was an incredibly difficult realization, and an even harder decision to walk away—especially after years of effort to secure the resources and support we believed would make a difference.

I’m sharing this not out of anger or a desire for negativity, but as a reflection and, hopefully, a gentle reminder.

Not everything we see online tells the full story. A well-presented platform, a strong message, or a confident voice doesn’t always guarantee authenticity behind the scenes. And while there are many incredible, genuine people doing meaningful work, it’s okay to ask questions, to trust your instincts, and to advocate fiercely for what truly matters—especially when it comes to our children.

Take what resonates, question what doesn’t, and trust what you see consistently—not just what is shown.