Today I voiced it for the first time to a friend on yet another Zoom call. Three words I thought were inconsolable, end-game even. They had been traipsing my mind for a week, but I had been too scared to say them out loud. As a singer, whose cultural currency, whose career relies on it, they felt large. It felt like if I said them; I was throwing my decade of efforts to the wind, giving up, like I was done.
What were those three words? "I feel irrelevant."
I wrote a pop song called ‘We Are The Youth’. I wrote about how it feels to be a young person living in a time of complete and utter inaction on the fronts of climate and action and first peoples' rights and respect in my country. I thought it would strike a match up to the flame of anger that I know so many of us are feeling. I laboured over it, like it might be some blue pill to take away the relentless feeling inside of me I wasn’t doing enough, about anything. I thought I would feel some relief, even for a moment, but I didn't. I thought it would take me somewhere further along some magical path I imagined - closer to making some kind of change that I could touch or see, but it hasn’t.
Watch Jack River's 'We Are The Youth'. Post continues below.
But at the heart of it, I have been left feeling irrelevant. Yes, irrelevant. My concern as a young person for the environmental and economic tipping point we are at, for my future, feels irrelevant.
My concern for First Nations voices in parliament, for First Nations leaders to be heard, feels irrelevant; it feels like nobody of note is replying to their call.
As a young woman, speaking up to a sea of men in seats of power - I feel irrelevant. I feel irrelevant to our national story - whatever it is; I feel irrelevant to the government, irrelevant to the media, and by association - I am beginning to feel irrelevant to the people that make up these systems.
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