Que Será, Será — Pixies
#365Songs: December 9th
When I was just a little boy
I asked my father, “What will I be?
Will I be handsome, will I be rich?”
Here’s what he said to me
“Que será, será
Whatever will be, will be
It sure is a rough time to be an empath. There are so many people struggling, with so many more who are terrified for what comes next, and then there are all those that voted in favor of hatred and vengeance who otherwise would have been deserving of compassion.
How can we feel for others who won’t return the gesture?
Such is life, they say. What will be will be, they say. I’ve never much liked that thinking, a sort of apathy-producer that allows us to fall victim to whatever comes our way. I’ve always been more of a fuck that, I’m not gonna tolerate this, if you don’t like it change it sort of guy.
And, within that context, I still believe that.
But there’s a few entirely different contexts that perhaps I’ve missed all these years. If you don’t like your facial structure or male pattern baldness, a little what will be will be is necessary. Out of my control, it is what is.
Or, and this is the important one, I’ve done everything I can do and whatever happens next is out of my control. I see it coming, it’ll come no matter what. That’s sort of where I’m at, at this moment, on the fringe of Trump’s revenge tour.
The future’s not ours to see
Que será, será
What will be, will be”
When I grew up and fell in love
I asked my sweetheart, “What lies ahead?
Will we have rainbows day after day?”
Here’s what my sweetheart said
“Que será, será
Whatever will be, will be
Listen, we’re all processing the election, and the impending consequences, in vastly different ways. One of the most common responses that I’ve heard is, “This is what we deserve,” or, “The voters will learn the hard way.” And to a certain extent, I agree. We do deserve this because this is who we are and have always been. I also believe that the middle-to-lower class Americans who voted for Trump’s tariffs need to feel the pain at the Walmart cash register to learn a lesson. Except they won’t. Trump will masterfully blame someone else, and they’ll believe and repeat it. But sure, let them suffer a bit. And when a daughter or mother or best friend needs an emergency abortion, but can’t get one, a lesson will be learned. A little que será, será karma, if you will. Or when a MAGA’s daughter who fetched a free college education by joining the Air National Guard is called up to rip a child from a mother’s arms to place them in different prison camps, to be deported apart, to be lost in the system, a lesson will be learned.
Or will it?
Damn, this is all too tough to ask for an empath. To use mass suffering, self-inflicted or not, as a punishment? To root for another’s pain as means to finally learn a lesson? Damn, y’all. How did we get here?
And yet, yeah. That IS where we’re at, and I’m coming to terms with the fact that there is no other way. The frustrated underemployed White man who believes that a trust fund faux billionaire narcissist from New York City will bring back their decades-gone steel mill job by demonizing the queer community, deregulating businesses, taxing the China-made products they buy, deporting a population that actually feeds and fuels the rest of the population, and arresting Lib enemies absolutely needs to learn the hard way about the ways of the world. I’m good with that one. I’m fresh out of empathy, even if it goes against every instinct in my body.
But you can’t root for their suffering without recognizing who will suffer more. To say “Que será, será” at all is to stand at a height of privilege far from the danger. If they suffer, so too does everyone else who is undeserving of that level of suffering.
The future’s not ours to see
Que será, será
What will be, will be”
On the topic of empathy, let’s talk about United Healthcare CEO Brian Thompson, a death that has the lowest percentage of “thoughts and prayers” of any gun violence in American history. A quick caveat: no matter how monstrous his professional actions, the man was still a husband and father, someone’s child, and it’s quite terrifying how easy it was for an assassin to shoot him with a silencer (illegal in only eight states, including New York) in Midtown, and how Succession-like it was for the meeting he was leading to continue on without him hours later. Welcome to America, a violent society dangling by a thread, where vigilante revenge has been normalized by a President, and where capitalism must go on no matter who fucking dies.
Now that we’re past all the caveats, it begs the question: how much senseless death and suffering did Brian Thompson approve of in his decades of service for the absolute most ruthless and cruel insurer in the world? Rather than expressing any grief or shock over Thompson’s assassination, the public conversation is rooted in anger and thousands of stories of rejected and delayed claims, essential surgeries deemed unnecessary, deaths as a result of denied coverage, and millions of bankruptcies even as United Healthcare’s annual revenue exceeds $375 billion.
And while the victim is demonized, the murderer has been canonized across social media. A post-Capitalistic dystopian soap opera worthy of our current time, and truly unlike any I’ve seen in my lifetime.
But what does all this say of empathy? It seems the only thing Americans agree on these days is how awful our healthcare system is, but this is where things get blurry. Some of the same folks who are raging against Brian Thompson are cheering on DOGE bros Elon Musk and Vivek Ramaswamy, two multi-billionaires appointed by a different faux billionaire whose campaign was funded by other billionaires, this new department meant to eliminate government waste: which, for those not paying attention, means tens of thousands of lower paid jobs, Social Security and Medicare, and all those government programs this same audience sponges on for survival.
Que será, será, I’m supposed to say. And for fuck sake, the longer I write the more I’m ready to just cave in and say it. Nothing makes sense anymore, and that’s not because I’m old and out of touch — I’m not, really, I’m not, right? — but because we are one fucked up, confused ass population too easily hypnotized by the worst people in the world.
Now I have children of my own
They ask their father, “What will I be?
Will I be pretty, will I be rich?”
I tell them tenderly
“Que será, será
Whatever will be, will be
Y’all, the suffering hasn’t even started yet. The deportations, family separations, anti-queer policies, unnecessary tariffs, aggressive revenge tactics, reversals of long-held rights, the anti-progress propaganda, deregulation to ensure even higher profits, all of it. The Orange Asshole isn’t even in power yet, and the chaos is coming.
Problem is, an empath can’t just shut it down and wish ill will on a portion of the population. But we can be here to remind you that you didn’t just ask for this, didn’t just vote for this, you celebrated it. And unlike last time, this was a majority vote — more Americans want this than don’t want it, many of whom are in the center of Trump’s target.
So on that note, c’est la fucking vie, America. All of us empaths will feel plenty of pain, but at this point, what will be will be, and as a result, you, too, will feel that pain.
The future’s not ours to see
Que será, será
What will be, will be”
Que será, será
~
Start following the #365Songs playlist today, and listen to each new song with each new article!
Follow me on Substack: https://thefogandthefury.substack.com/
