Remaining Engaged Through Crisis and Change: A Critical Reflection

By Xander Bjornsson

Paul Farmer (left). Image by Direct Relief.

We live in challenging times. The current socio-political landscape is an unrelenting storm, and staying informed often feels like treading water in an ocean of never-ending waves. Each headline brings a fresh surge of emotions––outrage, anxiety, despair––leaving me unsure of which direction to swim in. 

Who am I amongst this chaos? First and foremost, I am Xander. I am a Canadian graduate student studying epidemiology at McGill University in Montreal. I come from a middle-class family in the prairies. I am Queer. Like so many others, I try my best to stay informed. It is not only my responsibility as a researcher and a citizen, but it is also a personal necessity. I engage with many news sources, including news agencies, social media, and academic journals. I try not only to look at Canadian and United States news sources, but also global ones as much as possible. I am convinced that through a better understanding of the world, change is possible.  

Recently, I have begun questioning whether this engagement is sustainable or even productive. The nonstop news cycle we’ve grown accustomed to leaves little time to process one crisis before the next emerges.  

With the return of the Trump administration, there has been no shortage of news that hits close to home: the threat of tariffs and talk of imperialism; threatening the sovereignty of my country and that of others; and policies that seek to erase the existence of intersexuality and gender variance. As someone with a biology degree, I am particularly enraged by this erasure being presented as a biological fact––despite the presence of intersexuality seen throughout biology. But anger, no matter how justified, is exhausting. And in my exhaustion, I find myself asking: How can I keep up? And if I can’t, what does that mean for my role in the world? 

I have heard the phrase “do what you can, but prioritize your health,” but this leaves me with more questions than answers. As a graduate student, I feel constantly at my wits’ end. I struggle to find the energy to meet the minimum of what is expected of me. Day to day, I am anxious: What do I need to do? What will I eat for dinner? Am I working enough? Am I exercising enough? Am I socializing enough? All these questions are tied to my well-being, and the thought of spending what little spare time I have on whatever change I can bring to my community, local or at large, has me paralyzed. 

Each day brings a new set of headlines and topics to look at and panic over. There is certainly no end in sight. Each day I wake up and it is like the day restarts––the news of tomorrow erases the anger of yesterday.  

Yes, I am angry, but more importantly, I am exhausted. I see calls to action daily and see some rising to the challenge, and I champion those who do. The problem becomes: how do I do it?  

I feel it is important to consider myself in all of this. I have been given opportunities that on a global scale, seem absurdly fortunate. I am in a position to engage in discussions of global health with panelists who are highly impactful in their fields. My peers and I are highly educated and uniquely positioned to create the change that I so desperately hope to see in the future. I feel empathy for those who do not have the same opportunity.  

Many of us feel caught between meaningful engagement and the limits of our energy. I have tried to reconcile this conundrum through philosophy––utilitarianism, stoicism, and nihilism. Yet, none provided the clarity I crave. Still, I yearn for “something”––an answer, a framework that makes sense of the world. Even in my work in epidemiology, where I evaluate policies I believe in, I find no perfect solutions. Even though they bring meaningful change, their effectiveness is not as high as one would hope.

With this, I ask myself: where does one turn?  

I know I am not alone in feeling hopeless. I feel the pull toward radicalization, and though I resist it, I empathize with those who are pushed into narrow-sighted thinking, sympathy for those who don’t have the luxury of holding out for a brighter future, and sadness for those who lack foresight.  

I have no answer for these problems. I wish I did. What I do know is this: burnout and despair serve no one. If we cannot be everything––activists, experts, changemakers––all at once, then we must at least be something. Paul Farmer, the physician and activist, once said, “We do not have the luxury of being pessimistic on other people’s behalf” (Pai, 2025). His words remind me that while despair is tempting, inaction is not an option. Perhaps this starts with acknowledging our limits, accepting our shortcomings, and finding sustainable ways to stay engaged without the loss of self in the process.  

And to those who feel the same exhaustion, frustration, shame, and helplessness: you are not alone. Perhaps in sharing the burden, we can begin to find a way forward.  

Xander Bjornsson

is an MSc Epidemiology student at McGill University. They are currently completing their thesis on how British Columbia’s opioid guidelines affect cancer care and palliative care patients’ access to opioid analgesics. Their research focuses on the intersection of policy, equity, and human impact. As a member of Dr. Dimitra Panagiotoglou’s lab, Xander is aiding in ongoing research on drugs and crime. They also serve as an active council member of the Epidemiology, Biostatistics, and Occupational Health Student Society (EBOSS). Outside of school, Xander is passionate about the local arts and culture.