For as long as I can remember, I’ve been obsessed with the idea of how I would survive a zombie apocalypse. From the first one I was exposed to in college, the classic 1968 film Night of the Living Dead, to my latest all-time favorite, Train to Busan, as well as World War Z, I Am Legend, Zombieland, and 28 Days Later, to name a few. Whenever I have a few minutes to think about it, I rack my mind about what I would do should this horrible event become a reality.
When my husband and I take long walks together, I’ll often ask him what he would do at that very moment if a zombie popped out. Where would he run? Where would he hide? Could we survive in our house? Since we’re not outstanding preppers for long-term survival, our conversations usually end with scheduling a trip to the grocery store or our local Costco to get much-needed supplies.
Being afraid of zombies is rooted in an actual psychological phenomenon called the “uncanny valley,” a term coined in 1970 by the Japanese robotics professor Masahiro Mori to describe how humans reacted to AI robots when they began to look more like humans—essentially causing an eerie disquiet in us as our brains are unable to explain the dead-looking eyes, and human-but-not-human features.
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According to the History Channel, a fear of the undead goes back as far as the Ancient Greeks. Archaeologists have unearthed ancient graves that contained skeletons held down by rocks and other heavy objects placed there in order to keep the dead body from coming back to life. And in the voodoo religion, it’s believed that practitioners are able to revive the dead.
I love how there are things that zombies can and can’t do. For example, zombies can’t open doors. This is a big help. Also, it seems like they can’t see, so if you’re super-quiet, you could sneak around them. They’re also easily distracted, so if you throw something, they’ll run to that sound, giving you enough time to bolt to another hiding place.
The most challenging thing I grapple with is that one of the only ways to kill a zombie is with a shotgun, and since we don’t keep guns in our house, I’m always concerned about how we’d protect ourselves.
After years of being laughed at by friends and family about being kind of a zombophile, I had to ask myself why I was so fascinated by them. And I finally figured it out. As a Black woman who is Jewish and whose mother was a lesbian, history shows us that my people—all of them—have been targeted for centuries. The monsters may be different, and they’re not undead, of course, but the goal of devouring me is identical.
In the same way that I ask myself about surviving a zombie attack, I’ve asked myself how I would survive slavery, or another Holocaust. What would I do if a bunch of Nazis showed up at my door? Where would I hide? How would I protect myself? Who are my allies? I’ve visited the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam, and nothing felt more tangible than standing in the place where people hid for their lives.
What would I do if the same men and women who stormed the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6 decided to enslave Black Americans again? Or worse? Again, we don’t have guns, and even if we did, we’d likely run out of ammunition eventually. So, how would I protect myself and my family?
Tragically, I have to think about these things, but it’s the reality that Black, brown, Indigenous, and Jewish people face in this world. After four years under former President Donald Trump and the years that have followed, not to mention the actual history of this land and around the globe, isn’t it only natural for me to consider these things?
The threats to marginalized Americans and others are real and daily. The fear that white people have about being replaced is so deep-seated that they will walk into a grocery store in a predominantly Black neighborhood or a synagogue or a church and open fire—and have.
These monsters are real, and they are dangerous, and it doesn’t matter that they have laws, policies, law enforcement, justices, and lawmakers to protect them, they still have a craven desire to be solely in power, and they will do whatever it takes to keep it that way.
Like many politically progressive folks I know, I debate with myself about whether to leave this country. But then I ask myself if I would really be safer somewhere else—aren’t humans monsters by nature, and aren’t there racist, antisemitic, and hateful people everywhere?
All of this is hyperbolic, of course. Zombies aren’t real, and The Handmaid’s Tale is (mostly) fiction. But, just in case, I’ll keep exploring ways to survive. And for me, ultimately, that means standing up to the beasts. Despite their bloodthirst to erase me, I stand on the shoulders of strong ancestors who did survive. They didn’t run or hide.
As my father wrote in his last letter to me:
When my husband and I take long walks together, I’ll often ask him what he would do at that very moment if a zombie popped out. Where would he run? Where would he hide? Could we survive in our house? Since we’re not outstanding preppers for long-term survival, our conversations usually end with scheduling a trip to the grocery store or our local Costco to get much-needed supplies.
Being afraid of zombies is rooted in an actual psychological phenomenon called the “uncanny valley,” a term coined in 1970 by the Japanese robotics professor Masahiro Mori to describe how humans reacted to AI robots when they began to look more like humans—essentially causing an eerie disquiet in us as our brains are unable to explain the dead-looking eyes, and human-but-not-human features.
RELATED STORY: In other weird news: Julia Roberts is oddly connected to Martin Luther King Jr. and his family
According to the History Channel, a fear of the undead goes back as far as the Ancient Greeks. Archaeologists have unearthed ancient graves that contained skeletons held down by rocks and other heavy objects placed there in order to keep the dead body from coming back to life. And in the voodoo religion, it’s believed that practitioners are able to revive the dead.
I love how there are things that zombies can and can’t do. For example, zombies can’t open doors. This is a big help. Also, it seems like they can’t see, so if you’re super-quiet, you could sneak around them. They’re also easily distracted, so if you throw something, they’ll run to that sound, giving you enough time to bolt to another hiding place.
The most challenging thing I grapple with is that one of the only ways to kill a zombie is with a shotgun, and since we don’t keep guns in our house, I’m always concerned about how we’d protect ourselves.
After years of being laughed at by friends and family about being kind of a zombophile, I had to ask myself why I was so fascinated by them. And I finally figured it out. As a Black woman who is Jewish and whose mother was a lesbian, history shows us that my people—all of them—have been targeted for centuries. The monsters may be different, and they’re not undead, of course, but the goal of devouring me is identical.
In the same way that I ask myself about surviving a zombie attack, I’ve asked myself how I would survive slavery, or another Holocaust. What would I do if a bunch of Nazis showed up at my door? Where would I hide? How would I protect myself? Who are my allies? I’ve visited the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam, and nothing felt more tangible than standing in the place where people hid for their lives.
What would I do if the same men and women who stormed the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6 decided to enslave Black Americans again? Or worse? Again, we don’t have guns, and even if we did, we’d likely run out of ammunition eventually. So, how would I protect myself and my family?
Tragically, I have to think about these things, but it’s the reality that Black, brown, Indigenous, and Jewish people face in this world. After four years under former President Donald Trump and the years that have followed, not to mention the actual history of this land and around the globe, isn’t it only natural for me to consider these things?
The threats to marginalized Americans and others are real and daily. The fear that white people have about being replaced is so deep-seated that they will walk into a grocery store in a predominantly Black neighborhood or a synagogue or a church and open fire—and have.
These monsters are real, and they are dangerous, and it doesn’t matter that they have laws, policies, law enforcement, justices, and lawmakers to protect them, they still have a craven desire to be solely in power, and they will do whatever it takes to keep it that way.
Like many politically progressive folks I know, I debate with myself about whether to leave this country. But then I ask myself if I would really be safer somewhere else—aren’t humans monsters by nature, and aren’t there racist, antisemitic, and hateful people everywhere?
All of this is hyperbolic, of course. Zombies aren’t real, and The Handmaid’s Tale is (mostly) fiction. But, just in case, I’ll keep exploring ways to survive. And for me, ultimately, that means standing up to the beasts. Despite their bloodthirst to erase me, I stand on the shoulders of strong ancestors who did survive. They didn’t run or hide.
As my father wrote in his last letter to me: