A few weeks ago, a friend who is a creative writing prof. at the local university invited me to participate in an event called “People’s State of the Union” here in Chico California.
The event is sponsored by a literary/theatrical group called Slow Theater. I will be one of about 10 people from the worlds of theater, literature and politics giving brief addresses at the event. In case you happen to be in the area, it will be on February 3 at 7:30 PM at the 1078 Gallery on Broadway.
Here is what I will deliver there:
I am a very political person. And it is surely very a political time, as we see the departure of a president who called us to hope – and the advent of one who causes so many of us to fear. So my hopes and my fears are mostly in the political realm. Nearly every person here knows at least some of what I fear. But maybe, because of who I am, my fears are worse. Because I pay a little more attention. Because I know a little more of the details behind the headlines. And yet, also because I pay more attention, perhaps my hopes are greater too
I do fear. Not for myself. I’m one of the relatively privileged few. I have a few more layers of safety net than most Americans today.
But I fear for so many of my brothers and sisters.
I fear for the immigrants – with or without the proper papers – who may suffer not only the machinations of an oppressive government but the actions of hateful individuals
I fear for the women who may be about to lose hard-won rights. Who may have to re-fight battles their mothers won long ago.
I fear for the workers, already suffering from too little – too little money, too little workplace democracy, too little future to look forward to – who may soon be facing life with even less.
I fear for all those whose skin color marks them as targets for brutality and discrimination.
I fear for all the people whose sexuality or gender identity is something other than perfectly straight. I fear for their rights, for their happiness, even for their lives.
I fear for the sick, who may soon lose access to care they desperately need.
I fear for the planet we live on – and for all the creatures that inhabit it – hostage to forces of greed, ignorance and corruption beyond all sense or comprehension
I fear for the children. For so many reasons. I fear for them most of all.
But even though I fear, I do not despair. Partly because we cannot, the world cannot, afford the luxury of despair.
And partly because, even in this dark and fearful time, I also know so much that inspires hope. And my knowledge of history tells me that hope rises over and over in the most fearful times.
I am inspired to hope by the millions of young people roused to passionate activism by an elderly Jewish socialist.
I am inspired to hope by the thousands of people who took to the streets of Chico and cities around the world, in anger, in defiance, in solidarity, in hope.
I’m inspired to hope by the people all over this land who, feeling the need to do something, are not waiting passively to be told what to do, but are rising up, alone or in small groups, and just doing it. Holding meetings. Creating new structures. Organizing demonstrations. Not waiting to be led, but discovering fresh leadership within themselves.
And more than anything, I am inspired to hope by all those who came before us, who kept hope alive in dark times and fought through them to light beyond – however partial and temporary their victories may have been.
And so, I will not cower in the paralysis of fear nor retreat into denial or indifference
I will not let fear diminish me.
I choose hope.
I choose action to make that hope a reality.
I choose, not just to defend the gains of the past, but to look beyond defense to the possibilities of a future brighter, fairer and more decent than what we have known before.
For, as Gandalf said: “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given
