An oldie, not a goodie

As a follow-on to the previous post, I felt this one worth repeating.

It's the last of a series of pieces I posted in another forum in the wake of the 2016 elections. The first of the three, noting the line "Every nation gets the government it deserves," bitterly declared

We do not deserve to be a free people.

We don't care about being a free people. Too many of us care too little about the effect we and our decisions have on others.

Too many of us are too easily taken in by a line of patter and bilge that appeals to the worst in us, the basest of our fears and the deepest our prejudices, too easily taken in no matter how transparently vacuous that patter and bilge is. That is, too many of us, not to put too fine a point on it, are racist, sexist, xenophobic, ignorant, know-nothing mouth-breathers.

The second noted some victories achieved, some gems within the ashes, and declared the necessity of carrying on the fight as best we can. It ended with this:

Silence is not an option; acquiescence is not an answer.

We have to vote, petition, and lobby, yes, but we have to do more, we have to be insistent, noisy, disrespectful, rude, we have to fill the streets and perhaps the jails and who knows - I don't expect it, I don't predict it, but I accept the possibility of it - perhaps even fill the camps.

Which lead to this, a slightly re-written version of the original (to correct what otherwise would be anachronisms), offered here at a time which genuinely feels worse, more threatening, than before.

-—

And yet and yet and yet - despite the victories, despite the progress over the course of decades, we now face the continuing advances of the reactionaries, marked by GOPper control of the White House, the Congress, and through that the Supreme Court, along with a majority of state legislatures.

In the face of such continuing advances, in the face of the sexism, racism, xeno- and transphobia, and more that have been revealed by and justified in this and previous campaigns, revelations that have not lead to their being rejected but to their being embraced and even celebrated, in the face of the sheer enormity of the task before us, we must face the fact that for the foreseeable future, for as far out as at least I can imagine, that all our efforts may - and I am stealing something from William Rivers Pitt here - all our efforts may come to nothing.

We are down to the ethic of total opposition [he wrote], and as lonely as that estate may be, it is what we have, and we owe it to those who have suffered beyond our comprehension to continue as we began.

I refuse to concede defeat in any way, shape or form. Yet I must consider the possibility that all efforts will come to naught.

Pitt reminded us of a scene in "The Lion in Winter." As Geoffrey, John, and Richard await their executioners, Richard demands that they face the end with strength. Geoffrey scoffs at him, saying "You fool. As if it matters how a man falls."

Richard's reply is telling: "When the fall is all that's left, it matters."

Even at our lowest moments, even when we just want to give up, pack it in, and move to a commune or to Canada - or to a commune in Canada - we have to remember that even in failing, the manner in which we fail matters. Even in falling, the manner in which we fall matters. It matters, that is, it matters for the future; for the longer term than we perceive, it matters whether our failure is marked by despair or by defiance.

Henry David Thoreau, in his classic essay "On Civil Disobedience," wrote:

I know this well, that if one thousand, if one hundred, if ten men whom I could name - if ten honest men only - ay, if one HONEST man, in this State of Massachusetts, ceasing to hold slaves, were actually to withdraw from this copartnership, and be locked up in the county jail therefor, it would be the abolition of slavery in America. For it matters not how small the beginning may seem to be: what is once well done is done forever.

Of course he did not mean, as some seeking to dismiss him have, that such an act would mean the instant end of slavery. Rather, he meant that a seed would have been planted that would eventually, ineluctably, lead to slavery's demise. "What is once well done is done forever" because even if it failed to stop slavery at once, the manner of failing mattered.

None of what we do is for nothing. Because immediate victory is not the only end worth achieving; what can be won now is not the only cause worth fighting for; even being able to see victory in the future is not the only reason for keeping up the struggle. It is also, even if only, for ourselves, for our own integrity. A member of the anti-Stalinist Russian group Memorial, founded by Yevgeny Yevtushenko and Andrei Sakharov, said

I do what I do because I owe it to my family, to the victims of my country's injustices, and for my own honor.

Or as Wendell Berry put it,

[p]rotest that endures is moved by a hope far more modest than that of public success: namely, the hope of preserving qualities in one's own heart and spirit that would be destroyed by acquiescence.

Or perhaps you would find the most telling version comes from a poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox:

To sin by silence when they should protest makes cowards of men.

We owe it to others; we owe it to the victims, who have suffered more than we can know; we owe it to the victims who in the days to come will suffer more than we can know; we owe it to ourselves; we are honor-bound, even when we feel discouraged, especially when we feel discouraged, we are honor-bound by justice to carry on as best as we can.

So for now and for the future, the issue, I say to you (and to myself, for that matter), is not "What can I do?" It's "Am I doing what I can?" Perhaps that only amounts to a little, to what can seem so trifling as to not matter, but matter it does.

We are each of us as individuals called, required by what is right, required by the call of justice, to do what we can. No one can expect more of us - but we should expect nothing less of ourselves.

And if despite all, we fail? Then we fail. When Dylan Thomas's father was old, the poet felt the old man, so energetic in his younger days, had given up on life and was just passively waiting to die. Saddened and distressed, Thomas cried out to his father

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

We do live in a darkening time, a time being marked not by failure to advance but rather by the cold prospect of failure to hold on to the little that has been gained, a time not of standing still but of sliding backwards. So yes, we may fail - or at least seem to because true victory (and getting Kamala Harris elected would not have been such a victory) is far enough off that we will not be able to see its approach.

While I think that unlikely (the title of my blog, after all, includes the phrase "surviving a dark time"), I have to admit that such failure is possible. But that possibility makes it even more important that we do not go gentle into that good night but that we rage, rage, against the dying of the light.

I hope to see you in the legislatures, in the courtrooms, in the school board meetings, in the community groups - and yes, in the streets and even the prisons.

Carry it on.