CULTIVATING COMPASSION
CULTIVATING COMPASSION
How Then Shall We Live? The Fierce Urgency of Now
policies that fundamentally threaten the public good.” Organizing the marginalized and poor in sustained weekly protest and civil disobedi - ence, they act to challenge immorality in public policy and to disman- tle voter suppression tactics. Recently an elder woman standing in a weekly demonstration on a street corner in Asheville held a sign: “Dissent is what rescues Democ - racy from a quiet death behind closed doors.” Nearly six decades ago I marched in Memphis from city hall to Beale Street among the mourning sanitation workers after Dr. King’s brave - ly prophetic life was taken. Arm in arm, moving in silent grief through my hometown among people of color who found the courage to rise, I was transformed. The experience set me on the path of nonviolent resistance, a journey with consequences I could not have foreseen. Two of my brothers, twins, were casualties of the American war on Vietnam, their noble intent exploited by a system of organized vio - lence for political ends. That grief further fueled my resistance to “the greatest purveyor of violence in the world: My own Government.” As Dr. King said, “I cannot be silent,” as the coffins of yet another gen - eration of youth are met on the tarmac in a so-called “dignified cere - mony” attended by the very U.S. officials who ordered the war crimes. What then shall we do? I have long been compelled by “the fierce urgency of now” to a life - time of non-cooperation and resistance; and yet, and still, as I move into my 78th year, ecocide and genocide, mendacity and misery con - tinue. I am tired, I am deeply sad, but I cannot turn away from what is happening, nor give in to despair. As activist and songwriter Joan Baez said, “Action is the antidote to despair.” I know from experience that when we act to disrupt the system, we will disrupt our own lives. Over the years, in movements and cam-
paigns throughout the South I have experimented with active nonvi- olence. From nuclear weapons production in Tennessee, to Georgia’s School of the Americas, to West Virginia’s mountain top removal, into county jails and federal prison cells. I’ve crossed paths with hundreds of women and men who strived to live with integrity and to act with fierce resistance to the evils of the day. Many are gone now, as I will be. As I ponder my own end times, coinciding with the exponentially escalating climate disasters, I con- tinue to explore new ways to make my dissent visible. I realize I, too, will leave this world without seeing an end to the wars, the poverty and the devastation of the natural world. I recently came upon a quote by author and activist Meena Harris, the niece of former Vice-President Kamala Harris: “We have a duty to show up in the world with meaning and purpose and commitment to doing good. And to use any privilege that we have to make positive change and to disrupt oppressive systems.” Journalist and author Chris Hedges echoes the moral imperatives that should guide our actions while letting go of attachment to suc- cessful results. “Yes, it may be futile,” he writes, “but the fight is what makes us human. It gives us dignity. It affirms life in the face of death” Ten years ago, I looked out my apartment window on asphalt park- ing and fenced off empty lots with only a few struggling sidewalk trees. Together with a few neighbors, we nurtured the brave wayside plants pushing up through the cracks and crevices and planted a seed here and there. Others came forward to join in a regenerative effort, and eventually the city allowed access to one small parcel of desecrated land. My elder neighbors and other community allies, through con - structive, collaborative action have created a thriving community
But where is the real power? I’ve been to Selma and marched with others com- memorating that hard fought and bloody struggle to uphold voting rights. I respect those sacrifices too much to not cast my vote. But voting alone will not turn the tide. We must be- come engaged citizens find - ing our way, individually and collectively, to contrib- ute to the common good, even in these times when our actions to turn the tide of destruction may seem fu- tile.
BY CLARE HANRAHAN
This is a time for courage. The world is on fire. We all feel the under - currents of a planet in deep distress. Social, economic and ecological collapse is underway, even as our relative privilege insulates us now from the brunt of suffering. We will not escape. Escalating climate disasters have put many global populations on the move. ICE and the anti-immigrant counterparts throughout the world attempt to hold national boundaries with brutal impunity. Re- taliatory violence among military powers is fueling the flames; and the gun violence echoes on the streets of our cities where many of the un- housed and broken wander. It is almost too much to bear, especially when the traditional chan- nels for redress of grievance are failing us. The sense of powerlessness can lead to despair, and the feelings of futility cause withdrawal from civic engagement at a time when it is most needed. What Then Shall We Do? The more optimistic take hope in the upcoming mid-term elections. If only we can get enough voters to the polls, they proclaim, then per- haps we can recover the Democracy being systematically eroded by the forces of authoritarianism. Certainly, we must not relinquish what power remains at the ballot box, and we must not allow access to the polls to be undermined by those seeking to hold on to political power at all costs.
Peaceful senior protestor.
Effective dissent requires “relentless persistence”— brave, creative and risk-taking action. The Moral Monday Movement, originating in North Carolina with the Rev. Dr. William Barber II has seen some success. In These Times contributing journalist Matthew Cunningham-Cook describes these events as an “extraordinary example of the power of citizens to resist
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12—PATHWAYS—Fall 26
PATHWAYS—Fall 26—13
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