Deep gratitude to Starhawk and to all the
wisdom-keepers and truth-tellers and visionaries
of our time and all time. — Molly
It’s over. Bernie has ended his campaign for President, and endorsed Joe Biden. Can we take a moment, or more than a moment, just to acknowledge the tremendous sense of disappointment so many of us feel?
Out of the most diverse field of candidates ever, we’ve somehow ended up with the old white guy who represents the establishment. For one shining moment there, it looked like we could replace the current sociopathic occupant of the White House with a true progressive, someone who deeply cares about ordinary people, that we might actually have health care and decent wages and a proactive response to climate change, that we might turn back the tide of creeping fascism and send the creepy fascists back under their rocks.
Can we just stay with that disappointment for a moment, a few days, a week, however long it takes to fully feel the grief, the sadness, the frustration?
It’s easier to feel anger than grief—anger makes us feel more powerful. It’s human nature to want to find someone to blame, to escape painful feelings by leaping to conclusions and actions:
“I will never vote for Biden!”
“Damn that Democratic Central Committee!”
Or to give up:
“I’ll never get involved in electoral politics again.”
On the other side, we have people frightened by the possibility of Trump winning another term demanding:
“You MUST vote for Biden, whether you like him or not.”
What if, instead, we could just admit, “I’m sad. I’m disappointed. I’m scared.”
We’re in the midst of a pandemic that has disrupted all our lives, infected more than half a million Americans at this writing—undoubtedly more when you read this—killed tens of thousands.
We have a narcissist at the helm whose approach to leadership ranges from denying reality to firing anyone who brings it to his attention to personally profiting from the situation, and almost half the country thinks he’s doing a heckofa job! We’re trapped in a terrifying nightmare, and it’s hard to see our way out.
So this is not the moment to demand that every Bernie supporter immediately declare their allegiance to Biden. Nor is it the moment to fill the internet with vitriol and Biden-hate.
Let me say a word about hating politicians. I’m no saint, and there are plenty of politicians I’ve hated in my time. But there is one I hated more than any other—more, even, than Bush or Trump because my hatred was the white-hot fervor of youth, and that was Lyndon Johnson.
Oh, how we despised him because of the Vietnam War, how we rejoiced when he announced he would not run for another term, how gleefully we noted that he looked like an old and broken man!
And yet, and yet…I am old now. I have Medicare. For that, I owe thanks to Johnson. The Civil Rights Act, the Voting Rights Act, were both passed with the political muscle this old white Texan brought to bear. He didn’t do this because he was a leftist or a crusader. He did it because a powerful social movement pushed him into doing it.
Instead of brow-beating one another about the November election, maybe we could take some time to reflect on how we build that powerful movement?
Bernie himself has done enormous work in that regard. He always says that his campaign is not about him, but about building a multi-racial, multi-generations movement. Just because that movement isn’t yet powerful enough to sweep him into the presidency doesn’t mean it’s a failure. It’s had enormous success in pushing the Democratic Party to the left, in making ideas that once seemed radical now mainstream, in energizing and mobilizing people.
But we need to build on that momentum, not squander it. Movements are not built on blaming, complaining and proclaiming one’s own righteousness.
Or let me take that back.
Yes, actually they are. Right-wing movements, that is. Blaming and complaining are the melody and harmony of their siren song. But movements for liberation and justice need to be built on a different foundation, one that acknowledges and meets human needs with compassion and vision.
I had a screenwriting teacher in college who would say, when he didn’t like someone’s script, “He writes as if he’s heard about people, but never actually met any.”
Too often our movements fit that description. We organize around how we think people should be, not around how people actually are. People should be rational, altruistic, caring about others and also smart enough to see where their own self-interests lie. But too often, people aren’t. We’re emotional creatures, moved by strange subterranean forces and able to believe in things, against all evidence, when they meet our emotional needs.
What are some of those needs? Here are three that people turn to movements to meet:
⭐️People need to belong. We are social animals, and we need to feel we are part of something larger than ourselves.
⭐️People need to feel that they are seen and valued.
⭐️People need to feel that they have an impact on the word around them.
Right-wing movements are very good at meeting these needs in dangerous and destructive ways. They create a sense of belonging by drawing a circle around a group of people who are accorded value, and excluding and demonizing others. They allocate value by race or gender or some facet of one’s identity that is linked to not being part of that demonized group. And they give people a sense of vicarious power, of participating in the power wielded by the bullies to whom they give allegiance.
⭐️A movement for justice and liberation must meet these needs in positive ways. ⭐️
An effective movement creates a sense of connection, of belonging to a group of courageous people that care deeply about the world and about others. It embraces those who have been outcast and demonized, and also welcomes those who share the identities that confer privilege. It strives to see and value each person for the full complexity of who they are, for that unique combination of traits, talents, history and personality that make up each of us. It creates ways that we can channel anger into constructive action, and offers opportunities for people to contribute and make an impact, at many different levels of risk and commitment.
Its keynotes are not blaming, shaming and complaining, but rather hope, appreciation, compassion and courage.
That’s the movement Bernie speaks for, the movement we would need if he were in the White House in order for him to enact his policies, and the movement we need even more if someone else is in the White House.
Bernie didn’t begin the movement. It’s an ancient river fed by many, many streams. But his campaign has helped to strengthen and expand it. Now we need to broaden and deepen it as never before.
So let me paraphrase one of the most moving parts of Bernie’s campaign speeches. Can you look around you, and see someone you don’t yet know? (Okay, you can’t because you’re all alone social distancing, I know, but use your imagination here.)
Maybe someone who doesn’t look just like you, or think exactly like you? Are you willing to fight alongside that person, to welcome them as a comrade in the struggle, to see them in their full, human complexity, as you would wish to be welcomed and seen yourself?
There are many ways we can build that movement now:
⭐️We can take this time for reflection, education and discussion.
⭐️We can fight for the rights and the protection of the most vulnerable, the unhoused, the incarcerated, the immigrant, the elderly trapped in nursing homes.
⭐️We can support the workers who are on the front lines of this pandemic, providing us with the necessities of life and caring for the sick.
⭐️We can demand support for the millions who have been devastated by the economic collapse that goes with this shut down. We can fight to protect our democracy and assure that we can vote in November safely.
I’m not suggesting we try to be like Jesus or Gandhi and love our enemies. I’m saying let’s start by trying to love our friends, and welcome our allies who might share our grief and fear but come to different conclusions about exactly what to do in this moment or how to wage the struggle.
There will be time to decide what to do in November. Right now our work is to build a movement wide and deep as a mighty river, fed by a hundred thousand streams and unstoppable in its flood.
Out of the most diverse field of candidates ever, we’ve somehow ended up with the old white guy who represents the establishment. For one shining moment there, it looked like we could replace the current sociopathic occupant of the White House with a true progressive, someone who deeply cares about ordinary people, that we might actually have health care and decent wages and a proactive response to climate change, that we might turn back the tide of creeping fascism and send the creepy fascists back under their rocks.
Can we just stay with that disappointment for a moment, a few days, a week, however long it takes to fully feel the grief, the sadness, the frustration?
It’s easier to feel anger than grief—anger makes us feel more powerful. It’s human nature to want to find someone to blame, to escape painful feelings by leaping to conclusions and actions:
“I will never vote for Biden!”
“Damn that Democratic Central Committee!”
Or to give up:
“I’ll never get involved in electoral politics again.”
On the other side, we have people frightened by the possibility of Trump winning another term demanding:
“You MUST vote for Biden, whether you like him or not.”
What if, instead, we could just admit, “I’m sad. I’m disappointed. I’m scared.”
We’re in the midst of a pandemic that has disrupted all our lives, infected more than half a million Americans at this writing—undoubtedly more when you read this—killed tens of thousands.
We have a narcissist at the helm whose approach to leadership ranges from denying reality to firing anyone who brings it to his attention to personally profiting from the situation, and almost half the country thinks he’s doing a heckofa job! We’re trapped in a terrifying nightmare, and it’s hard to see our way out.
So this is not the moment to demand that every Bernie supporter immediately declare their allegiance to Biden. Nor is it the moment to fill the internet with vitriol and Biden-hate.
Let me say a word about hating politicians. I’m no saint, and there are plenty of politicians I’ve hated in my time. But there is one I hated more than any other—more, even, than Bush or Trump because my hatred was the white-hot fervor of youth, and that was Lyndon Johnson.
Oh, how we despised him because of the Vietnam War, how we rejoiced when he announced he would not run for another term, how gleefully we noted that he looked like an old and broken man!
And yet, and yet…I am old now. I have Medicare. For that, I owe thanks to Johnson. The Civil Rights Act, the Voting Rights Act, were both passed with the political muscle this old white Texan brought to bear. He didn’t do this because he was a leftist or a crusader. He did it because a powerful social movement pushed him into doing it.
Instead of brow-beating one another about the November election, maybe we could take some time to reflect on how we build that powerful movement?
Bernie himself has done enormous work in that regard. He always says that his campaign is not about him, but about building a multi-racial, multi-generations movement. Just because that movement isn’t yet powerful enough to sweep him into the presidency doesn’t mean it’s a failure. It’s had enormous success in pushing the Democratic Party to the left, in making ideas that once seemed radical now mainstream, in energizing and mobilizing people.
But we need to build on that momentum, not squander it. Movements are not built on blaming, complaining and proclaiming one’s own righteousness.
Or let me take that back.
Yes, actually they are. Right-wing movements, that is. Blaming and complaining are the melody and harmony of their siren song. But movements for liberation and justice need to be built on a different foundation, one that acknowledges and meets human needs with compassion and vision.
I had a screenwriting teacher in college who would say, when he didn’t like someone’s script, “He writes as if he’s heard about people, but never actually met any.”
Too often our movements fit that description. We organize around how we think people should be, not around how people actually are. People should be rational, altruistic, caring about others and also smart enough to see where their own self-interests lie. But too often, people aren’t. We’re emotional creatures, moved by strange subterranean forces and able to believe in things, against all evidence, when they meet our emotional needs.
What are some of those needs? Here are three that people turn to movements to meet:
⭐️People need to belong. We are social animals, and we need to feel we are part of something larger than ourselves.
⭐️People need to feel that they are seen and valued.
⭐️People need to feel that they have an impact on the word around them.
Right-wing movements are very good at meeting these needs in dangerous and destructive ways. They create a sense of belonging by drawing a circle around a group of people who are accorded value, and excluding and demonizing others. They allocate value by race or gender or some facet of one’s identity that is linked to not being part of that demonized group. And they give people a sense of vicarious power, of participating in the power wielded by the bullies to whom they give allegiance.
⭐️A movement for justice and liberation must meet these needs in positive ways. ⭐️
An effective movement creates a sense of connection, of belonging to a group of courageous people that care deeply about the world and about others. It embraces those who have been outcast and demonized, and also welcomes those who share the identities that confer privilege. It strives to see and value each person for the full complexity of who they are, for that unique combination of traits, talents, history and personality that make up each of us. It creates ways that we can channel anger into constructive action, and offers opportunities for people to contribute and make an impact, at many different levels of risk and commitment.
Its keynotes are not blaming, shaming and complaining, but rather hope, appreciation, compassion and courage.
That’s the movement Bernie speaks for, the movement we would need if he were in the White House in order for him to enact his policies, and the movement we need even more if someone else is in the White House.
Bernie didn’t begin the movement. It’s an ancient river fed by many, many streams. But his campaign has helped to strengthen and expand it. Now we need to broaden and deepen it as never before.
So let me paraphrase one of the most moving parts of Bernie’s campaign speeches. Can you look around you, and see someone you don’t yet know? (Okay, you can’t because you’re all alone social distancing, I know, but use your imagination here.)
Maybe someone who doesn’t look just like you, or think exactly like you? Are you willing to fight alongside that person, to welcome them as a comrade in the struggle, to see them in their full, human complexity, as you would wish to be welcomed and seen yourself?
There are many ways we can build that movement now:
⭐️We can take this time for reflection, education and discussion.
⭐️We can fight for the rights and the protection of the most vulnerable, the unhoused, the incarcerated, the immigrant, the elderly trapped in nursing homes.
⭐️We can support the workers who are on the front lines of this pandemic, providing us with the necessities of life and caring for the sick.
⭐️We can demand support for the millions who have been devastated by the economic collapse that goes with this shut down. We can fight to protect our democracy and assure that we can vote in November safely.
I’m not suggesting we try to be like Jesus or Gandhi and love our enemies. I’m saying let’s start by trying to love our friends, and welcome our allies who might share our grief and fear but come to different conclusions about exactly what to do in this moment or how to wage the struggle.
There will be time to decide what to do in November. Right now our work is to build a movement wide and deep as a mighty river, fed by a hundred thousand streams and unstoppable in its flood.
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