"Bite this stick", the doctor might say as we birthed our children one-hundred years ago. The grunting,  whimpering, sobbing, pleading, sweating, stinking, bleeding nudity of motherhood channeled into that sweet gag, silent, as the towels mount to soak up all of the  nasty animal we are as we labor with the promise of life. Bite this stick.  

To date, my most popular blog entry, which reappeared on Counterpunch this week (Of Mice and Moms), is one in which I refuse the bite the stick. It is  vaguely about Mother's Day and it is, honestly, the kind of screaming that does not produce life. Birth is a channeling of the pain, down, not up into the air,  pushing through it, sinking, a kind of focus that for all the animal smell, is  what is truly animal. But the response from other mothers, and even fathers,  people in general, to my scream was huge.  I was a little taken aback. We are angry. We are sad.

Mother's Day is sad and it is unnerving because it is an insult to us. It is  an insult to life. We are angry at this insult. I feel death, unnatural death,  moving in for our children. It is emotional, moral and physical. And each of us  is a mother's child. The facts are apparent. I have little more to add. The
facts are what we talk about very often. I do not desire to watch the executions  of our children, to know the make of the bullets, the details of the poverty and the war, to seek out an argument about the temperature and humidity the day on which we sort the pieces left of the life we have tenderly worked at.

Politics and ideology leave me feeling cold. They are a game played by people who do not know what love is, far, far too often.

I have a name for what I am doing with my life. I have a few. They are the names of the children I have birthed, Mac and Ob, and the names of the other people I love. I think this is what I have in common with every other mother on Earth. 

Solidarity is the principle aim of thoughtful motherhood. This is what I am here to tell you today. Give me a minute and take my hand, I want to explain what I think. 

At one time the idea solidarity meant in German culture "collective debt."  Over time it came to mean the individual taking responsibility for the  community. Later on, during the French Revolution, it came to mean brotherhood  among the underclass. Today it seems to mean some kind of interest, however vague, in the welfare of another. It means a lot of things to a lot of people. I  will accept each of these definitions for now. I will accept each of these  definitions because they each pivot on responsibility, a deepening of what we are each capable of feeling, saying, thinking, doing, from where we start, because of love. Love is  the glue that holds a community. This is the same pivot where we find each other as mothers: responsibility and love. 

There is a limit to what I can do for my sons, for anyone, so long as I do  not make my love political, however. While my politics must not lose its face, in my  case, the dirty little freckled face of my baby son and the deep eyes of my young man. 

Some time ago a woman invented Mother's Day. Julia Ward Howe. She called on  mothers to raise their sons well, to not be tools for war, as she saw happen in the American Civil War, as she assisted happening as the author of the Battle Hymn of the Republic. Quickly this was forgotten; the holiday progressed to honor mothers just for being mothers, not call us to solidarity. And quickly, yet again, the holiday was consumerized. And now as my sons are threatened, and as I scramble with my every ounce of life force to protect them, I will get a card this weekend, maybe with a picture of a teddy bear on it, and maybe some message from a friend about how I am a goddess, to be proud of my stretched and flabby body, as if it is that that I am most worried about as perhaps it is that that  determines my personal worth to the occasional sweet talker with economic and/or social power.

I like Howe’s Mother's Day Proclamation. "Arise, all women who have hearts, Whether our baptism be of water or of tears!" Like many good words, however, I recognize that repeating them on their own doesn't make them understood enough to derive a coherent lesson or change behavior. I think, to be understood, the people in them have to be struggled with as representatives from our own inner lives, which is what they are, as our ancestors or peers. We must be willing to  fully struggle with our culture, and not just mainstream culture, but our closest, most intimate cultures inside it. Howe, for example, may have been conveniently misguided in her thinking that women, in general, teach sons "charity, mercy and patience" -- traits then somehow "unlearned" -- and that moral evil is an inherently masculine capacity for which women are uniquely responsible for  working their sexual or motherly magic against. And like our old mother, Howe, we might too be misguided.

I have begun to see how our idea of solidarity moved from being one of  communal debt to the vague interest in another's welfare. I will not argue with the word, but the animal mother has been tamed. In a recent interview on Democracy Now long-time activist Selma James said "We are civilized by this work [of caretaking], we women...we need men to be civilized by this work...we don't want them working for capitalism...I'm talking about our working to care for others, to be with others." I agree that caretaking is transformative, in a good way, but I have a bone to pick with the word “civilized.” I have been thinking recently that actually the problem is that we are less animal than we should be. We have nothing to base a morality on. We live in the intellectual, professional, ether.

Howe saw the devastation and her politics clearly changed as a result. She  became a pacifist just a few years after supporting a war, a war she supported to support justice for enslaved peoples. And while she may have admitted to friends in private correspondence the change, and to some degree her own responsibility as a writer of rousing words, not simply another mother, for its horrors, it is the Mother's Day Proclamation that is her public writing, and in it, she shares nothing of that. 

The Proclamation seems to me sometimes interesting primarily as a study in how one can make the mistake of eschewing appropriate personal and communal responsibility in order to pursue a more virginal image, and an impossible responsibility, than anyone deserves or can shoulder, and do so very surreptitiously. It reminds me, really, of an aspect of modern American "progressivism," where we blame evil people (like George Bush) for doing evil things (like bombing Afghanistan and Iraq) and feel like, because we say the right words (like peace and solidarity), or even, in some cases, truly suffer in our efforts, we are among the virtuous (while we continue to bomb Afghanistan and Iraq). 

How can we begin to explain, if we are serious people, serious about justice,
the constant murder of civilians all over the world in what so many of us have accepted is a series of wars about dominance? And, even without war, the abuse of workers? Poverty? Are we really so weak that we can't do better? We can see the consequences of an incomplete fight for justice -- a justice most human beings on the Earth say we want, and I believe we do, I think. Is it simply that our mothers did not read Howe's Proclamation and words like it? Is that the problem? Somehow, I think this is doubtful. 

But it is in the example of their profound complication, her complication,  our complication and my complication that I can learn anything, or share  anything. It's never enough, I think, to just recall the facts. We must struggle with them in our deepest selves. And we must do so fully with each other. That is animal behavior evolved to a state of deep morality.

I have said before, because I am a mother and I repeat myself, that colonial thinking (for example: racism, classism,  misogyny), which we all engage in to varying degrees -- in testament to our wretched inheritances -- is ultimately about denying humanity, making people, ourselves even, abstractions, ideas, not flesh and blood people. The idea we have might be violent or it may be sentimental, as our political debates speak to, but the reduction is ultimately an evil. It may be the definition of evil. Indeed, Selma James, in her 1972 introduction to The Power of Women and the Subversion of Community said wisely: “There is nothing in capitalism which is not capitalistic, that is, not part of the class struggle.” 

Whiteness, for example, as a form of superiority, is kind of a new concept which came about as a convoluted result of the movement toward home ownership  and suburbia after WW II (White People were once Irish, Italian, Polish...), and while race  is imaginary (while racism is real), it is possible that what was once "White" culture is, in our current social context, is becoming "professional" culture. Institutional racism and, indeed, caustic bigotry remain huge issues for millions of people -- for all of us really, if solidarity is our value -- but in the United States we now have a Black president and the new MLK memorial has corporate sponsorship --  the same sponsorship that goes to making war and leaving people in poverty, and the same president who sends us into it. Whiteness, a great tool of  institutional evil, is an invention of capitalism as an invention of  imperialism. What other tools are there? Racism is still with us and what else is?

 Our mother James continues:

 "…look at the demands we in England marched for in 1971: equal pay, free
24-hour child care, equal educational opportunity and free birth control and
abortion on demand. Incorporated into a wider struggle, some of these are vital. As they stand, they accept that we not have the children we can't afford; they demand of the State facilities to keep the children we can afford for as long as 24 hours a day; and they demand that these children have equal chance to be conditioned and trained to sell themselves competitively with each other on the labor market for equal pay. By themselves these are not just co-optable demands. They are capitalist planning. Most of us in the movement never felt these  demands expressed where we wanted the movement to go, but in the absence of an independent feminist political framework, we lost by default."

In a folk tale from India (my son Mac loved this one when he was about four) an unwise king does not want his naked feet to be dirtied, so he orders the earth covered in leather. This makes it impossible for the people to live, because they cannot grow food, and when it rains, it floods them out. A wiser man creates the first shoes for the king so that the rest of the world may have the life giving dirt again. The king is not confronted in this way and the people continue to live under him, though thankfully no longer under leather. These are the kinds of solutions James was referring to in the 1970s and the kinds of solutions we continue to support, as opposed to solutions based on any idea we may have of solidarity.

Mariarosa Dalla Costa joins Selma James (in The Power of Women and the Subversion of Community) in saying:

"We want...nurseries and washing machines and dishwashers, but we also want choices: to eat in privacy with few people when we want, to have time to be with children, to be with old people, with the sick, when and where we choose. To 'have time' means to work less. To have time to be with children, the old and the sick does not mean running to pay a quick visit to the garages where you park children or old people or invalids. It means that we, the first to be excluded, are taking the initiative in this struggle so that all those other excluded people, the children, the old and the ill, can re-appropriate the social wealth; to be re-integrated with us and all of us with men, not as dependents but autonomously, as we women want for ourselves; since their exclusion, like ours, from the directly productive social process, from social existence, has been created by capitalist organization."

I read a lot of self-help books, because, like many of us, I need some help. 
One of my favorites is less self-help as it is a primer in skills building to  solve all problems through community building. In The Abundant Community consultants Peter Block and John McKnight assert that “We are colonized by the belief that we are a diagnostic category, that we are a need, not a capacity, and that only a system, a product, a professional service can satisfy that need…the abundant community embraces fallibility and humanness.”

It is in a competent community that as human animals we will find freedom,  which may not be the same as liberty. I believe this strongly and I want you to think about it with me. The allure of capitalism is that it is possible for some of us to attain a kind of liberty so long as we have the tool of capital, money, with which to pay for our power, not negotiate our relationships. This is the power of men over women, the power of Whites over People of Color. It is a power that is both coerced, on an individual level, and consensual, on an institutional level. It is a puzzle.

Block and McKnight say that:

"To reclaim the role of citizen, to go from addiction to choice, the shift will simultaneously restore vital functions to the family and the neighborhood and reconstruct the competence of the community, all of which come under assault in consumer culture."

The strategy outlined in The Abundant Community in which one may reclaim the role of citizen is, however, somewhat counterintuitively, an abundantly personal one. The properties to be attained by the authors’ ideal, fully functioning community are the giving of gifts, the presence of association (wherein the gifts of individuals are amplified), and  compassion, or hospitality (which recognizes that many traditional communities are xenophobic, and otherwise phobic, as we have seen in North Carolina this past week). Their strategy has strengths, to be sure, but I find that the authors do not pay heed, in this list or anywhere in their very good book, to the political, the institutional, environment within which this movement they describe must take place. It is not as easy as making better choices. Our choices are pulled at by forces outside of us.

For some reason this has been a common pattern of weakness in our  culture. That which is political is only concerned with institutional matters,  while that which is personal is only concerned with the individual, the  transformation of the individual usually, and usually to a happier state. It is
a kind of hyper-specialization of interest, and a hallmark of professional behavior, which is capitalist behavior, that drives the whole way we think of
our lives together. 

I find it extremely problematic to find a strategy that is either entirely  personal or entirely political to counter the generations of oppression and the ensuing breakdown of community that has made these intrusions more and more  possible. The war we fight is everywhere as mothers, as caretakers,  as maybe the last non-professional relational beings left standing in the United States, hobbling maybe, but here.

Many feminists of James’ generation fought to take women out of the home and into the workplace. This was an institutional, political, strategy not unlike inventing shoes for a king who would otherwise cover the earth in leather. Women took work outside of the home that at best is no more fulfilling than the kinds of work  that the vast majority of men had and have now, which is far from life affirming labor and far from useful labor. All the while the march of colonialism became swifter as our children, now in many cases the third generation with little parental involvement, are raised almost entirely by institutions and the media, which is not only bad for the human animal they are, but which is in service to capitalism. I do not intend to be barefoot and pregnant, but I value the work of caretaking and we all need it. Caretaking should be expanded beyond the role of motherhood. That is the institutional goal, but on a personal level, feeling the weight of motherhood and demanding its respect is on my list.

Where do we even begin meeting these goals? It is all so overwhelming. Martin Luther King, before he was a corporate memorial, began his political agenda in Where Do we Go From Here: Chaos or Community with "The Triple Evils of poverty, racism, and war.”

"They are interrelated, all-inclusive, and stand as barriers to our living in
the 'Beloved Community.' When we work to remedy one evil, we affect all evils. The issues change in accordance with the political and social climate of our nation and world."

Perhaps, if we talk about it, we will identify other things, but we must talk
about it. I propose that we each pick five people with whom we are going to
determinedly interact for the next year, three on the emotionally easy side and two on the hard side, and talk. Talk all the time. Talk deeply. We must identify what is coerced and why in the life of the individual through our neighbors and remedy this through what remains consensual, how we choose to behave as organizations of people. 

If it were me talking, which it is, right this second, political demands we might make as organizations of mothers, as caretakers rather, may well be Guaranteed National Income, for example, a political idea that is often scoffed at as impossible. Income is a big problem in making truly free choices on a personal level. Further, radical, organized, acts of resistance to war would address political issues we find our children and each other faced with, as Howe attempted to address in her invention of Mother’s Day. We must work to free swaths of us from the chains that prevent our connection, but like the chicken and the egg, neither the political nor the personal must be first. 

Personal change may well be what is described in The Abundant Community intentionally for people do not change without connection, the more personal the better.  Despots and saints, however much they are simply in the popular imagination, know this. “One man’s death is a tragedy, but a million deaths is a statistic”, Joseph Stalin famously said. Mother Teresa said something similar: “If I look at the mass, I will never act. If I look at one I will.”

I noted recently that there is a home that you can only find in the depth of
old friends, their eyes and hands, old places, emotional and physical, in the
labor and commitment, or the memory, which has kept the bond whole. One of my favorite quotes comes from Iris Murdoch: "Love is the difficult realization that something other than oneself is real." We are not the same person. We are,  however, mutually dependent and capable of doing much better by each other than we do. I am a mother and I repeat myself. I say these things all the time.

Happy Mother's Day. Really. "Arise, all women who have hearts, Whether our baptism be of water or of tears!" Arise. Take my hand. Better yet, take your neighbor's hand, assuming I am not she.

I am sure, if you have gone to even one protest in your life, that you know the chant: "This is what democracy looks like." That is  pretty much it, over and over. We are in the street, banging on water jugs, and this is what democracy looks like. This is what democracy looks like. 

I hate it because we can't simply chant about democracy and have one that is actually good for people. I, of course, dislike chanting in general though, seeing it as a rather loud and mindless way to spend time I could have used having a conversation where I and another person were given the opportunity to grow together. But I digress. Sort of.

A society can be democratic and unjust, if you believe  in the concept of justice anyway, and/or cruel and/or hypocritical. We can be democratic and be a whole host of other things.

There is a logical fallacy  called The Appeal to Popularity, wherein one claims that a position is true because many people believe it to be true. Many people can be quite wrong, about  facts, and about morality, especially when they do not speak to one another and are, in fact, many people who are totally alone in their thoughts. 

Democracy isn't the goal of our work, as far as I am concerned, though it may  be a pretty good partial strategy. The goal is goodness, morality: a way of living together that is humane. And goodness, morality and humanity are  realities we build with other people and to do that we have to do something much  harder than march, or gripe (or say classist things about Stupid Rednecks), or chant, or even petition -- as miserable an activity as that is -- we have to talk with each other. We have to inform and be informed about the reality of the other and oneself.

I would like to suggest that a  good response to North Carolina may well not be a snarky reiteration of the rights of the individual -- which damn if we don't have down to such a degree that we don't even know who our neighbor is anymore, as we say all the time, chantlike, to whomever our choir is; and isn't that the problem here, organized insularness? -- but a greater movement toward community. In the strategy of democracy this may be our best option. Inclusive community starts with me and you.

If I ever have something really crappy happen to me that enters into what is deemed relevant political discussion, do me and you both a favor: do not chant "I am Windy Cooler." Do not wear t-shirts or buttons that say this. 

Take care of my kids. If you loved me, find other people who did too, and take care of each other. Try to learn something about being human, about  yourself, through the relationship with me. Tell some good stories. If you did not know me, did not love me, seek out those who did. Make some sense of what happened, whatever it was that finally did me in. The options for my unjust demise are endless. Whatever it is, bear witness. Take action. But do not take my name and put it on yourself.

We are no one but who we are, but we can do a much better job of supporting other people and asking for the same. 

That is what solidarity is.  

One of my favorite quotes comes from Iris Murdoch: "Love is the difficult  realization that something other than oneself is real." We are not the same  person. We are, however, mutually dependent and capable of doing much better by each other than we do.

Actually, wait...why wait until something is deemed politically relevant by  whomever it is that decides these things?

Let's learn something about each other and take care of each other now. The options for our unjust demise are endless. Let's try a little harder to be ourselves and be present to the reality of each other.

The night before our wedding, with family and friends.
"What are you going to wear? A white t-shirt with your jeans?" That's what my friend asked the week before I married John on this day in 2003. I was the kind of person who wears the same grungy crap a few days in a row, maybe even sleeping in it, because I was obsessed with organizing. Or, that is the story I told myself.

"No. I'm going to wear a dress."

"A wedding dress?"

I wore a wedding dress. I did. It was off-white. And I carried flowers. And up until I threw it at John's face a few years ago, I wore a ring that had his name inside and the date on which we were married. I have that ring now, and his ring too, in a handmade wooden box that says "I love you the way you are."

Oh, John. Life is so short and friends are few. I love you. Maybe I can say that and mean it and know what it means to love someone else because you taught me. We taught each other, maybe, because maybe that is the way love works. In the end it was you who taught me, and I who taught you, though I have said all kinds of awful things in the past about the kind of pain I was in with you too. As have you, though you were never as emotive as I. 

We've been so shitty to each other, by accident mostly, and so, so good to one another too, mostly on purpose. The forgiveness between us is real and deep. There is something to be said for that.

For the rest of you, this is what I have learned from my marriage. John and I took vows on our wedding day that we wrote ourselves. They were about our commitment to the community. That's all we said. We were a work team devoted to the world. Guess what, activist friends? That did not a marriage make, and in the end, that did not a good work team make either.

We fell apart, as people. We're still picking the sharp little pieces of broken heart out of our flesh.

Community is something you don't just work for. It is a relationship. And you can't have a relationship with something as huge as "the world" or even "the neighborhood" if you don't know how to have a relationship, an intimate one, with another person, because you cannot know the reality of others without this experience. And you cannot write your own vows to the community. It is a negotiation. 

In The Sibling Society, author Robert Bly relates the story of the Hindu god, Ganesh, who, as a youth, is asked by his mother to guard her privacy as she bathes. He unknowingly is guarding her from her husband, his father, who had been so long gone he does not know him. Indeed, the father had left the family in a rage eons before because his wife, the goddess who bore Ganesh, conceived him in an act of trickery against him. In the ensuing fight between Ganesh and his father, the boy’s head is cut off.  His mother, upon seeing this, is filled with grief and rage. To mend him his father takes the head of a baby elephant and places it upon Ganesh's shoulders. Bly interprets the story in terms of the damage we do to young men in our culture of libertarian ideals, leaving them without mentorship, to feel as if
they are protectors of their mothers, not themselves sheltered.

The myth is also reminiscent of the awesome, if somewhat delusional, responsibility of the activist, the deformity, and the weight of a professional head -- a non-human head -- that has colonized us, a head that does not quite fit on our very human body.

Jeff Noonan wrote recently:

"A future new left must be positive and constructive if it is to be anything at all. A positive and constructive new left, while mindful of the structural contradictions of capitalism, cannot treat these as a reason to not act in the present on demands that make some people's lives better but leave structural problems unaddressed in the short term. Theoretical models of wholesale alternatives to capitalism have a place, but have not proven capable of mobilizing large numbers of people in Europe and North America in ways that have effectively institutionalized real gains. Instead, the losses continue to mount. The first crucial task of an effective new left must therefore be to work out a short term agenda that builds mass support and that can be realized within existing institutions, but at the same time pushes those institutions away from their current life-blind function toward their life-valuable reason for being."

Their life-valuable reason for being.
Their life-valuable reason for being.
Their life-valuable reason for being.

My friend, poet and teacher, Lee Furey, wrote in her poem Penelope about her 20 year long relationship with another activist:

I hate this movement
that has stolen you from me.

I hate it because it denies
its own love of conflict,
it denies
the beauty of imperfection
and forgiveness.

I hate it because
it finds those who live in peace boring.

I hate it because
I don't know where you left the guitar.
I hate it
I live on the ground.

Yeah, Lee. We all do. We all live on the ground.

_On Personal Love in a Political Culture

This Sunday, at the Friends Meeting I attend, I shared a long, rambling account of my personal soap opera, which is what I call it, my life, my relationships, when I am not willing to be vulnerable about it all, but I still need to vent, and well, my reality, when I am, when I am willing to share.

Short non-vulnerable version: there is a divorce, there is another long-term romantic relationship gone bad, so bad in fact I have begun describing my feelings around it as a "deranged ghost that lives outside of my body" as I search and search myself for any truth to which I can hold -- to hang my feelings of love -- then there are are things like a diagnoses of PTSD, which I suffer from, and for good reason, and my struggling to finish a degree program in which I am writing a thesis on solidarity behavior while I struggle with a general grumpiness about solidarity in my life and the unnerving prevalence of a philosophy of personal liberation in our culture that says, wrongly, it is actually a philosophy of community. I feel alone in facing the deranged ghost, though I am the subject of much sympathy, and I am often told the best thing to do in response to my haunting is ignore it, not try any further to mediate it, because, ironically, trying to mediate it will result in my being alienated, as honest mediation just makes others uncomfortable. I want to scream.

Someone told me after my deep sharing that my statement was a challenge, a call to community, a catharsis, for her. God knows it was for me too. That is my clearly personal thought for the day.

The clearly political one that I want to draw your attention to is this quote from Newt Gingrich on Saturday night, in one of my home states, South Carolina:

“The debate we’ll have with President Obama mark the outlying of two Americas, the America of the Declaration of Independence, the America of Saul Alinksy, the America of paychecks...The America of dependence, the America of independence, the America of strength in foreign policy, the America of weakness in foreign policy.”

As fascistic as Gingrich is being here, I think he is onto something he does not mean to be onto. Alinsky was a wounded man. He lost his wife in a drowning accident in which she was trying to save someone else. He lost his brother in childhood. There is a machismo to his ideas, a cruel efficiency, a survivalism that I think shows this pain, and a reaction to pain that appeals to many of us. He believed in enemies you must destroy, or at least have a desire to. Nowhere is Alinsky vulnerable in his public writing, as far as I know, and if he were here to tell me off for saying so, for making it an issue, I bet he would. Alinsky would hate my guts.

Alinsky's machismo is stamped on our activist culture, and, just as Gingrich posits the whole thing like the somehow simultaneous dullard and sociopath he is, our country's debates are often flat on the inside even though they look potentially incendiary on the outside. Believe me, Alinksy wanted an America of paychecks. What else was he doing in the slums of urban America but fighting for that, and for independence? "I love this goddamn country, and we're going to take it back," Alinksy said. Sound familiar? There is so much more to fight for, to work for, though, and this debate we are in about taking back America sounds, to me, autistic. Every time I hear it from whomever I hear it from. It is an industrially organized effort, lacking empathy, alienated, and obsessed with irrelevant details.

The two Americas Gingrich is being a nutball about exist, but both are missing something crucial, married together in a death embrace, I think. This reality he is talking about is one in which machismo -- lack of vulnerability, lack of true community, solidarity based community, *inter*dependence -- lack of real values kind of talk, where enemies abound, and fear is about fear of not having personal power, not the fear of losing the love that makes us human, these things are the foundation of our thoughts.

Both Americas Gingrich is talking about think brotherly love is a higher state, a static noun, a yogic pose or a prayer or something, not a moving verb that is about our behavior, our willingness to engage in the messiness that is life with solidarity. And romantic love is like a mental illness we either accept with or without shame, depending on our personal beliefs. This is what passes for personal beliefs, anyway. Love requires a relationship, I think, any form of it, and relationships involve care and care involves some loss of liberty because you don't always get to do what you want when you have to negotiate a reality with someone else who is real, because you care. Community is hard work and love requires being serious about and with community. We need a new tribalism that is not about taking America back, but taking ourselves, our hearts, our families, back from these two Americas, this bi-polar thing we have created.

I think a lot about community, solidarity, my life, life in general. Here's my marriage of the personal and political. I have talked about the importance of being a good neighbor for several years. I often fail at this goal because I still care about the life I left behind, the life of the Leftist, the serious political person. I still want to be validated by a world I no longer agree with on crucial things. All people want love, food, companionship, solutions that get people what they need. I'm from the American South. I know, there is nothing saintly about any of our ideas about how to do that. We just need to be more present to one another.

I advise people all the time to be active in their own homes, neighborhoods, churches, anything that is organized more around people than an ideology. You may disagree with me on the churches part, religion being a kind of ideology, but churches are people based, I think. Look at the Civil Rights Movement. When I became an atheist I remember taunting people, saying that I didn't need a church to have a social life. I thought I was seeing through some hypocrisy. Well, it is a hypocrisy, the relationships that are more important than the ideology, that I now wish was more prevalent in all institutions. 

The Occupy Movement has been trying to do this too, I think. I think that is what the tent encampments were or are, in some cases, about, and certainly the reclamations of people's homes from banks and landlords. This is what excites me about the Occupy Movement, though even here, we have so far to go, so much ground to cover, and I hope to god we manage it. We are going to have to work really hard, together, in our homes, neighborhoods, and churches to see it happen. Justice, like my own search for truth in that nebulous failure of a relationship, has got to be moved from being a deranged ghost that lives outside of our bodies. It does not live in a tent, or a non-profit, or anywhere that is not you touching another, making a circuit, living the mess. Gingrich verses Alinsky is not the conversation we need to be having.

I am making a choice today to do more for my Meeting and with my Meeting; do a lot, most even, of my activism there, through there, with, as I like to advise others, the people who know and love me best, or have the potential to, get a normal working class job doing something I just enjoy, part-time, in my neighborhood, which is something I have fought against for whatever reason. I will write, certainly, since I can't help but not, and welcome the relationships I have and the ones I will have as a result. I'll let let you know how it turns out for me as it keeps turning out.
_What is the "propinquity" with which I am so obsessed? It was first the idea that the people over which we have the most influence are the people who know us best. Parents have enormous influence over children, for instance. Children, in my experience, also have enormous influence over parents. I was, in fact, radicalized, by the birth and circumstances around the birth, of my first son, when I was a very young woman. My love for him taught me, a child who still existed in a Victorian romantic fantasy, to look at the animal world. The real world in which even Dickens was wasted and soiled. Our poverty was physical and so was my neighbors. It was my love for him that led me to understand what we were doing to children all over the world. It's a story I tell all the time.

I wanted activists to use their influence over those who love them. Our friends and families. I was offended by, among other things, campaigns in which organizers were "parachuted" in, in "blitzes," where one goes in like a soldier, like a navy seal with a clipboard, and a rating system in which the people one meets are assigned a number based on their agreement with the leadership of the organization and their ability to convince others to agree as well, their own leadership potential in combination with their loyalty to "the message." I was offended by having an assigned "turf," like some street dog, in which I rated others and my job was to never deviate from the recorded message. And certainly to never have real, organic relationships with those I worked with, or for, or with what seemed to me the subjects of our organizing, something like the subjects of an experiment in a mad scientist's lab. It never felt like justice. And I couldn't be convinced that even winning the goals of an organization's leadership, even though they may be sound goals in and of themselves, was truly a win in the context of the culture this kind of organizing created. It felt like fracking for freedom. I was never sure this was possible. Freedom and justice and love and solidarity can't be dug for like natural gas. These are not physical resources. They are spiritual.

Can you do cultural violence and in the end have the kind of community competence necessary to keep on winning, winning something more than a 10 cent pay-raise, or a new bus, or whatever resource that community needed in that moment? It always seemed that the resource we most needed were social skills, the kind that put us in touch with each other, our best renewable resource, with which, if you are a believer in organizing in the first place, are the way we can move mountains. We are our own golden egg laying hen. When we frack for freedom, do we kill the hen?

_While there are many contributing factors to burnout, I think they are tangential to the overwhelming effects of the professionalization of activism in the last 50 years. Many of us have read The Revolution Will Not Be Funded with appreciation, nodding that yes, people of color have been fetishized by corporatized non-profits; yes, of course, we cannot trust that those who benefit from capitalism will fund any meaningful rebellion against themselves; yes, professional activists, endowed in many cases with the privileges of all other professionals, have successfully worked to change the language of justice, the manners of justice, the culture of The Work, into something not only exclusive, but something neuter at best, manipulative at worst.

But what of these professional activists? I have certainly been one. I frankly don't know any other way to make a living. I wasn't surviving very well as that teenage-mother welfare-queen I once was, back when I was not a professional activist. I sometimes re-visit a letter I wrote to my now friend Jeff, right before I was able, for the first time in my life, to earn much of anything, acting out my rage and my love. In it I recount how I was being evicted. I am still suffering from the ill-health and emotional trauma brought on by several years of poverty and all the crap that is done to women in poverty. And I realize I was lucky to find my way out.

But that's the American Dream, isn't it? And that's the dream that people like me -- people who above all else believe in solidarity -- reject as a nightmare. It's better than starving, but we are right, because for me to get out of that horror on my own, I lost pieces of my soul, which are pieces of the soul of solidarity. I didn't work for GE or Enron though, and make big bucks. The Center for Community Change discovered the organization I worked for in Montgomery, Alabama as a volunteer organizer and I spent the next year learning how to go to conferences and sell myself to get funding, to get paid, which I needed, and for which I was grateful. But I sold myself. I went on to work for other organizations, including labor unions -- which appealed to me because of their working class rhetoric -- and most of my work was comfortable and my employers or supervisors good, kind, even passionate people. But I always saw exactly the reality I saw back when I wrote to Jeff about what professional activism meant to me in 2002. I never liked any work I was paid to do half as much as I did my volunteer work, when I was free and when I spoke from my heart and when The Work was really about my son and me and our home, and when I understood what solidarity was, even if I didn't have it. I was never as effective again as I once was, when I had few skills, and a lot of heart. And what have I earned? I am barely middle-class. And that could change. And some of these work places have been downright abusive. 18 hour days, for no apparent reason, verbal assaults, feeling as if I was being paid to manipulate the very people I was supposedly in solidarity with.

The way in which activism has been professionalized has created a new activist culture in which activists are largely acting in rebellion against families of origin, not acting to protect their families of origin, as was the older model of social activism.

This has also led to professional activists/organizers displacing neighborhood and worker volunteers through an illusion of professional dominion over the work, expertise in the work, and an expectation that if someone is getting paid, then The Work will get done -- as well as creating an environment that is, in social class, very unfamiliar and unfriendly to the old volunteer culture. Activists and organizers leave the work at a young age, to top it all off, leaving behind little skill and institutional memory in their organizations. Burn out is killing us.

And while it's not all our fault, and many of us don't know what else to do right this second, it is up to us to participate in fixing it. Because for all of our actual faults, we know better. Deep down inside us, we do. I think it's one of the main reasons we see burn out. As we mature past just being pissed at the world, we see how alienating this whole thing we are passing off as solidarity is.

Intentional, focused work in the development of healthy attachments inside activist institutions is imperative. Meaningful, transformative relationships in The Work, blurring the line between what is "The Work" and what is one's personal life in a new way, in a fully human way, grounded in love, is what I am feeling for. Not the 18 hour day "in the field". But the integration of one's relationships in all things. Not the supervisor who once told me how lucky he was that he was divorced, so he could work more, not the kid who hates all his middle-class white parents stand for because he hates them and he wants them to know it, ala All That Rises Must Converge -- no -- not social hours that go nowhere in downtown DC, but where we are nice for a while and discuss nothing of import.

My vision is a kind of community competence that may never have existed, but which came closer to existing before the professionalization of activist work. I want, my goal is, to help create a world in which solidarity, the mutual support of humanity, to the best of each of our abilities, is our striving. I am inspired by the Catholic Worker Movement. I am inspired by the original Black Panther movement. I am inspired by what I know about myself and my neighbors and my family and all our struggles. We need each other. I want us to find a way to fulfill that need.
_"Jesus came and said 'the one and only commandment is that you love your neighbor as yourself' and the people's response was 'Wait, you mean we can eat bacon?' Now the non-converting Jews knew Jesus was crazy; they knew better than to eat bacon."

My dear former husband John winked as he said this to me last night. It is a very deep observation, even if we were eating BLTs at the time. I think about "Forgive them Lord for they know not what they do."

I'm not a theologian, and I have no idea the typical interpretation of that quote, but as the agonized dying words from a man who just spent his life trying to save the world, they are quite striking. Is he saying, as he dies, that he sees how limited, fragile, flawed and stupid we are? He tried to teach us, "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone." This is the man who threw out the money changers. Did he realize in the end that we're all just thinking about bacon?

Sometimes, when I see how hard my friends work to explain why war is an abomination without excuse to people who see dead babies every night on the news and only seem to stop and cry for the grown people we have sent over to do the killing -- at those times -- when the seemingly most simple truths require essays, polemics, protests...I don't wonder what Jesus would do; I think I know. Hang his head and die. 

Work to change the world, even for an atheist like me, is a faith relationship with the people we love. It is an inability to enjoy life any other way. The work is never ending. I find something liberating in this thought. Our work is an exercise in love. I get great clarity from that.