Michael Moore wields great influence, and his doomsayer pronouncement that “Trump will win” threatens to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, since people will not try to defeat the Republican nominee if they consider his victory already written in stone. It is highly possible that Moore is trying to rouse us to action with his words. Nonetheless, his sort of Cassandra punditry is profoundly unuseful right now, even brattily entitled. (It also smacks of egotistical link-baiting.) Many of us know that to be alive is to keep fighting–for the roofs over our heads, for fair wages, for the right to go and come as we please. Many of us know that the only way to survive is to live as if we can beat gloomy odds even when they seem unbeatable. What we require now is praxis: positive theory, positive action. We need to keep our eyes on the prize, with our sleeves rolled up to win it. These citizens are beautifully doing just that. This is how we defeat Trump and the culture of greed, hatred, and ignorance he represents.
I wake at five, when the world is still sleepy and quiet, before the day has knit its brow. I sit by the open window while the air is still cool, and I watch the sky wake, sweet as a toddler. I admire my coffee and my permakitten, both steaming at my side, and smile at the mango beneath my fingernails: a little more sweetness snuck into this morning. For the rest of the day, I will complete onerous errands and overdue assignments; it will be very hot and very humid; the news surely will be very bad. I am wondering, I am really wondering, if there will be another moment as pretty in this long, troubled July.
The dove family took off from our fire escape the day before yesterday. That morning, Grace and I rushed to the window first thing as had become our ritual. But only Sweet Baby Blue, the late bloomer of the roost, was waiting for us. I suspect he’d been dispatched to say goodbye and thank you, for he perched on the rail with an erect bearing that made him look very grownup. He looked straight at us, and I felt Gracie straighten accordingly in my lap. Then we all froze. Grace’s green gaze, my green gaze, the dove’s dark, bottomless gaze: It suddenly became a big moment. Continue Reading →
Michael Moore wields great influence, and his doomsayer pronouncement that “Trump will win” threatens to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, since people will not try to defeat the Republican nominee if they consider his victory already written in stone. It is highly possible that Moore is trying to rouse us to action with his words. Nonetheless, his sort of Cassandra punditry is profoundly unuseful right now, even brattily entitled. (It also smacks of egotistical link-baiting.) Many of us know that to be alive is to keep fighting–for the roofs over our heads, for fair wages, for the right to go and come as we please. Many of us know that the only way to survive is to live as if we can beat gloomy odds even when they seem unbeatable. What we require now is praxis: positive theory, positive action. We need to keep our eyes on the prize, with our sleeves rolled up to win it. These citizens are beautifully doing just that. This is how we defeat Trump and the culture of greed, hatred, and ignorance he represents.
I wake at five, when the world is still sleepy and quiet, before the day has knit its brow. I sit by the open window while the air is still cool, and I watch the sky wake, sweet as a toddler. I admire my coffee and my permakitten, both steaming at my side, and smile at the mango beneath my fingernails: a little more sweetness snuck into this morning. For the rest of the day, I will complete onerous errands and overdue assignments; it will be very hot and very humid; the news surely will be very bad. I am wondering, I am really wondering, if there will be another moment as pretty in this long, troubled July.
The dove family took off from our fire escape the day before yesterday. That morning, Grace and I rushed to the window first thing as had become our ritual. But only Sweet Baby Blue, the late bloomer of the roost, was waiting for us. I suspect he’d been dispatched to say goodbye and thank you, for he perched on the rail with an erect bearing that made him look very grownup. He looked straight at us, and I felt Gracie straighten accordingly in my lap. Then we all froze. Grace’s green gaze, my green gaze, the dove’s dark, bottomless gaze: It suddenly became a big moment. Continue Reading →