So, I was born on a Wednesday. I don’t know what that says about the following, but maybe this old poem might shed some light.
Part of taking the course on Class, Race, and Gender at the Cooperstown Graduate Program entails paying attention to current events, so that we can place them in historical context. Unfortunately, that has been a difficult task over the past few weeks. There have been some serious and disturbing events in American politics and society lately, and it has been a challenge to not simply put my blinders on and immerse myself in writing a thesis.
The “Sexual Counterrevolution” is in full swing across the United States.
The President faces attacks that are more irrational now than they were four years ago.
Trayvon Martin’s death is waking this country to an ugly specter many thought, or at least hoped, was dead, while.
And mother’s have to now fear expressing their own religious freedom while fearing for the safety of their sons and daughters.
I was raised by a set of radically liberal Catholics with backbones built of social justice. When I read about this kind of hate, bigotry, and fear I am at times overwhelmed with sorrow for the losses of my fellow man. But, I also know that such feelings are useless if they are not put to a purpose. Last week we examined the writings of James Baldwin and El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz, and while the two men used their pain and experiences to different ends, they did not merely sit by passively and watch such atrocities of justice. They stood and made themselves heard, acted when lesser men might have cowered. They turned pain and anger into action and positive results.
What am I gonna do tomorrow?