I just wrote you (and me, and us) a poem, inspired by a despondent response from a fellow Kossack to one of my comments in priceman's also despondent diary, "We’ve Already Lost So Cancel Any Perceivable Celebration". I then decided to post my poem as a diary, with comments below the fold on what these words means for me, and what I think it could elucidate about us, our President, and the larger question of "change".
You may optionally want to read the comments that prompted this poem first, to give you context.
I Need To Believe
I need to believe that, no matter how things are, they are better now than in a past a never had a voice in.
I need to believe that hope is not a word, but rather a collective sense that we each, in our own small way, are free to think, and act, according to our values, and help bring to life those values that benefit the rest of us.
I need to believe that the will to learn about our past in order to avoid the same mistakes in the future is stronger than our occasional desire to give in to life's discouragement.
I need to believe that being liberal of thought doesn't trap us into being liberal of action when doing so endangers our long-term goals for humanity.
I need to believe that you can accomplish more with the help of your neighbors than the President of the United States can on his own.
I need to believe that when things get bad, Americans don't sink into despair—they sink into action.
I need to believe that even though change takes time, the time it takes to change the world doesn't dissuade our minds from trying.
But what I need, more than anything, and now more than ever, is this:
I need to believe that you won't just tell me to keep dreaming.
I need to believe that, no matter how things are, they are better now than in a past a never had a voice in.
I was born in 1983, just shy of Disco Demolition Night, threats to world peace, widespread abuses of civil liberties; 1983, right before crack bulldozed through the social fabric of black American ghettoes everywhere. I had no voice during those days; perhaps if I'd been alive or old enough to do something, I'd been able to address these or any of a multitude of other issues of the day, in however small a way I could. But those weren't my days, that wasn't my era, and I altogether believe that, as with the best camera you have (the one you have on you) and the best family you have (the one you've got), life is best when you're in it. I need to believe that. So don't talk to me about better, brighter days of past, talk to me about ways to make the present or tomorrow better—brighter—even if it isn't fast.
I need to believe that hope is not a word, but rather a collective sense that we each, in our own small way, are free to think, and act, according to our values, and help bring to life those values that benefit the rest of us.
Obama ran on hope, and the change addressed below. But he also ran on the idea that each of us is responsible for bringing both of them to life—that he would never, on his own, be able to bring to fruition what any of us believe in. There are already exhaustive lists of his accomplishments, none of which he secured alone, but also none of which are enough to convince us all that change or hope has come—because they haven't. Change and hope don't live outside of us; they are ideas intended to motivate the best of us and the best in us to be better. We don't get a free pass just because we elected one of the most charismatic and rhetorically gifted men in our generation—he is only just a man, with values that may represent some of us at times but certainly not all of us all of the time. Obama doesn't speak for me; only I can do that for myself, and regardless of how small my actions may be in shifting the larger tide, I have to own my values and own the fidelity of my steps to enact those values across a broader spectrum if I feel they represent a greater good for us all. I need to believe that this is what freedom entails, and in fact, demands, of us.
I need to believe that the will to learn about our past in order to avoid the same mistakes in the future is stronger than our occasional desire to give in to life's discouragement.
Some of us are frustrated by the feeling that we've yet to see a true liberal president in our lifetimes, which has some merit: only three of the presidents in the last 35 years have been Democrats, during a time where being a Democrat has generally signified being closer to "liberal" than the opposition, though to hear Chomsky say it, Nixon was "the last liberal president". But I need to believe that our desire to learn about—and keep in mind—the history behind this paucity of a liberal agenda in the nation's highest office, so that we may systematically sway the current in a direction that favors a fairer, more just society and candidates who are able to effect that vision, is stronger than our feelings of discouragement at Obama for making mistakes, for not more publicly displaying bloodlust against Republicans, for passing up what we think are missed opportunities for sweeping changes that I don't really believe are possible whether placed on the table or kept off it from the start, or for not acting as we think we might act were we to be placed in his shoes as President. We should be more motivated to change the future than discouraged by the lack of change in the present or the past.
I need to believe that being liberal of thought doesn't trap us into being liberal of action when doing so endangers our long-term goals for humanity.
Call him what you may, but our President, while not always liberal of action, has from the beginning expressed liberal thoughts in certain areas. When some of us express despondency or anger towards him, his policies, or his actions, it might be helpful to remember that ideas are infinite (because they are ours), words are certainly more limited (because they are public), and actions are the most constrained (because they must happen in a theater populated by others). I believe–and this is just a belief–that he, as I, and as many of us here, has genuine long-term goals that cater to our collective prosperity—not just to that 1% of Americans like himself who make over $1 Million, but also to the 99% of us that don't. But being liberal doesn't require us to always act liberally. What matters most and makes a difference is that liberal ideas are instituted incrementally, and in ways that preserve their longevity, even when doing so forces us to act pragmatically rather than idealistically.
I need to believe that you can accomplish more with the help of your neighbors than the President of the United States can on his own.
One of the most damaging perceived truisms of my time–an idea so laughably insidious that it renders us impotent–is that we cannot change the system. It's laughable because it's patently untrue, yet insidious precisely because it lulls us into believing that it is. In doing so, it castrates the very thing that can rise up to change that system: collective action. That you and I and we live in a nation where we have that option without the fear of physical reprisal from our government–yet exercise it only sparingly–is tragic.
The blame for this political inaction partially rests on the dangers of language: the diffused vagueness of words like "millionaires" and the perceived intractability of phrases like "the system" strip us of a sense of urgency and agency. If it's us against the "millionaires", then how could we possibly win? If we can't fight or change "the system", then why bother to try? So goes the thinking, or at least it would seem so by the looks of it. As Orwell laid out in his essay Politics and the English Language, "it is generally assumed that we cannot by conscious action do anything about it"; ironically, he was actually referring to the state of the English language, but Orwell's statement applies equally to our perception of politics. Perhaps, in true double-speak (unlike this), that is precisely what he meant.
In turn, this assumption that we cannot consciously act to bring about changes stems from a misguided but deeply embedded cultural idea that only Very Strong, Very Powerful individuals can swing our nation's pendulum; our national premium on individuality, our belief in meritocracy, and our strong resonance with the "hero" construct further entangle us. But the myth of the "Individual As Agent of Change" is very damaging to our progress, and has a role in the sanctimony towards Obama from many on the Left: "He let us down", they say, "because he could have changed the system".
No–he could not have. No one can. But that's precisely it–no one can, but we can. It was more than an empty campaign slogan; it was a call to action, but I don't think we've bothered to heed it, or to really try. I need to believe that we still can.
I need to believe that when things get bad, Americans don't sink into despair—they sink into action.
When the Tohoku Earthquake hit Japan earlier this year, the country and its people reacted in a way that was awe-inspiring and admirable. Despite the calamity of the moment, their resilience and courage in the face of one of the worst humanitarian disasters in history was a reminder that, when things go bad, people have the power to act. Hard as it may be to remember, action is an antidote to despair, so I need to believe that we as Americans will retain or regain the resolve and desire to act, lest we devolve into hopelessness; lest the 3 million millionaires in the country continue to accrue ever-better fates while the majority of us 300,000,000 non-millionaires continue to eat our peas. To borrow an oft- and poorly-used phrase from She Who I Prefer Not To Name, "that's not the America I know".
I need to believe that even though change takes time, the time it takes to change the world doesn't dissuade our minds from trying.
We didn't hire Obama to be a Rorschach for us; neither did we put him in office so that he could mirror the righteous rants of our favorite millionaire TV commentators and NY Times Op-Ed columnists. We hired Obama to run our nation, to steer it in a more positive direction; if we somehow believed he would be able to, on his own, significantly alter the course of our enormous national ship within a mere three years, then we didn't pay enough attention in physics class as schoolkids.
Sometimes change takes a lifetime. Sometimes it takes several. Mostly, change is incremental, slow in its gait, wide in its gaze, and, when carried out in the right ways, robust in its legacy.
I want change for the sick, for the poor, for the elderly, and for the young, but I also want that change to last. I need to believe that it can.
But what I need, more than anything, and now more than ever, is this:
I need to believe that you won't just tell me to keep dreaming.
Because, while believing's not enough, we all need to dream.
God Bless You, Me, and America.
And I'm an atheist.