In Praise of the Activist, the Protester and the Provocateur.

This is my kid’s school, and somewhere, sitting in the hallways, is my daughter, in her own awakening to her particular place and power and impact in the context of a larger, broken and hurting world. I remember the first time I felt moved to take political action. I remember that burning need – that not only can we change the world, but we must do so this minute. I remember how much I loved this green and blue and spinning Earth, and all its people in it. I remember feeling that I was not only riding the arc of history but actually participating in pushing that justice forward.

I remember that feeling.

I know these kids are feeling that too. I pray that it lasts in them. I pray that it never ceases.

Blessings on all of you, my darlings. My beautiful South High compatriots. I cherish your activism and your hope and your giant, beating hearts. Keep up the good work.

Sometimes, only poetry can tell us how we feel.

Last weekend, an African-American child in Cleveland was shot by police because he had a toy gun.

Today, a grand jury in Missouri denied justice to the family of Michael Brown.

The stain of racism does not wash away. It reasserts itself on the fabric of our society again, and again, and again.

I have no words to tell you how I feel about this. I only have my frustration and my rage and my longing and my tears and my broken heart. This is not the world I want for my kids. Or my kids’ friends. Or my neighbors. Or your kids. We all deserve to be honored and protected and respected and free. The child in Cleveland did not deserve to die. Neither did the teenager in Ferguson. No one does.

 

I am so tired of waiting,

Aren’t you,

For the world to become good

And beautiful and kind?

-Langston Hughes