This is a guest post by my sister Mary Schrag. There is an old camp tune I grew up singing that begins: “It only takes a spark to get a fire going, and soon all those around can warm up in its glowing.” The beautiful thing about the spark of a fire is that when one flame creates another, the first is not extinguished. Instead, the amount of light is multiplied. In the same way, when we choose to spread love, power, joy, and goodness to one another, our own love, power, joy, and goodness are not diminished; they are increased. This weekend I marched with my sisters and brothers in protest and solidarity against the passing of the travel ban against several Muslim-majority countries. Over the past few weeks and months, I’ve largely been silent because I haven’t felt like I had the right words to say. I didn’t have the energy to deal with backlash and I didn’t think my voice was one people wanted to hear because I have an immense amount of privilege. But when one of the speakers at the protest asked “Why are you marching today?” and I didn’t have an immediate answer, I knew that if I did nothing else, I needed to say something, write something, do something other than hide in the comfort of my whiteness. Earlier in the day, we had been marching and chanting “no justice, no peace, know justice, know peace,” and despite the anger and frustration and sadness that our current state of affairs can bring, I couldn’t help but smile. I probably looked like a complete fool, walking in the middle of a serious protest with a giant grin on my face, but the more that I think about it, the more I realize that the cause of my smile is also my reason for marching. As we were marching, I was thinking about how beautiful it was to be surrounded by friends and strangers working toward the same goal. It was a small moment of appreciation for humanity among a whole heap of sorrows and frustrations, but it felt powerful and resistant because I chose to be energized and defiant and use my voice to shout truth. I’m not the first to recognize it (Toi Dericotte first used the following phrase in her 2008 poem of the same name) - “joy is an act of resistance.” To take a moment to smile is an act of resistance. To create spaces that are beautiful, safe, sustainable, and welcoming for all is an act of resistance. To practice self-care is an act of resistance. To build bridges instead of bans is an act of resistance. To love unconditionally and treat our neighbors like they’re humans is an act of resistance. To share food and time and kind words with one another is an act of resistance. To gather and walk with friends is an act of resistance. I believe that there is a spark in all of us that allows us each to recognize deep down that we all want the same things: love, safety, acceptance, space to be ourselves and for others to be themselves with us. And let me be explicit: what I’m saying here is that we have to stop calling people terrorists, illegals, and criminals and start calling them friends, neighbors, siblings. We have to design public spaces for the public and with the public, we have to hold accountable the actions of police officers who think shooting unarmed children is acceptable (Hint: It’s not. Ever.), we have to welcome refugees and travelers, we have to make it easier for immigrants to become legal citizens, we have to make friends with people who don’t look or act or eat or dress like us. We need to all stop being terrified of each other (white people, we are paranoid even though we have created a society which benefits us at the cost of people of color, so I’m looking at us first) because the world is a much nicer place when everyone’s not out to get you. The point here is that when we choose the spark over the fire extinguisher (hatred, anger, fear, Muslim ban, AK-47s, ICE, police brutality, etc.) we get more love, warmth, light, and joy, not less.
Why am I marching? Because marching is a beginning. It creates a space for solidarity and spark-sharing, and reminds me of the work yet to be done. It reminds me to increase love, justice, safety, and peace. It reminds me to cling to the joyful moments and relish in them when they come. It reminds me to choose love over fear and to help others do the same. It reminds me to work so that my Muslim, brown, black, undocumented, incarcerated, racist, queer, Christian, atheist, female, young, poor, rich, sexist, old, male, white, homophobic brothers and sisters know that they are loved and can be love for others. It reminds me to work for the day when joy isn’t an act of resistance, but rather a shared experience of all of us being human together.
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Elizabeth SchragAdventurer. Biblical and Theological Studies major. Borderline Vegan. Rebel with a cause. Archives
March 2017
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