Now let me spell out my linguistic choices, and why I felt it was important for a person with a vagina to display them. (And btw, I have a BA in Anthropology from Oregon State University, so linguistic nuance - Challenge Accepted.)
First, since we don't trust adults to behave in an adult fashion, let me issue this utterly patronizing disclaimer:
Followers, however few, here are my instructions. Don't throw rocks. Property damage is stupid in a community of your peers. Seriously, STAHP. Unhelpful riotous behavior will not fly in a protest full of love and tolerance at its core. An explanation of "fight" was obviously not a necessity in a field of like-minded people singing "Hallelujah" in an hug circle of acceptance. You get that. I trust you.
Now that that is settled, let me spell out why FIGHT is the only word that works here. It was obvious that "fight" was a word meant for continuing to resist anything that would deny us our rights. "Fight" is an admittedly charged word. "Fight" seemed to my friend in the crowd to denote that we should throw up our arms, give up on social conventions and just start throwing rocks in every direction. To her I say, "Fight" also means "don't give up - don't give in - don't accept - don't forget". This is ironically the Mid-Western meaning - the meaning of which she begged me to understand. Very few people on this coast are more qualified to speak the voice of the midwest that I - a person who left my mid-western coal mining ghost town specifically because of it.
FIGHT, that universal word with myriad meaning, was the anthem I needed for every little girl in the crowd, far more important than any conciliatory message for the jerks who decided racism and woman-hating were not deal-breakers when they were in the voting booth. FIGHT was and is what will keep our anger solid, alive, vivid, present and noticed while we work this shit out with people we hate and people we love alike.
FIGHT.
I discovered the protest I attended based on an advertisement of peace and unity. I measured the love of that potential crowd, and decided it was good to have love as the motivation, and resistance as the motion. I am the motion of this movement. As the "Complicit = Condone" signs of other protesters confirmed, we needed a bit of not putting up with this shit in that mix of "Love Trumps Hate".
In the face of love and tolerance, we need to be sure that anger still has a rightful place. We need to be sure that we would not simply say "You are wrong, but I love you anyway," because this, to my Mid-western brethren sounds exactly like, "we were wrong, and we are sour losers". This myth of the weak western man cannot be perpetuated. A strong man is not afraid of women. A strong man is not afraid of a call to fight for what you believe.
I leave you with a gift from Mid-Western folk wisdom to which I adhere - You didn't start it, but you can damn-well finish it.
No comments:
Post a Comment