[Newspoetry] Letter to an Activist Friend

[D.D. Delaney]

LETTER TO AN ACTIVIST FRIEND

You called me to Seattle, activist friend,
 to protest the privatized Empire
  our country has become.
But Seattle is a long way from Virginia, too far for me to travel. 

You called me to Genoa, to Calgary, to New York and Buenos Aires.
I couldn't make those trips either.

Now you call me to Washington D.C.
 for an exuberant uprising against the politics of fear
  and the policies of greed.
Washington is not too far. I could make that trip, 
 which causes me to reflect.

I learn of the call for exuberant uprising
 from your e-mail on the corporate-owned internet.
To join the protest, I'll have to cash my pay check
 (for services rendered to the corporation)
  at the corporate bank
   so I can pay corporate oil for the gasoline 
    to power my corporate-made car,
   unless I buy a ticket on corporate transit.

I'll pick up food for the trip at the corporate supermarket
 because it's the only convenient place to shop:
  bananas from corporate plantations,
  oranges from corporate orchards,
  bread and cheese from corporate granaries and dairies,
  and, from the corporate mini-mart,
   coffee-to-go from corporate clear-cut rain forests.

And if I'm arrested, I'll call home, if they'll let me,
 on the corporate-owned telephone.

----------

Before she tied up her pony's tail
 and rode in to surrender at the white man's fort, 
  She-Makes-Them-Afraid, Cheyenne warrior woman,
   who fought with the Sioux at Little Big Horn,
    said to Crazy Horse by way of explanation-- 
 "When the Wasichus make the weapons we need to rub them out, 
  no price can buy them."

One hundred and twenty-five years later,
 has anything changed?
The Wasichus still make the tools we need to rub them out.
And if they thought we had half-a-chance 
 at winning the anti-corporate wars,
  would the internet still be accessible to us?
Would we still travel freely,
 with food and water plentiful,
  on the state-built roads to the protest cities?

Or if, by genius and luck, we win these wars,
 will we have the good sense
  to dismantle their inventions 
   after we've become so accustomed to using them
    as weapons?

Or will we grasp in turn what we have liberated
 from the grasping?

And, like them, fail?

----------

As I ponder these questions, I wonder
 if it's such a good idea for me to go to Washington D.C.
  to protest corporate greed and the politics of fear.
Wouldn't I be just another anonymous face in an archive photograph, 
 documenting just one more of history's dreary scenes--
  endlessly replayed, back and forth
   between haves and have-nots down through the ages--
 the struggle for the reins of power and privilege
  in the material world?

I agree with She-Makes-Them-Afraid.
We cannot win if they make what we depend on to beat them. 

And I go further.

I say we only confirm them more stubbornly in their greed and fear
 when we challenge them with our defiance, 
and I say there can never be peace so long as we fight,
 even if we fight non-violently. Non-violence is not peace.
It makes enemies,
 it crowns heroes, 
  it hallows martyrs,
 the same as any shooting war.

Non-violence is just another weapon.

I need a different paradigm!
I try this:
Where I see greed, I say, "There am I greedy."

And where I see the politics of fear,
 I say, "There am I fearsome."

And when I feel my hackles rise for a fight, even non-violently,
 I say, "There am I an obstacle to peace."

And where I find I need what the Wasichus have,
 I say, "There am I a Wasichu."

Then I understand what needs reform,
 I see the great work of liberation I am called to do.
Then I know where the enemy of social justice truly resides.

----------

My activist friend, though I will miss your company,
 I won't be joining you for your exuberant uprising 
  in Washington D.C.
I thank you for the honor of your invitation,
 but I must decline.

I will stay at home, thinking of you,
 and greet the rising Sun with hope and promises,
  who gives them back to all regardless;
 and bathe in the tidal waters,
  without charge;
 and breakfast on fruit and rolls I take time to choose
  from the wares of farmers and bakers at the outdoor market, 
   where I have the leisure to shop,
    since I am not travelling in a hurry
     to join the fight.

I will write poetry about my dreams,
 ride my bicycle by the lake to see
  the ducks and egrets and perhaps a young pelican,
   an old swamp turtle,
   a sleek sliding snake.

I will smile at the children
 and carry kibble bits in my pocket
  to make friends with dogs.

Come nightfall I will rent a romantic comedy
 and watch it with my sweetheart. 
I will fall asleep in the middle of my prayers
 and finish them in the morning.

And when you ask me why I do nothing 
 to overthrow evil corporate greed 
  and the politics of fear
   in this time of terrible crisis,
I say, "But I am doing something. I am not fighting."
 (It's not easy!)

I say, "I am practicing peace."

That could come in handy some day, 
 just in case the fighting ever stops. 
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