Dangerous Folks

On the power of the “old songs”…

THINKING FOR OURSELVES
Songs of Grief
By Shea Howell
Michigan Citizen, Sept.17–23, 2006

I was at Alex Haley’s farm in Knoxville, Tennessee, on the eve of the fifth anniversary of the attacks of September 11. I was part of a small gathering of activists to consider the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King’s vision of a beloved community for our time.

At one point in the middle of the gathering song broke out. Led by veterans of the civil rights movement , we sang old songs, forged in the pain of slavery and handed down through the generations as a source of solace and hope. There is a power in these songs. It is a power that sustained a movement, inspiring people to reach beyond their fear to challenge governments and men. And there is beauty in them that comes only from the ability to face suffering and transform it into a message of hope and faith. This capacity to embrace and transform pain into something of beauty marks the best of the human spirit.

It was the strains of these songs, echoing in my heart, that made me think about how far we as a country have moved away from the essence of these old songs.

In the days leading up to the anniversary, members of the Bush administration hit the airways and talk shows to claim support for the U.S.-led ‘War on Terror.” The most crass among them was the Vice President who affirmed his commitment to the invasion of Iraq and proclaimed “the world is much better off” with Saddam Hussein in jail. These remarks formed a backdrop for Bush’s address to the nation. With five speeches in two weeks, Bush has attempted to justify both the war in Iraq and the war on terrorism as “a struggle for civilization.” “The safety of America depends on the outcome of the battle on the streets of Baghdad,”

Bush opened his 9/11 speech to the nation with these words. “For America 9/11 was more than a tragedy: it changed the way we look at the world. On Sept. 11 we resolved we would go on the offense against our enemies, and we would not distinguish between the terrorists and those who harbor or support them.” He then talked about driving people out of power, capturing people, and confronting “threats before they reach our shores.”

Thus Bush glosses over the pain, grief and anguish felt by so many on that tragic day, using it only as a justification for revenge and violence. His inability to truly stop for a moment and hold the pain of that day, to be open to the grief of so many people who lost so much, is perhaps the greatest failing of his administration. Had these leaders been capable of opening their hearts to grief, they might have been able to reflect on what grief teaches us. They might have been able to see that the best in the human tradition has always been to pledge that our highest obligation is try to protect other people from the pain we endure.

Instead these leaders moved in the most regressive of human directions, away from forgiveness and toward vengeance. Surely most of us now know that this vengeance was blind or contrived, striking out at people and nations who did nothing to us.

So our pain was not used to create beauty, but to justify death. In so doing, Bush and his administration have killed more soldiers than died in the attacks they pretend to honor. They have killed twenty-fold that number in campaigns of bombing, war and brutality. In the face of this pain, the old songs call us to a new kind of action.