I wrote last month about how advocates need to get over what we don’t know, to jump into the fights where we, and what we know (partial though it is), are so needed.
I guess I’m on a “trust me, you’re good enough” kick, because one of the pieces of Soul of a Citizen that really spoke to me is this theme, that the only two things that differentiate those who are actively engaged in social change, from those who are not, is (1) how they see the world, as demanding their involvement and (2) how they see themselves, as integral, albeit small, parts of the solution.
In part, it relates to the concept of “good enough”, which comes from the parenting idea that caregivers should forget striving for perfection, because it really will make things worse, and should instead celebrate “good enough”, because that’s all kids really need to thrive, anyway.
And it’s also connected to the importance of understanding and accurately assessing activist leaders and social movements current and past, because unfairly and incorrectly viewing them as larger-than-life not only inappropriately reifies them, but, more importantly, it’s also a major deterrent to the activism of the rest of us, mere mortals though we are. (That’s a big part of the reason why I care what students today are and are not learning about our history, including the history of the fight for social justice.)
It’s not enough, then, to say, “we don’t all have to be (fill in the blank–Jane Addams, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Dorothy Day)”. The consolation we should instead be showering on each other goes more like, “who were they, anyway, but flawed human beings, just like us, who, nonetheless, did amazing things for justice, just like we can, too”. As an activist said in Soul of a Citizen, “it does us all a disservice when people who work for social change are presented as saints–so much more noble than the rest of us. We get a false sense that from the moment they were born they were called to act, never had doubts, were bathed in a circle of light” (p. 37). Shattering that myth reminds us that we stand just as good a chance as they did to change the world…maybe, given today’s technology and advances in human rights, even better.
And then, we start.
We start knowing that our skills are inadequate and our knowledge incomplete and, even, our commitment imperfect.
We stop trying to be martyrs, always focused on the cause, because we know that others are drawn to those struggles were people are having fun and living the kind of whole, full lives that they want for themselves, too.
We realize that standing up for our most sacred values isn’t about making ourselves into some, more noble person, but about becoming more fully human…more purely us.
We start treating ourselves a lot more like we treat our clients–as worthy, just as we are.
And, in so doing, we shed the last remaining excuse not to act.
And that’s…perfect.





Whatever happened to the Mink Brigade?
I’m closing out this week (and my blogging year) with some reflections on what I hope is to come in 2010, a sort of Christmas list for social justice.
It can’t hurt to ask, right?
And while I’m thinking bold and grand, I figured it wouldn’t hurt, either, to at least wonder aloud why we can’t revive something out of the Progressive Era that sounds like a riot, and just the thing to shake up political coalitions in this shifting age.
As described in The Woman Behind the New Deal, the Mink Brigade was a group of wealthy, liberal young women who used their money and political connections to support progressive political causes–women’s suffrage, workers’ rights, workplace safety, children’s issues. They bailed out striking workers, pulled strings to get access to public officials, and even went to jail to protest unsafe conditions, unfair treatment, and unjust laws.
As I’ve said before, I still think our best bet is to restructure our society so that there are not such extremes of wealth and poverty.
But, as long as there are still divisions between rich and poor, organizers for social justice would be well served to figure out how we can elicit support from those who money and position make powerful allies.
While this might seem like an impossibly tall order, given the unlikeliness of these alliances, there are at least some signs of hope and some pockets of people with wealth committed to using those resources as a tool, and a platform, for good. There’s the “Gang of Four”, for example, which, while certainly not socialites risking arrest for social justice, is a promising example of really rich people investing in progressive politicians and just causes, because they want to make a long-term commitment to social change and see politics as a way to leverage more than mere philanthropy (one of them is even a member of Congress now).
Still, if what we’re after is real alliances between rich and poor, I see the obstacles to building a sort of “21st Century Mink Brigade” as multiple:
I would never assert that organizing such a “grasstops” strategy should be an advocate’s first priority. Our key work has to focus around amplifying the voices and stories and experiences of those most affected by the social problems we’re addressing, not providing wealthy people with opportunities to “make a difference” or “find meaning” in their lives.
But we also have to get over ourselves, a little bit, and think strategically about how we can build bridges to those whose position in this society and economy can make, if combined with politicization and a consciousness that makes them authentically committed to social good, valuable partners in an egalitarian coalition. Just because someone has money does not make them an enemy of social justice, and writing checks is not the only role for wealthy people in a struggle for social change.
Will this mean some uncomfortable conversations about privilege and power and ill-gotten gains? Will it mean confronting our own prejudices about people with money, and those without? Will it mean vigilance to protect our messages and avoid shortcuts that can sell out our own power?
Yes, yes, and, of course, yes.
But I think that the lessons of history, and some of those of history in the making, suggest that it still might be worth it.
And, besides, you never know when you might need bail money.
Share this:
Like this:
→ 1 Comment
Posted in Analysis and Commentary
Tagged advocacy, history, wealth, women