Declaration of Interdependence
I am most fortunate to be taking a class with the poet and author Susan Griffin, called "The Inner Life of Democracy," and I'm very excited by her great ideas, especially on the origins of democracy being within the individual, our own response to "authority" and "freedom." Democracy and freedom has its origins in the individual, as does acquiescence to tyranny and injustice. I've long pondered the paradox that, in order to have a democracy, each individual is required to actually show up and participate. There is no collective without the individual, and in a crucial sense, there is no individual without the collective, either.
The following is the response I had to reading the United States' Declaration of Independence, one of our assignments. Susan asked us to trace our inner feeling response to reading this, or some part of it, back to childhood if we could. We could also respond in the moment, and I came out with both....but here is the poetic response, more a reminisce.
I remember simmering rage at the injustices all around me
as a child
a pre-pubescent
an adolescent
and finally my acquiescence to
"that's just the way things are"
And the ensuing years-long depression
Because it's not
inevitable
that inequity be instated and indoctrinated in youth
and against their will
I remember the burning shame of post-segregation segregation
as a society made me realize that
there are certain alienating differences
between me and my black friends and male friends all
My innocent assumption that we are all created equal
in fact and not in lip service to ideals
dashed against the rocks of slyly hidden and living, breathing
bigotry
Not merely personal, but permeating the society
that was supposed to hold us ALL together
not render me asunder from thee
Burning shame - indignation, violation, usurpation of my own humanity
I know this is wrong, I know that damage to another
damages me
And I feel the separation
How can I explain to my friend Mary
my family is racist
. . . Powerless to make my own choice . . .
And a part of me died that night, the night I lied not just to Mary, but to myself
And I said I couldn’t come to the sleepover because there had been a death in the family
instead of telling the truth about why we must be kept separate
A part of me died that night - the part that would assent
to defilement and the part that would never back down
Never relinquish the solidarity and kinship I feel with all people
Where else might come the strength to challenge my notions of
difference meaning "separate but equal"
Where else might come the courage to discover my hidden
places, the things that keep me from becoming fully human
Fully free
Finally beyond the confinement of an ego
untempered by the strangely impersonal, personal Love
that binds you to me
that infinite embrace of gravity
The following is the response I had to reading the United States' Declaration of Independence, one of our assignments. Susan asked us to trace our inner feeling response to reading this, or some part of it, back to childhood if we could. We could also respond in the moment, and I came out with both....but here is the poetic response, more a reminisce.
I remember simmering rage at the injustices all around me
as a child
a pre-pubescent
an adolescent
and finally my acquiescence to
"that's just the way things are"
And the ensuing years-long depression
Because it's not
inevitable
that inequity be instated and indoctrinated in youth
and against their will
I remember the burning shame of post-segregation segregation
as a society made me realize that
there are certain alienating differences
between me and my black friends and male friends all
My innocent assumption that we are all created equal
in fact and not in lip service to ideals
dashed against the rocks of slyly hidden and living, breathing
bigotry
Not merely personal, but permeating the society
that was supposed to hold us ALL together
not render me asunder from thee
Burning shame - indignation, violation, usurpation of my own humanity
I know this is wrong, I know that damage to another
damages me
And I feel the separation
How can I explain to my friend Mary
my family is racist
. . . Powerless to make my own choice . . .
And a part of me died that night, the night I lied not just to Mary, but to myself
And I said I couldn’t come to the sleepover because there had been a death in the family
instead of telling the truth about why we must be kept separate
A part of me died that night - the part that would assent
to defilement and the part that would never back down
Never relinquish the solidarity and kinship I feel with all people
Where else might come the strength to challenge my notions of
difference meaning "separate but equal"
Where else might come the courage to discover my hidden
places, the things that keep me from becoming fully human
Fully free
Finally beyond the confinement of an ego
untempered by the strangely impersonal, personal Love
that binds you to me
that infinite embrace of gravity