I
remember when I met Dave Dellinger. It was May 1971—a few weeks
after hundreds of antiwar actions around the country, including
the militant Mayday civil disobedience in Washington, DC and an
unprecedented, more traditional, all day sit-in of 5,000 at the
federal building in Boston, Massachusetts.
I
had been active for about a year as a staff member of the Boston
People’s Coalition for Peace and Justice (BPCPJ), which organized
the Boston sit-in. Three of us were chosen to represent BPCPJ at
a national steering committee meeting in Washington. Because PCPJ
was a multi-issue coalition to “end the war and address human
needs in the U.S.,” it included antiwar, religious, welfare
rights, the Communist Party, and the Weatherpeople. Needless to
say, national meetings could be cantankerous affairs with ideologies
and personalities determining preferred tactics, which could be
miles apart.
New
to the movement, I thought it was all about stopping a war; as well
as a chance to feel good about myself because I was doing something
positive. But it seemed there were these different ideologies and
something called “having an analysis.” Nobody would tell
me what that was or why this analysis was needed, but I interpreted
it to mean don’t speak up if you haven’t got it.
Dellinger
was there, in the middle of this, enjoying the debate, respectful
of all, but firm in his convictions, which seemed based less on
ideology and more on humane principles—peace, justice, compassion,
community, and solidarity. Actually, he was what I thought someone
in the movement for peace and justice would be like—a nice
human being, sensitive to hypocrisy, with a sense of humor, not
judgmental, never confusing style with substance, keeping an eye
on principles and not getting bogged down in tactics, behavior,
or personalities. Dellinger seemed to radiate what activist Lee
Siu Hin writes about in this issue—“love and hope.”
His
attitude was partly why I stayed active. Eventually, I got an “analysis”
of sorts, but for me it still came down to finding opportunities—however
fleeting—where I could bring some humanity into the world.
More than that, it meant finding a place where I could express the
best part of me: love, not hate; solidarity, not stepping on people;
action, not passive indifference; commitment, not apathy; community,
not isolation. I guess that’s why I never identified with one
special issue over another (feminism, classism, racism, etc.). They
all seemed connected and part of the humanity that Dellinger was
able to maintain throughout his long life.
Looking
back, there have been many reasons to give up. Even with recent
hopeful signs from the World Social Forums, as well as the anti-corporate
globalization movement, it is difficult to hold on to our principles
and humanity when the world is falling apart all around us.
All
these years of organizing and we get Bush and company, war without
end, and the USA PATRIOT Act.
Recently,
on the evening news, the co-anchor cheerily told Bostonians that
they could expect something new on the subway: random searches.
She could have been giving the weather report; the tone was the
same.
Then
there was the nauseating coverage of a week of “mourning”
for Ronald Reagan, scripted like one of his badly acted movies.
Even when reporters and commentators actually mentioned some of
the more venal things that happened during his Administration, they
managed to chuckle fondly over Reagan’s “humanity.”
Here was one of the least popular (contrary to the media spin) and
most morally reprehensible presidents in U.S. history (which is
saying a lot), and he is celebrated in death like no other president
since Kennedy was assassinated—maybe since Franklin Delano
Roosevelt. Watching TV pundits blather on about the beauty of Reagan’s
“America” (mixing images of religious crosses with monuments
to “democracy”) was almost too much to take, especially
when compared with Dellinger’s life and work.
Through
the years there have been more personal disappointments. How do
we keep going when our humanity gets lost in analysis debates, compromises,
attacks on our personalities, humiliations, manipulations, co-optations,
and other day-to-day indignities? How do we watch much of the left
either replicate the same corporate hierarchies it once criticized
or get bogged down in competing hierarchies of oppressions or focus
on a single issue while losing sight of others—or all of the
above?
In
April I attended the March for Women’s Lives. On the one hand,
it was an incredible event. Its size alone made it successful—over
a million people—a kind of tribute to the early women’s
movement that fought valiantly for reproductive rights. The size,
in part, reflected what a handful of organizations with large, dues
paying memberships and years of hard work can do. The main message
was presented clearly: “Bush’s policies continue to be
a threat to women’s reproductive rights and his re-election
would put him in position to pick at least one Supreme Court justice,
if not more.” The website was easy to follow and helpful. There
was exemplary diversity among the speakers and the organizing groups,
if not in the crowd, which was mostly white, mostly women, mostly
middle class; with little visible presence from people of color
or from labor.
On
the other hand, to me the March reflected a continuing “professionalizing”
and packaging of one part of a once broad, even socialist feminist,
movement against patriarchy, imperialism, and oppressions of class,
gender, and race.
The
Women’s March was a reminder, too, of a recurring movement
dilemma: how do we continue to reach more and more people and stay
true to our principles in the process? The answer has often been:
dilute and repackage the message. But if the message is so diluted
as to have little effect on the goal, then what’s the point?
More importantly, if we stay true to our principles, how can a March
for Women’s Lives feature speakers who have participated in
or who praise past Administrations that have decimated women’s
lives—the very cause we were marching for?
It
was painful, then, to listen to Madeleine Albright, a featured speaker
who—along with Hillary Clinton—praised Bill Clinton’s
administration and roused the crowd to vote for Democrats in the
November elections.
Even
more appalling, in the run up to the March,
Ms. Magazine
ran a Robin Morgan interview with Albright in which Morgan, a radical
feminist, praises Albright for the war in Kosovo (dubbed Madeleine’s
War). Morgan fails to point out the imperial politics of that war
and U.S. involvement in it. Likewise, she never mentions the infamous
response to Leslie Stahl who asked Albright: “We have heard
that a half a million children have died [because of sanctions against
Iraq]. I mean that’s more children than died in Hiroshima.
And, you know, is the price worth it?” Albright’s response:
“I think this is a very hard choice, but the price—we
think the price is worth it.” Well, there’s a new twist
to being pro-choice, demonstrating how meaningless that slogan can
be.
Everyone
I talk to these days —radical or not—tells me how sickened
they are by the current repressive political environment and agenda.
I can’t help but dream of what might have been. If we had carried
the “analysis” we developed over the years since the Vietnam
War to a larger and larger group of people—without diluting
it; if we had combined that message with long-term membership-based,
dues paying, non-hierarchical institutions with broad progressive
politics and overarching humane principles…. But we didn’t
and I fear we might never prevail over these horrors without end.
Then
I remember Dellinger. Love and hope. Thanks.
Lydia Sargent
is co-founder of South End Press and
Z Magazine
.
She has been a staff member of Z since 1988.
