Hope Is Our Only Hope, Pt. 2
It wasn’t that long ago when I wrote the original post about hope. At least that much is consistent.
My thought was that I could use my natural desire to write to process the world around me, like many other authors and writers before me. And the world is telling me so many sad and discouraging things, like:
Black bodies aren’t magic, and they don’t matter. Refugees are being refused and denied entry to our country. Women are only as good as they are to look at. Pro-life only counts as long as we don’t have to actually do anything about it. Pro-choice isn’t about equality, but about silly women and their ideals. Faith and religion is a bludgeoning tool, used to enforce ideologies of division and haughtiness. Police are not safe. The news and media are not real. Justice is a fabrication. Politics are instruments of power. Division sells just as well, if not better than, sex.
Yet, in the midst of all this, I really want to create hope.
We seem to be very speedily approaching a tipping point in our culture, where the idea of optimism and Something Better feels more like passivity and ignorance. It seems like we’re all gathering ammunition for the big showdown, between US and THEM, between those that agree with us and those that want the business end of our boots.
I, myself, am experiencing a struggle. Don’t for a second assume that my smiling profile picture or well-mannered public demeanor assumes any dismissiveness about my country. My heart is heavy and weary. Every day presents a battle on my timeline, in the newspapers, in my music. I have to very actively fight to keep my anger from swallowing my whole, lest I act out in a way that would make you doubt if I really know God. Sometimes, I actually wish I was ignorant of everything.
So where is this hope supposed to come from? Where am I supposed to find this inspiration to create some change or revolution or positivity from this madness?
My weapon of choice is my words, and I want to speak life. I want to craft something so compelling, it challenges your resistance and dismantles your notions. I want my rhymes to urge you to imagine something awesome, something beautiful, something amazing. A fellow poet once said that "you are what you make", and I want to make a change.
Wouldn't it be great to show the next generation that these were the days of a new revival in our community, when the next great innovation was that of social change? How awesome would it be to say that while the world around us rang hymns of woe, we were motivated to do something about it?
It seems to me that the only way towards this possibility is hope.
“In a time of destruction, create something.” ― Maxine Hong Kingston