We Are a Work in Progress
by Elizabeth Solar
Hanging on the wall over my desk is a print that says ‘Write Your Own Story.’
It’s both a professional imperative and a personal credo. I guess I’m just looking to write and live the truth, as imperfect as I may be in that pursuit.
The last two weeks have told a story more suited to a dystopian speculative fiction than the reality we experience these days. A virulent illness. Months of isolation, un- and under employment. A leadership void. A country divided, bloodied and pained.
The murder of George Floyd has exposed the larger virus always in the air whether we are aware of it — whether we feel it, or not. Many of us have now awakened to the systemic racism that remains a stain on our history.
We are scared. Of the the riots that disrupt and sow destruction in otherwise peaceful protests. We are afraid to see the vitality of our cities go up in flames. We fear the use of martial law to maintain the peace. We are in pain from a brutal killing to which we bear witness.
We want to find ways to understand. We pledge to read books, watch films, immerse ourselves in an outpouring of ‘thoughts and prayers,’ #BlackoutTuesday statuses and assertions that ‘this isn’t who we are.’
“This isn’t who we are.” Presidential historian Jon Meacham, who in television interviews looks more weary and dispirited by the day, took issue with that very phrase, saying based on our country’s history “This is exactly who we are.” The question is, ‘Who do we want to be?’
In a film, or novel this turning point would be act two’s cliffhanger, or the climax. Here, the protagonist stands at a crossroads to choose whether to stay or go. Like The Matrix’s would-be savior Neo, do we take the blue pill that keeps us in the beautiful prison of ignorance and indifference to suffering, or take the red pill, a more bitter pill, where we live in the ‘truth of reality.’ A harsher world, one of uprising and rebellion that may lead to transcendence.
Will we follow Martin Luther King’s imperative to answer ‘the fierce urgency of now’? Do we continue to follow the all-too-familiar script: Senseless violence. Death. Video documentation of said violence. National pain. A public protest. A funeral. Grief.
Repeat.
“Those who fail to learn from history are condemned to repeat it.” Can we learn? After a long slumber, will we finally wake up, find another way, do more than talk about being better? Maybe simply listen. We don’t need ‘mea culpas’ about what we have done, or failed to do in the past. We can simply ask what we can do, and then act.
I believe in the clean slate. The second chance redemption. We can be as good as we choose. Twelve years of parochial schools taught me the grace of forgiveness. It also taught me regardless of belief, we have free will. The ability to choose. Also, the will to do what is hard. To take a look at ourselves, take stock and ask who it is we want to be. To look at ‘the other.’ Really see that person. Hear them. Recognized their experience. Walk with them in a common march of humanity.
Our story is not yet complete. Our lives are constant revision. Skeptical optimist that I am, I hope for a better version, a redeeming twist in Act Three.
Postscript: During these unsettled and trying days, we are proud of one of our tribe, E. Dolores Johnson on the release of her book, Say I’m Dead: A Memoir of Race, Secrets and Love. The story chronicles five generations of interracial relationships. Fearful of prison time—or lynching—for violating Indiana's antimiscegenation laws in the 1940s, E. Dolores Johnson's black father and white mother fled Indianapolis to secretly marry in Buffalo, New York.
It’s a book we need in this moment. Congratulations Dolores, and kudos for sharing your story.
