That last post was weird--both dogmatic and hopeless. In contrast, this post will be... shorter: It's time for a national strike.
Two things happened. First, I went to the March for Our Lives on Saturday here in Los Angeles. The crowd was smaller than I hoped it would be and smaller nationally than 2018. Cameron Kasky spoke and he said the following, as reported by Rebecca Schneid and James Rainey in the Los Angeles Times :
“Our generation has grown up watching these horrific shootings unfold,” said Cameron Kasky, 21. “And we see the same cycle repeat itself: mass murders, specifically with an AR-15. Public outrage, thoughts and prayers, rinse and repeat.”
Kasky is a survivor of the shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High, and helped organize the first nationwide March for Our Lives protest.
There was a sense of hopelessness in his voice, though — a recognition that there are fewer demonstrators around the country than there were in 2018, and a fear that people believe that nothing will change.
Kasky said he doesn’t blame anyone; he just wants the anger to still be there, and he wants politicians to be as uncomfortable going out in public as children are going to school.
“Don’t march because you think that the Senate is going to pass anything,” he said, his voice rising. “March to show them how angry we are. March to show them that we are not going to stop until they do what we demand.”
When I hear "a sense of hopelessness" and "a fear that people believe that nothing will change" I know exactly what that feels like. In my last post, I urged Democrats to do something and I wrote down some of them, but now that I think about it, that's not exactly what I meant. Lots of us are doing lots of things, from backing progressive candidates to demonstrating for change. It's not enough.
I can't introduce a bill or vote for one. I can't withhold DNCC funds from Joe Manchin or strip him of his committee assignments. I can't sign an executive order. I can't go on television or hold a press conference to call out the Republicans. I can't stop Joe Biden or Chuck Schumer or Nancy Pelosi or what-the-fuck Sonia Sotomayor from calling them our buddies. I can't stand in front of the country and say "No, there are not good people on both sides."
Those things require our elected leaders to act, and we can shout all we want about how we're not going to give up until "they do what we demand" but what if they never do? No matter how much we march or "show them how angry we are," all they have to do is wait it out until we give up. How in hell are we supposed to keep going?
A second thing happened. I read Michelle Goldberg's column in today's New York Times, a typically superficial glance at feminism as fashion, but something rang so true I had to write this post. In the wake of the leaked upcoming reversal of Roe v. Wade, the expectation was that tens of thousands would turn out for pro-choice rallies, but in fact, like the March for Our Lives, crowds were much smaller. One wonders what a 2022 Black Lives Matter march would look like.
It's not us. Our rallies are not smaller because we're tired or our ideas are out of fashion. Our marches don't lack energy because we're out of enthusiasm but because we're running out of hope that they can make a difference. That's on our political leaders. Our leaders need to lead; call it the leadership imperative. They need to give us hope that if we trust them with our nation, if we do what we can do, they will do what is necessary to save our democracy.
Another march isn't going to do it. Even five more Democrats in Congress isn't going to lead to the changes on guns, racial justice, voting rights, climate policy, wealth disparity, schooling, and on and on.
Our elected leaders keep asking us for money, for votes, for more Democrats. They say "make your voices heard." I say, if they can't hear us now, they're not listening.
It's time for a national strike. It's the only thing short of violence that might get their attention. If it doesn't work, there's always plan B.
