So does what I’m saying, of course. There are many people worse off than me (and many people worse off than them, and so on and so on), and I try to be grateful for what I do have, but that doesn’t mean I’d hesitate to try and improve things if moving somewhere else would accomplish that- it’s not as though I consented to being born here, and I don’t feel any particular obligation to stay here and fight to the bitter end. Moving somewhere else may not be effective in making the USA a better place, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still make a positive difference in the world in general- and probably more effectively if I’m healthier and not struggling just to survive. I very strongly disagree with the article’s premise that we have a duty to stay and fight. The whole tone of it, while anti fascist, seems to buy into American exceptionalism in a way that I just can’t. There’s more to the world and to life than just the United States.
That said, since I am stuck here for now (and might be in the future- moving out is the dream but it’s not as though it’s trivial to accomplish), I’ll take the rest of the article’s advice to heart and do my best to represent the majority(?) of remaining Americans who don’t want a fascist nightmare hellscape and will fight against it as best we can.
In Chicago, the rain stopped, and Mavis Staples walked out onto the stage. The audience clapped and whooped and hollered.
She welcomed the crowd with her song “City in the Sky.” Then she launched into the freedom anthem “I’m Just Another Soldier,” singing, preaching and teaching at the same time:
You know I’m just another soldier in the army of love
I’m just another soldier in the army of love
Hut two three four; crying sometimes as I go
I’m just another soldier in the army of love
Now hate is my enemy; I gotta fight it day and night
Love is tha only weapon with which I have to fight
I believe if I show a little love for my fellow man
Then one day I’ll hold the victory in my hand
During these dire times, America needs many such soldiers.
Next to me, an Asian brother jumped up and down to the music like he was “catching the spirit” at a tent revival somewhere in Mississippi. For a moment, I thought he was going to fly away up into the sky.
Near him was an older white sister, smiling, nodding and clapping along. I immediately recognized her as a long-in-the-fight hope warrior, an old hippie or other anti-war peace-and-justice type who was reliving her youth. I would not be surprised if she had some personal stories of marching in places like Selma and Birmingham, singing those same songs. She was “good white people” who had found lots of “good trouble” in her life. I wanted to thank her.
To my right were two older Black women. One was seated in a walker; the other was in a wheelchair. But not for long. Staples literally got the sick and infirm to stand up.
