I have been involved with the left my entire adult life (being generous with the use of the term “adult”), a number of years counting about eight at the time of writing.
Although I am deeply committed to this project—the project of creating a world which is reasonable to live in—I have lately found myself more often a cynical observer than an active member. This fact hurts me deeply and surely annoys those around me. The fact is that I am having a harder time associating myself with this thing we call the Left, a movement which lacks any imminent potential of growth. It seems to be founded on the brutally opposing combination of crazily high expectations on the one hand and a disregard for the potential and strength which we actually possess on the other.
For years I had a really hard time understanding how a person could sit by and not be involved in struggle. I was always a sensitive kid, bothered by injustice and shoddy design. I would often wonder: how do people keep their mouths shut and their heads down, not to mention their hearts hard? And now that I am becoming that person, I find this life as ungratifying, angsty and empty as I always imagined it. Making my apartment nice, working on my relationships, cooking good food and getting better at my job are all fun and worthwhile. But how can they compare with joy of moving the rocks that crush us?
I have found myself embarrassed to introduce myself to strangers lately, because the parts of myself that I was especially proud of—my political muscles—have become atrophied and soft through disuse. I have loved myself the most when I was tired from the weight of rocks piled on my back, but nowhere near me do I see the movement that has much hope of moving anything. And I have a really hard time with busy work, ask any of my school teachers.
It doesn’t seem too complicated to me to start working effectively. Of course, the devil’s in the details, innit? Broadly, what needs to be done is plain to see. I can’t do it by myself, this is really a group effort thing. )
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