Writing for change

Photo: the Empire Sally at Toronto's Harbourfront on Monday afternoon.

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This morning there is a Rogers Cable van parked by the curb outside the Polish deli; a bright red van with a white and black logo. A gold light is flashing on the roof and the cable guy has placed orange traffic cones around the vehicle. He is wearing bright orange coveralls and has climbed a yellow ladder to stand gazing at black lines against a brilliant blue sky.

On the grass behind stands a maple sapling. Leaves still cling to the branches, but all the colour has leached out of them. The same is true of all the maples around the neighbourhood. Autumn keeps holding on, and today the sun is bright as ever, lying low in the south. I feel like one of those maple saplings, tired of this long season. The world used to be full of earthy colours, but stark reds and blacks are taking over for a time.

I don't hold out much hope for humanity as a whole. Our most powerful emotions are hatred and anger. The world will always have warmongers ready to exploit our fear to their own ends. The taste of power is addictive, and someone will always stand into the gap when the previous emperor dies of notoriety.

I can't see revolutions being fought and won the way they were in the past. The current regime of power is all too willing to repress the dissenting voice. I have read, here on LJ, the firsthand experiences of people who dared to speak out and were illegally arrested or confronted by the Secret Service. I don't know whether this atmosphere of intimidation will get worse, but I do believe we're caught in another holy war. This time it isn't just being fought on a remote desert plateau, it's also here in civilized North America.

I don't believe there's any good in despair, which is giving up, or bitterness, which is holding onto things we can't change. I do believe in taking hold of what power is available to us, and acting for change that benefits everyone. That always starts at home, within ourselves. It will mean something different for each of us.

I've never been much of an activist, in fact I don't generally feel much interest in politics. Lately my interest has been increasing, and I'm happy to be part of a country in which the current government protects its minorities and tends to encourage personal freedom (I suppose these good things are more likely to happen in countries like Canada and the Netherlands where even our leaders understand there is a limit to their power). But I'm not about to get involved in city council or join a political party.

What I can do is write. This month I have begun a novel about one man's struggle to resolve his religious zealotry with personal authenticity. I went through such a personal battle and came out profoundly changed. For several years afterward, I hated what I had been and would not associate with religious people. But now, writing about it, I am beginning to understand my life, even back then, was not all glaring primary colours. I am unearthing subtleties. The characters in this story will not be cardboard cutout Christian fundamentalists, because I have lived through their conflicts and know their humanity. After only two days of writing, the narrative has begun to propel me forward. I hope I can find the courage and concentration to continue working with the manuscript beyond the end of November. I hope this creative outpouring might breed a little understanding in a world where self-righteousness is fighting a virulent war against tolerance.

I don't expect to change the world, but changing a few minds would be enough.

( Another shot of the Empire Sally )