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(Originally published as a guest post on the I Write To You As... site) I write to you as writer; someone who uses words as weapons to combat violence, bigotry, intolerance. I write to you as a speaker who tries to use his voice to change the world. I write to you as a teacher in America with a broken heart. My heart is broken for my country, for young people around the world, for those subject to brutal violence every day for no other reason than they were born in a certain place, a certain time, a certain skin. While those in power shoot tear gas at those raising their voices and standing in the line of fire, tears flow from a wide variety of eyes. And tears pool at our feet - from Ferguson to New York City to Palestine to Peshawar. Our various oppressions wear different masks, but they all have the same dry-eyed face underneath. And it is our tears that run a river between these sites, between our grieving hearts. Tears stain our faces like battle scars, but tears also wash us clean. We are still able to cry and that means we still feel, deeply. We still have power, even when faced with the most hopeless circumstances.
In the background as I write, I hear Emeli Sandé singing; a meditation, an incantation, a prayer. “If you’re too proud to follow rivers, how you ever gonna find the sea?” It makes me think, maybe we need to find the movement in the tears - the rapids in the river - and ride them to a response. Those people behind their masks don’t see our tears, or they pretend not to. They cast their eyes aside as we cry. Our tears make them uncomfortable. And that’s why they are powerful. It may not seem like much, but it is a mighty connection. We are the tears, we are the river, and we can run its course. I am a teacher and my job consists of standing in front of groups of people, mostly young people, and helping them believe that our world is still a decent place to live, a place worth saving. And honestly, there are some days when I am unsure. But, I am a drop in the river and I hope my ripple can help chart a course. And Emeli Sandé is still singing a mantra: “Follow me I’ll be your river, river I’ll do the running for you Follow me I’ll be your river, river I’ll move the mountains for you Follow me I’ll be your river, river I’m here to keep you floating” I want to tell my students that it’s okay to feel. It’s all right to break down. It’s acceptable to lose sight of the goal and be torn up inside. It’s normal to be unsure and lose hope once in a while. The world doesn’t happen in textbooks. Our lives unroll in front of us whether or not we have finished the assigned chapter on time. Strength waxes and wanes. Sometimes tears teach us more about ourselves than an A, a C+, or an F. There’s so much required reading in college, but where is the required feeling? If nothing else, I want to teach my students that it’s perfectly okay to cry; that it is powerful to cry; that it is revolutionary to cry. Remember, those in power have used the threat of dripping water as a form of torture, a way to slowly drive a person insane. But are those same people in power prepared for us to turn the tables? What are tears, after all, but dripping salt water. Our tears fall one by one, and sometimes cascade down, onto the face of our enemy. And they can sting if we stand strong. We are sad. We are unsatisfied. We are crying. And something must be done. If you haven’t yet shed a tear, with all that’s going on in this world, I urge you to ask yourself: why? How can you remain unmoved? Are you part of the problem or do you want to be part of the solution? Comments are closed.
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