Death, Aging, Disability & Activism:

This postcard is available at: https://syracuseculturalworkers.com/

I got to be a guest at a memorial service. A busman's holiday. My presence was in witness of friendship, vocation, community, family, and life force. So grateful to sit in the back of the church and not be responsible for making it all flow. And grateful for the people who did make it flow because the service was all the things it needed to be, in balance, and nothing more. Which is Art. The activism of the person we were celebrating was socially significant in many ways, on a bigger stage than a small town's Celebration of Life might indicate. They were a moral compass sort of person, in that they became a point of orientation for the moral compass and activism of others. Even for people who'd never met them in person.

I was amused to discover I'm still bothered by the song 'Will the Circle be Unbroken'. The by-and-by promise of a better elsewhere is of no use to me. In a room with a fair share of atheists, people who have worked so very hard to make this world the better one, it seemed discordant and out of context with the other speakers and elements of the service (but thats the unreligious busman's issue). When the service ended I was grateful for the earthbound circle of song that gathered, 'This Little Light of Mine' sweeping away the sour taste of pie in the sky.

What I most want to reflect on is aging. Because that sanctuary hosted a heady mix of elder activists: do-ers, farmers, organizers, makers, marchers, singers, cooperators, menders, resisters, community builders, coordinators, and artists of all sorts. The people I have gratefully learned from and traveled with since I was a teenager. And all our heads are gray now. And we move slower. With canes! And there are more old friends missing from the pews... The whole world shares an increasingly fragile existence and our whole lives have been spent tugging on the arc of the moral universe to bend it towards justice. We still don't know when all the effort will be enough. And aging provides us less get up n' go for taking it to the streets.

I wore a vintage t-shirt to the church, with the words Citizens for World Peace writ large across the back. I'm feeling pretty vintage myself. When you are old and get your heart and mind finally aligned, the body is a fickle partner for getting the world-changing stuff done. I am 62, disabled and fragile, my body isn't up for action. And still, daily, my mind and heart lean into the motion of bending the arc. The person whose life we gathered to celebrate contended with chronic disabling health conditions that slowed their roll for a few decades but never diminished their will for change. They would encourage us to raise our canes higher than our fists and proceed, as they had, with resisting and creating.

The epiphany I had yesterday in the back of the church is that if every gray head in the room found ways to substantively support a young activist we might get more done. What constitutes substantive? Transportation, meals, friendship, emergency-contact support, encouragement, a free room in your house... I dunno. What does being an ally mean to you? The other day I gave a young activist a much needed pair of new shoes. I'd bought them online and they did not fit. Serendipity. They are a person who 'walks the walk'. They will wear them to the streets. So yeah, find someone making good trouble and ask specifically what they need for support. Then follow through.

Its kinda fun to think about sharing the wealth of aging in new ways (since it comes with a plethora of downsides, ableism, and not a lot of cash). Anyone who's been living and gigging on the fringe for a lifetime knows the true value of an unexpected gift of soup, shelter, or shoes. I sat in the back of the church reflecting on how to make good trouble by converting hard earned activist juju into support for those who are more able to be in the thick of things. Shoes are maybe more welcome than advice. Gifting them is activism in and of itself. Certainly more fun and fruitful, and less ableist towards myself, than wishing I was feeling sassy enough to be out waving signs.

Sitting in the row of chairs behind the last pews in a church packed to the rafters, I saw the ripples in the communal pond generated from one human life. Their commitment to connecting with people's inner resources and encouraging action for the common good was front and center as each speaker stepped up to the altar. One after another they urged us, "Keep going." Keep making beauty and good trouble in this world in any way you are able. My cane is raised high in your honor! Rest in peace and power RK.