Relating to Sisyphus

On Hope and Determination

I recently posted the full text of Gov. JB Pritzker’s speech, in which he discusses the challenges our democracy faces at both the state and national levels as Trump plans to move troops to Chicago. Today, Mary will share what facing those challenges and fighting for democracy feels like on a personal level.

Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all the darkness.— Desmond Tutu

I stare at the large red heart on white backing the size of a protest sign in my studio window. It radiates backlit brilliance from the late afternoon sun. It’s surrounded by two small American flags, one frayed around the edges. That frayed one feels like me.

Lately, it seems to take a monumental effort to keep my head above the tsunami of daily news, most of it surreal, unbelievable, and discouraging. I struggle to muster my energy, to stay in the game, to remain informed, to sort through the noise, to be a voice for the call to action, to determine what I can do to push back against the darkness of a Category 10 tycoon-typhoon blowing in from this presidency.

As I grope in this darkness for hope, Marc Elias reminds me that “Cynicism asks nothing of us; hope demands everything.” I shake my head, curse under my breath, and push on like Sisyphus, condemned to muscle that boulder to the top of the hill only to have it roll right back down.

Recalling the Herculean effort of the Civil Rights activists of the 60s, I marvel at how they kept going against all odds, year after year. I’m just six months in. They must have been super-human. They withstood the trials of beatings, intimidation, arrests, bloodshed, even death. But they would always rise up and regroup and consider new strategies. They persisted.

Is it naive to believe I can make a difference against this authoritarian regime like they did back then? Do I have that kind of courage?

I consider the Tiananmen Uprising. The students and workers protested against many of the same things we face today: inflation, corruption, constitutional due process, democracy, freedom of the press, freedom of speech, the well-being of their society. At the height of the conflict, it’s estimated that one million people assembled in the square. One million! And yet, we remember the action of just that one young man who stood alone with his grocery bag in front of a moving tank, with seventeen other tanks following. In his June 5, 1989 report, Richard Roth of CBS news questioned, “What moves a man to stand still? Is it courage, or outrage, or madness? We can’t tell what was on his mind and we can’t forget what he did.”

No act is too small. And small acts can loom very large.

I chalk it all up to hope. Hope is power. Hope is what got the pilgrims across the ocean. Hope is what cancer survivors lean on. Hope is what Anne Frank dreamed of. Hope is what got us to the moon. Hope is the strongest tool in our toolbox. Hope is writing a script for the world and the life we envision.

I reach deep inside myself and rummage through my internal quagmire for hope. I’m in need of it to buoy me as I forge on. There is no alternative but to surrender. I simply cannot and will not do that.

So like Sisyphus, I face my challenge again and again. I grab another protest sign, organize another event, write another newsletter, read a slew of daily news articles, contact my representatives, collaborate with our allied organizations, strategize with our members, listen, talk, share, repeat.

I have no secret antidote to our country’s ills. I wish I did, but I’m just a normal person trying to figure it all out. To make sense of it. Hope is all I have to offer, along with a determined will.

I drink deeply from the concoction of those around me, energized, and seeking the same thing: Getting our country back.

Naive? Maybe. Hopeless? Not at all.

PS - If you found this post helpful, would you please consider restacking it and sharing it with your audience?

Thanks for reading A Protesting Journey! Subscribe for free to receive new posts.