All of us have a few stories in us that have shaped who we are, our core selves. It’s why I think I do both non-fiction and fiction. In non-fiction, perhaps I will reach someone that needs to hear what I have to say, that can relate, that never had their feelings expressed on paper for them to explore, etc. That’s a good reason to write, period. I do it for myself and others. I’m reaching out a hand; if the reader needs it, they can take hold.

In fiction, I get to explore the far reaches of the universe, whatever I can come up with. Fiction also opens minds to new ways of thinking. I might have mentioned it before, but Ray Bradbury’s, “All Summer in a Day,” is one such piece for me. Our fourth-grade teacher read to us, most likely after we’d acted up. It’s about a bunch of kids that lock a girl they don’t like in a closet, forgetting her when the sun comes out on Venus for its one hour every seven years. The story floored me. Kids would do that? I thought. And then I looked around me. Yes, they would. It had a profound effect on my thinking, about how I wanted to treat others.

Another such story my brother told me about twenty years ago. (This was before rampant internet stories so it must have come from an actual source, at least at some point in time). 

A professor (I forget where) was teaching the history of the third Reich to his college aged students. In the previous lesson, the students where incredulous that no-one stood up to Hitler, that people just went along with mass genocide. For what… to not get on his bad side? Or had they convinced themselves too, that they were somehow better, had more of a right to live?

The next lesson began as any other, the professor writing on the chalkboard, talking, when an older woman came in late, finding her seat loudly and making a ruckus with her papers. 

The professor tore her a new one, even called her an “old bitch” as he raged about how dare she interrupt him like that. The packed auditorium went completely silent. He turned his back and began to write again, and the older woman hung her head in shame. Complete…silence. Finally one woman in the back stood up, visibly shaken, and said,

             “You can’t talk to her like that.”

The professor turned to her and smiled. At this point, the older woman stood up and turned to face the class. The professor introduced her as a dear friend, and she was there to make a point. The point: when someone, unlike you in status/age/color, is abused by a person in power, what do you do? Do you sit back and feel glad you aren’t that person? Do you inwardly cringe at the behavior of the power-monger? Or do you, one of a whole auditorium, call that person out for their awful behavior? Of course, the woman knew her own life was not at stake. But challenging authority usually comes with its own bag, as you know, if you’ve ever done it. You could lose your job, your reputation, your livelihood. You could be gaslight, undermined, shoved out in a myriad of different ways. But this story also made me think, which kind of person am I going to be?

Trouble has followed me ever since, not that I’d take any of it back for a moment. 

I’ve always thought power needs to be earned.  And right now, I fear in the U.S., people have not learned this lesson, they have not heard this story. The Republicans who sit and watch Trump as he all but says he will dismantle the very democracy of the country? That he will remain king atop a pile of 203,000 skulls (and counting) for another four years?

I find them more execrable than Trump, even, because they can see what he’s doing. They are perhaps inwardly cringing, turning their heads, looking down at their hands. But they sure aren’t standing up, not for their country and not for what they believe, if they ever went into politics believing there was a system to uphold. Perhaps they too, think they are better than everyone else, that they deserve gains, ill-gotten or not.

I know I’m preaching to the converted, that this blog won’t find its way to senators and congressman and court justices, the people who need to enact real change. But there’s one thing that you can do, that every American in the U.S. and abroad can do.

Patagonia put it perfectly on their new labels.

Vote the Assholes out.

Do it. This is your moment in the auditorium. This is your story; you write the ending. But it’s got to be now, and it’s got to be everyone.