In my darkest moments, I am tempted to give in to the fear of some of the very real threats of the coming years: Will the United States manage a full and fair election in the face of the highest-level efforts to suppress voting? Will the president accept the result even if he doesn’t like it? Will our current generation of children ever enjoy the social immersion that is such a vital part of growing through education? Will California burn up and our Eastern coastlines disappear in hurricanes and rising tides?
Will the American people be able to enjoy the essential pleasures that come from congregating — at work and in churches, restaurants, movie theaters, concerts, book groups, sporting events, live theater, and even political demonstrations? Will our economy rise to employ our skilled workers and pay essential employees a living wage? Will our society, at local, state, and national levels, take real steps to advance towards the unfulfilled promise of our Constitution and address the fact that our country was built on the backs of slaves and immigrants whose rewards were lynching, suppression, economic hardship, and disrespect at every turn?
I can’t bring myself to go with the simple, pat answer that “We’ve been through worse crises before, so we’ll make it through this one.” I do believe we’ll make it through, but at what cost? “Making it through” is the lowest bar and doesn’t account for the possibility of making it through to a world that lacks many of the joys and freedoms that make us blessed to be Americans. I don’t want to just “make it through” to a world that involves current levels of anger, hatred, and division, where there is an even wider chasm between those who have way too much and those that have just a little or nothing at all.
I don’t want America to lead the world in preventable deaths from the coronavirus because we lack a national plan or trail 32 other industrial countries in infant mortality because we lack universal, accessible health care.
In 1968, during another divisive and angry period. Paul Simon symbolically sought comfort from a classic and classy sports hero from the 1930s-50s (even though he was a Yankee) in the song Mrs. Robinson: “Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio? Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you.”
With little enthusiasm, I turned my lonely eyes to the Democratic National Convention and its video roll call vote. Suddenly, I found echoes of another seminal figure of the Depression and World War II era. As each state established its unique identity (through geographical backdrops, cultural references, and diverse speakers) and its unity behind their candidate, I couldn’t help but recall Woody Guthrie’s “This Land Is Your Land.” In my mind, it is at least the equal of “The Star Spangled Banner” in its patriotic and unifying message:
“This land is your land, this land is my land
From California to the New York island,
From the redwood forest to the Gulf Stream waters;
This land was made for you and me.
. . .
Nobody living can ever stop me,
As I go walking that freedom highway;
Nobody living can ever make me turn back
This land was made for you and me.”
He wrote and sang this song during a time of extraordinary national hardship. The Great Depression and Dust Bowl saw unemployment rates of 15-25% for six straight years and armies of destitute men and families wandering the country in search of food, work, shelter, and stability. He sang it as millions of Americans sacrificed their lives and livelihoods to defeat the great evil of World War II.
This image of an inclusive, democratic America filled with opportunities for hard-working people of all backgrounds was only slightly more accurate than the faulty Constitutional promises of the 1780s. But it provides a vision to work toward, a walk down the “freedom highway” that can bring us back from the dark days of the present and protect us from anti-democratic threats in the future. We can keep walking towards this vision through volunteer work, generous spirits and bank accounts, and most importantly, by voting for those who build bridges instead of walls, and encourage love and respect instead of division and hate.
Allen Woods is a freelance writer and author living in Greenfield, MA. Comments are welcome here or at awoods2846@gmail.com.