Hold the Vision by Starhawk

Hold the Vision

By Starhawk

The world has changed in the past week. An act of violence and horror has cost the lives of
thousands, and shattered all of our plans and expectations for the future.
We who have been working for global justice now face an enormous challenge. Since Seattle,
we've built and sustained a movement in spite of continually escalating police violence and
attempts by the media to paint us as violent thugs. Genoa did not intimidate us, and momentum
was
growing for the demonstrations in Washington DC at the end of the month. Public opinion was
shifting, and the whole edifice of corporate rule was losing legitimacy.

The terrorist attacks of last Tuesday could undermine all of our work, at least in the short term.
They are the perfect excuse for the state to intensify its repression, restrict civil liberties, and for
anyone who speaks out against blind retaliation to be demonized.
The mood of the country is potentially ugly. People are scared. They're angry. Their sense of power
and invulnerability has been badly shaken, and in the U.S., they're not used to it. They're grasping
at anything which can restore their sense of power over their lives, and in
a violent society, that means punishment, retaliation, war.

And many of us activists are also scared. I know how easily I can sink into fear and despair right
now. I'm scared of the repression that might come, scared of being personally targeted, scared of
the loss of our liberties, scared, yes, of further attacks. But most of all I'm
scared for the movement, which I believe is crucial to our survival as a species.

And yet I also believe that the current crisis can be a great opportunity, if we can only see how to
grasp it. Extraordinary times create extraordinary openings and possibilities. Our usual patterns and
ways of thinking are shattered. When structures fall, something new can be built.

To do that, we have to behave in extraordinary ways. We need to acknowledge our fears, but not
act out of fear. Fear leads to bad decisions and constricted vision, just when we need to see most
clearly.

"Hold on, hold on, hold the vision, that's being born," our cluster chanted in Quebec City. It may be
that the most radical thing we can do right now is to act from our vision, not our fear, and to believe
in the possibility of its
realization. Every force around us is pushing us to close down,insulate, retreat. Instead, we need to
advance, but in a different way.

We're called to take a leap into the unknown.

As a movement, we've often been accused of lacking a clear vision of the world we want. I think we
do have a vision, that includes diversity and rejects uniform, dogmatic formulations. But within all its
varied forms there's a clear common ground: we want a world of liberty and
justice for all. It sounds downright patriotic but if you think about its ramifications, they are
revolutionary. And we want a world in which no one has to fear violence, which is the ultimate
violation of freedom.

There are many voices right now trying to mobilize people around fear, anger and blame. As
radicals, tried to mobilize people out of guilt, or shame. This is the moment to reinvent our
approach, our strategies and our tactics, to believe in the possibility of moving people to act from
hope, to act in the service of what they love.

What would this look like? It would mean embodying the world we want to create in our own
movement, and in our actions. Times of grief and anguish can strengthen our bonds. Right now,
more than ever, we in the movement need each other as never before, and we need to treat each
other well, to cherish and care for and support each other and become the community we like to
imagine. Our solidarity must go deeper than we've ever known before. Solidarity means listening to
each other with respect, and being willing to protect and support people with whom we may
disagree on many levels, or who might simply irritate
us. Solidarity means strengthening our practice of direct democracy, our openness and
communication with each other, our willingness to bring everyone to the table and give everyone
affected by a decision a voice in making it. It means putting aside our usual internal politicking and
maneuvering and treating each other with openness and trust. This is not simple to do.

But in a moment when the ordinary patterns of life around us have been shattered, shifting our own
patterns of behavior may actually be easier. Perspectives change, and the issues that last week
seemed so important now seem trivial.

What would this look like tactically, say, in DC two weeks from now? First, we'd have to deliberately
drop our assumptions, whether they are that confrontation is always the strongest action, or that
nonviolence is always the most moral action, or that direct action is always our
strategy of choice, or that a march and a rally with speakers are the ultimate form of politics, and
ask what makes most sense? What is most visionary? I'd like to see whatever we do involve some
kind of process of mutual discussion and education around our visions of alternatives.

And I'd like to see us think of ways to take that outside of our own groups and into the community,
and to bring in voices from the community to teach us about their issues and concerns. That could
be a consulta, a teach-in or maybe a learn-in, where we go out into the community and
ask people how issues of power and inequality affect their lives, or what their visions are of the
world they want. In a time of fear and despair, calling people to consider their visions could be a
powerful form of action.

I also think it's important, symbolically and politically, that we make some kind of strong, visible
presence in the streets, that we don't voluntarily relinquish the one political space in which we've
been able to have a significant impact. But I also think it's important that what we do in the street
be appropriate to the moment. A mourning procession, a vigil or rite of healing might make sense
right now: a standard march with shouted slogans and printed signs would be offensive. But it's
hard to predict what the mood or situation of the country will be two weeks from now. We could be
heading into a full fledged
war, and a large march might be a needed and powerful statement.

Direct action is a powerful tool, but like a chainsaw it's not the tool you want in every situation.

Direct action points a spotlight on an issue, can directly interfere with an unjust group or situation,
and delegitimize an institution or policy. Used at the wrong moment, without a strong base of
support, it risks legitimizing the very
institutions we seek to undermine.

Many police have just given their lives because they stayed in a dangerous situation helping other
people get out. A lot of us in this struggle talk about being willing to die. They just did. Whatever
we feel about police as tools of the state, now is not a good moment for a
heavy police confrontation. In fact, although generally I'm against negotiating with the police, in this
case I'd certainly consider that it might be a wise and even a generous thing to do. As individuals,
the police are
of a class that doesn't gain from the policies we oppose. Let's not write off the possibility that some
of them could be brought to support us.

I want peace, not war. But calling for 'peace' at this moment does not sufficiently address the fear,
anger and powerlessness people feel. I'd like to see us call for justice:

Justice for the victims of this week's terrorist attacks.

Justice, not blind vengeance-meaning that we need to know clearly and certainly who carried out
the attacks before we retaliate.

Justice for the Arab Americans who live among us. They deserve our support and protection.

Justice for the people of other countries who could soon become our victims.

Justice for the many, many victims of ongoing terror around the world, and recognition of the part
we have played in supporting and forging that terror.

Economic and environmental justice.

These are my thoughts at the moment. They could change as the situation changes. But mostly I
suggest that we all begin a creative thinking process, that we consciously choose to set aside our
fears and our depression. I suggest that before we agree to do anything we've done before, we
consider at least three creative new alternatives. I think
we should show up in Washington, if not in the numbers and way we expected, then in some other
dimension of strength, and hold open the possibility that we can create not just a protest, but
moments of public beauty that can transform the world.

Finally, I want to say a word about faith. 'Faith' and 'religion' are being thrown around and served
up to us in ways that are at the moment rather sickening. Religion of any denomination can
motivate the worst acts and be a rationale for hate. And yet it's hard to get through
times like these without faith in something.

I don't generally like to inflict my spirituality on people who might not want it. But I feel moved to
tell you what's getting me through the night, along with the love and support of my community. It's
the faith that there is a great, creative power that works through the living
world toward life, diversity, healing and regeneration. That power works in us, in our human love, in
our work for justice, in our courage and our visions. We don't need priests or ministers or even
Witches to contact that power for us: we each have our own direct line. It exists
within us, infinite, unlimited. Ultimately, it is stronger than fear, stronger than violence, stronger
than hate. I wish you all deep contact with whatever feeds your soul, and nourishment from
whoever and whatever you most love.