A Joyous Interlude in a Harsh Season
Several Decembers ago, my father had the idea to write JOY in rope lighting on the kitchen fence. Actually creating JOY turned out to be less JOYful: my fingers went numb, the twisty ties were too short, and despite multiple attempts, it came out looking like JOF.
After we wrestled JOF into JOY, my father then had the idea that we should leave JOY up year round, light it up during the darkest season. And maybe also when a good candidate wins.
Eleven months a year, I see the unlit JOY from the kitchen sink. It reminds of something easy to forget in fearful times: “Joy is an act of resistance,” from poet Toi Derricotte. And I’d tag onto that: Joy is power.
By joy, I don’t mean happiness. I mean a full-on commitment to live from that which is life-giving, grows our soul, is generous and expansive.
The powerful would have us believe that our actions don’t matter. They would prefer that we give in and give up the fight, which relocates us further and further from hope.
Because here is what the powerful know: if we stay in the fight, year over year and generation over generation, we stand a chance of winning. After all, this country was created - imperfectly - for the people, not the powerful.
So how do we defy the powerful and keep up the work?
Joy is not the only answer. But it’s a fine one. Joy burns cleaner and longer than rage. Joy brings more people into the work than fear, shame, righteousness. And joy will sustain us when the night is long and morning feels like it might never come.
The powerful wield their power by bullying, being contentious, assuming bad intentions. There’s no need to replicate these unoriginal tactics.
Joy is fundamentally more interesting, compelling, and true to the world we’re aiming to build. Plus, it’s so rare, you can’t help but catch a politician’s eye with it.
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So whenever possible, do what feeds joy. See live music, take the longer path through the woods, make a glorious mess in the garden, crank up Creedence Clearwater Revival on the drive home, be with those who are also reaching for joy.
In the late 1950s, a woman named Jamila Jones went to the Highlander Folk School for nonviolent activist training. The police raided the school and Ms. Jones responded by singing “We are not afraid” to the tune of “We Shall Overcome.”
“We got louder and louder with singing that verse,” she recalled, "until one of the policemen came and he said to me, 'If you have to sing,' and he was actually shaking, 'do you have to sing so loud?' And I could not believe it. Here these people had all the guns, the billy clubs, the power, we thought. And he was asking me, with a shake, if I would not sing so loud. And it was that time that I really understood the power of our music."
On joy, the mighty Ms. Jones gets the last word.
Know someone who could benefit from this democracy pick-me-up? Please do forward it along with my thanks!