Where Are My Words?

During the buildup to the Iraq invasion it was easy to be vocal: I read news reports (the ones missed by most of the American public) and blogs (almost always referred to me by Numenius) voraciously; I was well informed. I organized three readings of Poets Against the War here in Davis; I attended protest marches and demonstrations; even the weekly silent vigil held here in Davis every Saturday organized by the Society of Friends felt like a loud statement.

I don’t feel vocal any more. I feel defeated and silenced. I feel as though having a voice doesn’t count; the might of the American military is what’s driving the world and will continue to do so, and woe betide anyone who gets in the way. I know rationally that this is the most important time to raise one’s voice, now that so many things are at stake and seem so in danger of being replaced by whatever it is that’s coming. I just wish I had something to say.

That’s why I approached last night’s Poetry Reading Against the War with such anxiety. I made a very belated and weak attempt to publicize it. I think I secretly hoped nobody would show up, because then I wouldn’t have to explain why I had failed to write a poem for now—a poem about where we are in the wake of all this madness. I wouldn’t have to explain my silence. I wouldn’t have to admit to despair.

Nobody did. Show up. I think this stranglehold of silence affects more of us than just me.

This is why I’m so grateful to Kos and Atrios and the rest for making sure we don’t all descend into silence, which is exactly where the Administration wants us.