American musician Joe Henry, recently on tour down under with Billy Bragg, said he felt the need to say something to Australian audiences about the election of Donald Trump.
“This is not who we are, but it is where we are.”
As an explanation of how Trump came to be in the White House, it says nothing. Truth be told, the reasons for Trump’s victory are complex and include economic inequality, voter turnout, the candidates, the failings of both major parties, the likelihood of Russian involvement and the failure of media coverage. For the sake of their democracy, Americans must demand these reasons be examined, exposed and understood.
Perhaps this is what Henry was trying to say: this is not America, but this is where America is right now, and we need to work out how to change it.
This is not who we are, but it is where we are.
It seems we could apply this statement to many other circumstances, such as how the Catholic church has been exposed at the royal commission into institutional responses to child sexual abuse.
For those of us who are ordinary Catholics in the pews, for those who are teachers or priests or nuns or brothers who work lovingly on behalf of and for children in Catholic institutions, this is not who we are, but it is where we are.
We did not create this tragedy, and thanks to the church’s leadership structure that effectively locks us out, there is little we could have done to prevent it.
I recently attended a meeting in the Canberra-Goulburn diocese. More than 300 people – mainly lay Catholics – discussed how their diocese would respond to the royal commission. The bishop, Christopher Prowse, was in the room, but was not invited to speak. Speakers expressed the view that it will be up to ordinary Catholics and leaders in the Catholic parishes and schools, for people who are not bishops and cardinals, to lead and shape the church in the future. All could see the sad reality staring us in the face – the current church leadership structure has failed too many children.
This is not who we are, but it is where we are. And we will need to fix it.
I confess I find the world a scary place at present. In January I was in the US, and I resisted the urge to run up to random Americans and shake them, demanding to ask “Don’t you understand what is happening to your country? Do you not see the dangers of the man you have just put in the White House?”
The other day I woke up to a news strap on the TV screen saying “Korean crisis escalates”. My first reaction: did the Americans bomb Pyongyang last night? And it wasn’t a ridiculous thought.
The world is in a precarious position.
I don’t mean to spread doom and gloom. Certainly we have faced dangerous leaders and existential circumstances before. I sometimes feel anger, fear and frustration about what is happening on the global stage. I have trepidation about what the next year, or decade, or generation will hold.
But I do know this: I agree with Joe Henry. This is not who we are, but it is where we are. I believe more people around the globe want peace more than war. I believe more human beings want to honour the human dignity of one another than destroy one another. And while most of us can’t change many things about what’s happening in the world, we can choose in our own lives and actions to practise living in way that decreases inequality, that recognises the human dignity of others, and that emphasises generosity over fear.
On a geopolitical stage, it may not affect much. But what if each of us chose to respond to more by giving, by sharing, by respecting one another? What if, on social media or in conversations, we spoke with kindness rather than harshness, with openness rather than fear? Wouldn’t that impact positively on us, on our children and on our communities?
Barack Obama thinks so. This week, as he received the “Profile in Courage” award, the former US president called for the rejection of hate and embrace of courage:
Our politics remains filled with division and discord. At such moments, courage is necessary. At such moments, we need courage to stand up to hate, not just in others, but in ourselves. At such moments, we need courage to stand up to dogma, not just in others, but in ourselves ... Courage means not doing what is simply politically expedient but doing what [people] believe in their hearts is right, and this kind of courage is required of all of us.
Maybe this is what the French people showed in electing Emmanuel Macron and rejecting Marine LePen this past weekend. Maybe they chose to say that is not who we are and that is not where we want to be.
Call me an idealist. Call me a bleeding heart. But there is something to be said for individuals choosing generosity and kindness when both seem to be in short supply. That can and does change where – as a society, as a church, as a community – we are.
