Presented at the First Church in Salem, Unitarian Universalist, as the sermon on Sunday, December 12, 2021
I stand before you as a Quaker activist on the land of the Naumkeag tribe. The essential Quaker testimony, that is, what we most value, is peace and equality, recognizing that there is that of God within each of us.
Why am I speaking here today? Not to convince you, or even to inspire you, but to share my leading and to ask you to listen deeply, not to me, but to the still, small voice inside yourself. The phrase comes from Kings 19:12, where Elijah hears his own inner voice: “And after the earthquake a fire ... and after the fire a still small voice.” Or, in a different translation, the NRSV, "the sound of sheer silence." Listening to that still voice, to that sheer silence, is the force behind my activism.
Why am I an activist? Right now, so many people are acting out in so many ways. Does any of it make any difference? When I was about ten years old, raised as a Catholic, one day in church, I wondered whether, if I had been alive with Jesus, would I have listened to him? Would I have believed him? Would I have defended him?
When I first learned about the Holocaust, I asked myself similar questions. Would I have put myself at risk to protect others who were being treated unfairly? In each case, I determined to ignore my fear, to override it, to be brave enough to take action, were such an event to occur in my life. Well, plenty such events have occurred and are occurring.
Does any of it matter? Do any of my actions make a difference? Perhaps not. However, I deeply believe that, collectively, they do make a difference, they do matter. Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Greta Thunberg, the many other people whose names we recognize, I'm not trying to be one of them, but I want to be one of the people who stands with them.
The women who first wanted the right to vote—they made a difference. Roe vs Wade—that made a difference. The fact that abortion rights are up for grabs again—does that mean that the battle during the 70's was useless? I don't think so. It just means we're not done yet.
Being a woman is the place where I have personally encountered discrimination. Forty years ago, with my new undergraduate degree in physics and math, I applied for a job as an industrial engineer. After a lengthly and promising set of interviews, I was told I wasn't getting the job. The reason?—they wanted to hire a man. Then, that was legal. Today, it would not be.
As a Quaker, I’ve experienced Leadings, perhaps similar to what you would label a calling. It's not about deciding to do something, then rationally following through, but closer to being pulled by your gut, being compelled internally to take action. That doesn't mean it's not rational, just that the main pull isn't logic. I'll be sharing pieces of my life as an activist. Some of that is public, some is very personal.
Here is a brief description of my half century of activism:
- My first peace march was at the White House in the 70s
- In the 80s, after I didn't get that job, I began to work for women's rights
- In recent decades, I’ve worked for social justice, including immigrants' rights and Black Lives Matter
- Then, my focus moved to Climate justice, to reducing the use of fossil fuels
- After traveling to Israel and Palestine two years ago and witnessing the inequities there, how could I not act for that cause?
- Most recently, Native American recognition has joined my list
During the past two years: I've experienced an increased awareness of the interconnection, the intersection of all of these. Acting for women's rights mattered for me, personally, as well as for others. But, if we act only when we feel personally at risk, they'll never be enough of us to make a difference. Working for Climate justice is working for less privileged peoples too, because they are harmed first by climate catastrophe and are much less able to recover.
There are many causes that deserve our attention and each of us will be pulled more towards some than towards others, perhaps changing over time. My advice—listen to that voice from your center, from your core. Listen.
I have been led to act in many ways, including these:
- Silent witness, most recently protesting at Raytheon in Cambridge
- Training in nonviolent action, critical for me as a Quaker, and for the connection needed among protesters
- Legislation—my senators and representatives' numbers are on a quick phone list on my desk
- Many rallies and marches
- Participating in street theater in Boston, outside the office of the Massachusetts Secretary of Energy Resources,
- Speaking, like this
- Acting as remote support for hundreds of people arrested in Minnesota during the summer, protecting indigenous lands and protesting the pipeline
- Trespassing and stealing coal at the Bow, NH, power plant
- Standing in freezing temperatures in front of a moving coal train, to stop it from delivering coal, expecting it to stop, but it didn't
- Risking and being arrested
There's not time for details of each of these, but I want to provide some details of my arrest. I knew I was choosing to risk arrest at the power plant. I'd been there the month before and removed buckets of coal with a dozen others, but the police ignored us. So, we announced our return date and told them we would be back with hundreds of others. They were waiting for us—dozens of local and state police in riot gear, even a police helicopter.
After crossing the gate with a giant No Trespassing sign, I was arrested and handcuffed, and waited with others for the vans to take us to jail. We were jailed for the afternoon, our bail was paid, and we were released. Now, after multiple hearings, some in person, some on line, I was found guilty, appealed, and requested a full jury trial. It was granted, so now I await that trial in the New Hampshire superior court, not knowing what outcome to expect.
So, that's the most public of my activism. Some of my quieter, personal activism includes driving an electric car and refusing to use plastic straws because of the harm they cause to sea life. Now, let me share with you something more private, the part I really don't want to share.
On Thanksgiving morning, my husband, Paul, wished me a happy thanksgiving. In response, I reminded him that it was the National Day of Mourning for native Americans, that it wasn't a happy day for them. He completely blew up and yelled at me, asking if I was going to bring politics into the day, ruining it for our expected guests.
I experienced one of those remarkable, crystallizing moments. I took in what he was saying, considered whether I was being selfish and came to this: With complete confidence, I raised my voice—yelled, I guess—and told him that we had all learned myths and the only way to change that was to share the truth with others. Later, after our guests had arrived, I distributed short paragraphs of thanks written by native Americans and asked each of them to read their piece, one to Mother Earth, one to the fish, another to the waters, to the creator, and more. Each person read theirs, later expressing appreciation to me for its meaningfulness. The next day, Paul offered a sincere apology to me.
That is perhaps the most difficult activism I have ever done. Can I be a public activist without being one privately? I don't think so. Is it possible to be a private activist without being one publicly? Yes, I believe it is. Begin in your own life, today.
I am one person speaking to you. Please do not take me to be a hero, but recognize that I am one of many who acts from conviction, supported by many others taking similar actions.
Here's what I ask of each of you: listen to your heart. If it tugs at you, listen. How will you help? Maybe with phone calls or a rally, maybe by calling your senator, maybe by being arrested. Which action is right for you? I don't know, but some action is. Is it scary? Of course. Don't be afraid of that fear. Don't let it stop you. Another question: does this lead to joy? Well, not the joy of a vacation or of having a dish of great ice cream. It's perhaps closer to the joy of listening to a fabulous concert that surrounds you, hugs you. The joyful holiday concert I attended last week ended beautifully with the song, "Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me."
I completely believe that one person can make a difference; each of us must try. I'll end with Rumi: "There is a voice that doesn't use words. Listen.