A Civil Life
I sometimes feel guilty at not having been an active participant in the great civil rights struggles from which I’ve clearly benefited. It’s why I wish I could believe that the Occupy Wall Street movement is something more than just an unorganized circus; so I could contribute in some way without feeling like I’m wasting my time.
God tells me I’m fooling myself, that I would still find some excuse to not take part. He says I’m too lazy and selfish, and I don’t really disagree.
And what are some of those benefits that I’ve accrued? Well, in the early twentieth century, workers were killed by government and business thugs as they fought for safe working conditions and a shorter work week, leading eventually to today’s standard forty hours. In the sixties, part of the struggle was just to not have to drown our inner selves in an ocean of conformist mediocrity, and that certainly made my life better. Another part of that mid-century civil rights movement was for the right of mixed race couples to marry, which helped pave the way for today’s struggle for gay marriage. It makes me feel almost guilty for not having a boyfriend, for not having someone who would make the gay marriage fight really my own, not just figuratively my own.
In 1969, when the hippies gave us the Summer of Love and Judy Garland gave us the Stonewall Riots, I was only nine. I was too young to take part, and now it feels like I’m too old for the fight for marriage. So what’s my point? I’m not sure I have one. And I suppose then that that’s the point. I’ve happily ridden along on the shoulders of giants, I’ve gone down roads that are wide and clearly marked, blazed no trails of my own, made no mark upon the world. Thousands of souls made it possible for me to live a comfortable, almost hedonistic life.
So to all of them, “Thanks.”
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