Stand on Purpose

“The human heart is the first home of democracy. It is where we embrace our questions. Can we be equitable? Can we be generous? Can we listen to our whole beings, not just our minds, and offer our attention rather than our opinions? And do we have enough resolve in our hearts to act courageously, relentlessly, without giving up—ever—trusting our fellow citizens to join with us in our determined pursuit of a living democracy?”

— Terry Tempest Williams, “Engagement”

Friends, I know today is a day of grieving the brighter dawn many of us wanted for our country, but in anticipation of this happening instead, I just wanted to share some thoughts I’ve been reflecting on for days that I learned from veterans in the field who have steadfastly done courageous social change work on behalf of those who need it most, in both darkness and in light, amongst allies and adversaries, and in both times of peace and incredible tumult.

On the heels of Trump getting elected the last time, a mentor reminded me — “Swati, the kids you work with who were poor yesterday are still poor today, and they will still be poor tomorrow.” I feel horrible about what I’m about to say, but this reminder of that ever-present painful reality gave me a place to stand, and I’m still standing there.

Standing on purpose and grief are one and the same. Those of us working in the trenches in our communities experience these in tandem, knowing that the blessing of purpose and the curse of grief are tightly and necessarily interwoven, and deep in communion with one another when we are doing our best work.

While I had my clear preference for this election, someone who I felt was dignified and representative of the best kind of story this country has to offer — the kind of story I wish upon my students — I’ve always been wary of the weight we give top-of-the-ticket choices.

I owe some of this healthy skepticism to my father, who started his small food business during a recession in 1989 and memorably said and demonstrated through his steadfast focus on his creation that Bill Clinton was never going to come schuck smelly oysters with him or boil his minestrone.

My father’s employees, vendors, and customers were his constituents, and he worked diligently for them and his family through thick and thin, regardless of who was in power or what they were up to, which, given our webbed system, thankfully takes far more than four years to truly trickle down.

My dad absolutely hated it when I got laid off in 2008 and started volunteering for the Obama campaign, not because he disagreed with what that good man stood for or because he doesn’t believe in political action, but because he knew deep down that the most immediate and impactful change I could enact was waiting for me at home. I was still detached from that personal awareness, something he had discovered through age and experience that he wanted for me also.

For me, the result of the election is overwhelmingly a reminder that the onus of change has and forever will be upon the people doing the hard work close to the grindstone, fighting the fight in their home communities far beyond an election season. That this enduring responsibility is our only place of rest. And this morning, once again, I am grateful to have it, and to be so deeply anchored in it.

Today is not the day to go out there and start something new. Today is a day to lick our wounds and rest, and find our bearings in a new America. But tomorrow is the day to start something new. To be despondent for long, personally, feels like a sin because it signals to the impressionable young people in my care who have been let down by systems in this country repeatedly, time and time and again, who cannot afford to rest, that it is ok to look down.

A politician doesn’t deserve to elicit my despondency as much as my community deserves what is left of my resiliency.

We have worked too hard and come too far to despair for long, to resign ourselves to a nebulous fate, and to look down. Even in my grief, I will look up. When the time is right for you, I invite you to do the same, and to search for a small place in your community that can contain the hope and love you so desperately want to share with the people within your reach who need it most. They are there holding vigil for your purpose, and will always be there. So go on, and stand on purpose.