It has been a while since I have posted… and it has taken me a while to find words.
What occurred in Tucson on January 8th was a tragedy. In many ways you all probably know the unfolding of events in as good or better detail than I do (we do not have tv or internet at our house), and so I will not spend this post recounting the events that transpired, but instead share with you my thoughts and reflections, my witness.
[I am writing this post with Patty Griffin’s “Forgiveness” in mind]
We are swimming with the snakes
At the bottom of the well.
So silent and peaceful in the darkness where we fell.
But we are not snakes
And, what's more, we never will be.
And if we stay swimming here forever, we will never be free.
Tucson is a small, strong community. Though I do not know anyone that was at that Safeway, since that Saturday nearly every person I have met here in Tucson has had a story to share about a friend who was there. I have never lived somewhere before when so many people have considered themselves friends with their congressperson (for perspective: Tucson’s population in 2006: apprx 519,000; Baltimore’s in 2009: apprx 637,000; Glastonbury’s in 2000: apprx 32,000).
Many people I spoke with, including the people served by Primavera and the snowbirds who volunteer there, talked about nearly attending the event and how heartbroken they are by the events that transpired. I point that out, because since Saturday the news I have seen covering the deaths quickly made it about issues instead of about humanity. It is often easier and more comfortable to speak about issues and with lofty rhetoric than to consider our hearts.
Yes, I will grant you that there are many problems in this country and in this world, and yes what happened on Saturday is inevitably connected to this world and all that is transpiring in it today. However, I think we sell ourselves short by doing so, so soon. For we are not snakes, and though the darkness of Saturday’s tragedy may have felt like the bottom of the well, I wonder what we are missing by turning from our hearts.
People may have criticized Obama’s speech and the memorial at the U of A as being too much like a pep rally, but as I stood in the stadium, I can tell you that is not what my heart felt. I am not sure exactly what was broadcasted, but the first standing ovation came when the doctor’s entered the stadium. The feeling of 12,000+ people rising together was not of joy, but of community. I will agree that at moments when the President of the university was speaking, it seemed a bit boastful, but he was not the whole. During the blessing, when the crowd cheered that the speaker was Native and Mexican, that he grew up in South Tucson, it was genuine. People here have struggled with Arizona’s legislation, with a government that does not speak for its people, and in those moments Tucsonan’s spoke for themselves. As Daniel Hernandez spoke, and President Obama spoke, people found hope. In that stadium, I was humbled and I was strengthened by my Tucsonan community filling the seats.
We are calling for help tonight, on a thin phone line
As usual, we're having ourselves one hell of a time.
And the planes keep flying right over our heads
No matter how loud we shout
And we keep waving and waving our arms in the air
But we're all tired out.
I heard somebody say, today is the day
Big old hurricane, she's blowing our way
Knocking down all the buildings
Killing all the lights
Open your eyes, boy, we made it through the night.
Open your eyes, boy, we made it through the night.
And so, the words I have had such a hard time finding, are not complicated at all, but in fact very simple. How am I doing? How is Tucson? Tucson is. I am. This city is mourning as any family mourns the loss of loved ones and I feel proud, grateful, humbled and strengthened by this community. I am okay. Tucson is okay.
A question first posed to me in El Salvador is a question I repeat today, how do we respond/love/live in a world that inevitably breaks our hearts?
Let's take a walk on the bridge right over this mess
Don't need to tell me a thing, baby, we already confessed.
And I raise my voice to the air
And we were blessed.
It's hard to give
It's hard to get
It's hard to live, still, I think it's the best bet
It's hard to give and I'm never gonna forget
But everybody needs a little forgiveness.
The day following the shooting one of my friends attended a church service at Southside Presbyterian, and later that night one of his housemates recounted to me how when the children were asked what prayers they wanted to share, one child asked to pray for the shooter because “he was lonely and didn’t have any friends”.
What happened on Saturday, January 8th was all at once terribly complex and unbelievably simple. Though it may be easier to try to deconstruct the complex, the simple part is the hardest to see. Everyone at Safeway that day was human, including Jared Loughner.
I am still searching, still finding my own journey, in response to the question first asked of me in El Salvador. I do not exactly know the answer, but I know it is not to close our hearts; it is not hatred.
We are not snakes
And, what's more, we never will be.
