Rabbits Pulling Magic Outta Hats
The idea that we need to pay 20 people to do 900 hours worth of organizing labor needs to be challenged such that we are eventually working towards the goal of 5 million people doing 1 hour worth of organizing labor.
501c3s will not bring structural or institutional change. 5 million people will. And the question is not “should you have a job” or be a segregationist on high refusing to engage in any unclean impure politcs at all—the question is—how can we rethink 501c3s as “movement.” and how can we reach the goal of 5 million people fighting for gender liberation and radical transformative change.
What pissed me off about the OP:
- the overarching sense of entitlement.
- the naivety. Come on.
- the assumption that more social media equals more action. No, no it doesn’t.
- the same old, same old lack of questioning one’s methodology. A movement isn’t relevant until and unless it is accountable to the people it is supposedly dedicated to. Conducting the same business in digital code doesn’t magically transform it into something more radical.
- I’ll be impressed when I see how many of those Twitter followers will not only go a day without pay to be at a demonstration, but will bring someone else with them. Movements aren’t constructed on paper or on the net. They are composed of the warm bodies of people.
- you prove your worth by putting skin in the game. Not on a short-term basis, but over time. The more time you put in, the more others know they can rely on you, even when it costs you….that’s what earns you respect.
- yes, it is going to cost you. It will cost you your time. It will cost you money. It will cost you jobs and other opportunities. It will cost you in your social life. It will change the way others think of you. It will change the way you think of yourself. It will change your life. But rest assured, it ain’t easy, and it will take a piece out of you. If it doesn’t, UR DOIN’ IT RONG.
We have a phrase in the labor movement: “swivel-chair leader”. Its pretty self-explanatory.
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mother, daughter, granddaughter, great-granddaughter, niece. only child. curse in 2 languages. background is meridionale, terrona, pagana, tho’ i am mmericana. my people come from Sicily, up in the mountains where Hades captured Persephone. then they came to Ellis Island, Chicago, and points south…time doesn’t heal all wounds but music almost does…hyperbolic, hyperaware, hypersensitive, hyperactive…mind set to flowing all directions simultaneously, winding over and under and behind and through like Styx…snap reflexes ‘cuz i’m still a survivor, still know where the exits are, still look for weapons & the defensive position, still picking up the pieces…journeyman wireman, 5th generation trade unionist, rustbelt consciousness, old-school labor activist in the vein of Eugene V. Debs (“while there is a lower class I am in it, while there is a criminal element I am of it, and while there is a soul in prison I am not free”). visit the grave of Mother Jones once a year. lean hard to the left like the good end of the radio dial and the low end of the guitar…inveterate bookworm, lover of words written and spoken. savor the expressive cadence of the unexpected and mostly unsaid. feel the undercurrents and invisible turbulence, look beneath the surface, revel in the exquisite passion of what irish soulman/road opener Van Morrison calls the “inarticulate speech of the heart”. like to blow the dust off buried treasure/buried truth…been driving up/down I-55 between Chicago & St. Louis since some of it was still Route 66. been cooking sugu before there was “italian seasoning”. carry home in my heart, not under my feet. stamina and resilience. raw nerves and sore muscles. low voice and full-throated howl…….this is La Lubu.
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