UU Society of Cleveland

March 2, 2008

Comforting the Afflicted, Afflicting the Comfortable

by Rev. Colin Bossen

We Can Win, Sometimes

We are in the midst of one of the most exciting political seasons in recent history. Many people are upset with the direction the country, and the world, are taking and are looking for a President who can fix economy, end the mortgage crisis and end the war in Iraq. During such times Presidential candidates can take on an almost messianic character. People begin to hope that a new President will effect a radical transformation in the White House and in the U.S. government.

My message this morning is simply that voting a new set of politicians into office is not the way to change the country. It might change some things but it will not address the fundamental inequities and issues that we face as a society and as a world community. Instead, I posit, real change comes up through the grass roots and through the hard work of ordinary people. Ordinary people, like the people in this congregation and in workplaces, neighborhoods and other congregations across the country, are the ones who can make real change. The power is in our hands to build a better world.

This morning through my words and Anne's songs we are going to celebrate the stories of three people who devoted their lives to justice. The first person I want to talk about this morning is Ann Fagan Ginger. Ann is a leading human and civil rights lawyer. She has argued a number of cases in front of the U.S. Supreme Court and authored more than twenty books. I know a couple of people who have a bookshelf devoted to books they have written. Ann has a bookcase. Since 1965 Ann has been the Executive Director of the Meiklejohn Civil Liberties Institute, a non-profit think tank devoted to peace law, government accountability and serving as a repository for history. One additional thing you should know about Ann is that she is an unabashed Marxist. In fact, Ann comes a family of Ann unabashed Marxists.

Her parents organized with various socialist groups and parties in the Midwest in teens, twenties and thirties around issues of race equality, economic justice and peace. They were well known activists and Ann remembers her childhood home in Lansing, Michigan as being a hub of activity. She once told me that an associate of Gandhi's came to visit her parents. While he was there he taught her some of the many games that he had devised to keep himself sane when the British threw him into solitary confinement. Ann particularly took delight in telling me how he made a little chess set out of the Bible that his captors gave him.

Ann graduated from the University of Michigan Law School in the mid-nineteen forties. While in Law School she met the historian Ray Ginger and the couple moved to Cleveland where Ray earned his PhD. from the Western Reserve Academy. Ann was a feminist before women used that word. While Ray was in graduate school she worked with Cleveland area labor unions.

Before he finished his PhD. Ray authored "The Bending Cross" which is still considered the definitive biography of the great American socialist and labor organizer Eugene Debs. Ray's scholarship prompted the Harvard Business School to hire him immediately after he graduated from the Western Reserve. They needed a labor historian on the faculty and Ray fit the bill nicely.

Between 1951 and 1954 the Gingers lived in Cambridge. Ann practiced law, wrote and remained active in the peace and justice movement. She also became pregnant with the couple's first child. Ray had a successful start of a career at Harvard and was named the editor of the Harvard Business Review. He had been hired on a one-year contract. His contract was renewed a couple of times and he was offered a three year contract.

Now this was during the McCarthy era and, not surprisingly, Ann and Ray were active in the movement against McCarthy and the House on Un-American Activities Committee. One day Ray was called into a meeting with the leadership of the Harvard Business School and informed that the local equivalent of the House on Un-American Activities Committee was going to ask him and his wife to testify.

For those of you who are too young to remember or who did not learn about the House on Un-American Activities Committee in school, the Committee, which a lot people just call HUAC, was charged with ferreting out Communists and Communist sympathizers from government posts, public institutions such as schools and universities and even civic and religious organizations. HUAC demanded that people take a loyalty oath to the U.S. government. When called before it people inevitably were asked the question: "Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the Communist Party." HUAC gave the kiss of death to many public intellectuals and figures careers by encouraging the use of the blacklist for suspected Communists. It destroyed the lives of many people further from the public eye as well.

When Ray was called into that office he was asked to sign an oath affirming that he was not, and had never been, a member of the Communist Party. Harvard also wanted Ann to sign the oath. Ray pointed that Ann did not work for Harvard and then refused to sign the oath. He was fired and informed that if he and his wife, who was nine months pregnant at the time, left the state immediately he would be paid for the two months remaining in his contract.

Ann and Ray got on a train and moved to New York the next day. Ann had to give birth in the charity ward of a hospital. Ray was unable to find an academic post for six years and the trauma of his dismissal from Harvard transformed him into an alcoholic. He and Ann divorced and she moved to the San Francisco Bay Area. Ray was eventually able to find another academic job and went onto a distinguished career before drinking himself to death at the age of fifty.

I met Ann when I was a member of the Berkeley Fellowship of Unitarian Universalists. Around the time that I met Ann she was trying to get Harvard to apologize for the way her ex-husband had been treated. She had written an open letter to Harvard and strongly suggested that a Truth and Reconciliation Commission, like the one active in South Africa at the time, be created to investigate the matter. As far as I know not much came of her efforts but her letter did make national news. She was interviewed by Amy Goodman of Democracy Now.

Ann spent the years between Ray's dismissal and the time I met her actively fighting for peace and justice. She consulted with prominent leaders of the civil rights movement and mentored many a young activist. To mention just one highlight of her career, there is a picture of her someplace in her house with the entire leadership of what I remember as the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. She is the only white woman in the photograph. Ann has played an important role in teaching activists of all generations the power and limits of international, national and local law in justice work. Ann has taught me a few important lessons.

The first is that if they knock you down you should try to get back up again. Throughout her life and its' many setbacks Ann has always struggled onward and tried to make a difference.

The second lesson is that justice work is a lifelong commitment. At almost eighty three Ann is still going strong, writing books and organizing. I am sure she will seek justice until the day that she dies.

Third, whenever I see her Ann almost always reminds me that we can turn to the past for lessons about how to survive in the present. To some extent the so-called war on terrorism is a repetition of the McCarthy era. Now, as then, human and civil rights take a back seat to what the government calls security concerns. To cite one example, the Palestinian professor Sami Al-Arian has been accused of being a leader of Palestinian Islamic Jihad. He has been in jail for more than four years now despite the inability of the government to convict him of anything.

Fourth, and finally, the perhaps most important lesson that Ann has taught me is that progressive and radical social movements can win sometimes. Ann is fond of listing off all of the things that have been won since she was a child. "We ended lynching, ended legalized segregation, created social security and Medicare, we stopped the Vietnam War and legalized abortion," she will say. Struggle long enough and you will win something eventually. You may only see a partial victory, and you might not even see that in your lifetime, but generations of struggle can cause positive, even, radical change. What was unthinkable ten years ago can become common sense today.

Been to Jail for Justice

By the front entrance of our house, just by the main staircase, there is a woodcut self-portrait of Carlos Cortez Koyokuikatl. Carlos was a Mexican-American poet, artist and activist. He was a long-time member of the radical labor union the Industrial Workers of the World, more commonly known as the Wobblies, and had been a Conscientious Objector during World War II.

Carlos's experiences during World War II shaped him for the rest of his life. He refused to fight against the Axis powers because he believed that if he went to war he would be charged with shooting other draftees like himself. "If they had given me a clear shot at Hitler I would have taken it. But I wasn't about to shoot another working stiff like myself," he used to say. Carlos's favorite slogan was a play on Marx. "Draftees of the world unite! You have nothing to lose but your generals!"

Carlos was not a pacifist. He just believed that almost all wars were bosses wars. They started as arguments between the heads of states and primarily benefited the industrialists who grew rich off of the war industry. Carlos believed in the international solidarity of labor and the idea that all working people should unite to bring about world socialism and peace. He had no interest in fighting for the ruling class.

For his beliefs, Carlos spent eighteen months in the federal penitentiary. During World War II the government would grant Conscientious Objector status to those who took it on religious beliefs but refused to acknowledge that people might object to war for other reasons.

One of the wonderful things about Carlos was that he really knew who he was. Carlos's Mexican father, Alfred, had been a member of the Industrial Workers of the World in his youth. Carlos was proud to carry on that tradition. Carlos's German-American mother Augusta was a member of the Socialist Party and a radical pacifist. During World War I Augusta was questioned about her opposition to the war by federal agents. Unsuccessful in their attempts to intimidate her the agents exclaimed at Augusta in frustration: "Young woman, your problem is that you should get married and have some children." Unfazed, Augusta replied, "If I have children they will be war resistors." Carlos carried forward both of his parent's values and was very clear about his Mexican-American identity. He insisted that Mexicans were part Indian and, therefore, at least as American as those who told them to go back to Mexico.

I met Carlos when I was living in Chicago. He was a real teacher to me because he helped me understand how radical culture could keep social movements alive even in the darkest of times. Culture--stories, poems, songs, visual art and more--can help us remember struggles that the history books and those in power would have us forget.

Politically Carlos was what is called an anarcho-syndicalist. As an anarchist he rejected the nation state as a way to organize human society. He understood that the nation state inevitably concentrates power in the hands of an elite and usually serves the interests of the rich. As a syndicalist Carlos believed that all of society should be organized into interlocking systems of direct democracy. In such a society everyone would have a voice and a role in decision-making. In such a world there would be no bosses and no workers. While roles might be specialized no one would think of himself or herself as inherently better than anyone else simply on the basis of what they did. The means of production would be owned in common.

When challenged that his vision was too idealistic he would not resort to telling the history of anarchist Ukraine or Spain during the Spanish Civil War. Instead, he would draw upon his own lived experience. A story of his that I remember well is about the day that none of his supervisors showed up at work. Carlos was working in a factory someplace on the South side of Chicago. One winter there was a bad storm. The roads were in terrible shape and management decided to close down for the day. The problem was that no one thought to contact the workers and they all showed up for work. What is more, they just went ahead worked their regular shifts making whatever it is they made at that plant. For the rest of the time he worked at that job Carlos would remind his fellow workers that they did not need a boss to tell them what to do. If they doubted him he told them to remember the day when no one from management showed up to work.

One final thing about Carlos, he was a legendary socialite of the left in Chicago. When he died over six hundred people showed up to his wake. Stories of his infamous annual New Year's party, Praise Boss, will live for a long time. The name of the party comes from the Wobbly Doxology, a short poem that more-or-less captures the philosophy of Carlos's union. The poem runs:

Praise boss when morning work bells chime,
praise boss for bits of overtime,
praise him whose bloody wars we fight,
praise him fat leech and parasite.

Emma Goldman's Suitcase

Sara and I have a picture of us holding Emma Goldman's suitcase. The picture was taken a couple of days before our wedding. In it we are standing in front of Sara's bright red Mini Cooper looking like we are getting ready for a long trip.

The owner of Emma's suitcase is a man named Federico Arcos. Sara and I met Federico Arcos at the IWW's hundredth anniversary celebration in Chicago. Sara and Federico were standing in line together and struck up a conversation about something or another. By the end of the conversation they had become friends and Federico invited us to come visit him in Windsor.

Of all of the old leftists I know Federico has probably lived the most remarkable life. He comes from an anarchist family in Spain, in Spain anarchism is a fairly common political ideology, and he became active in the movement at an early age.

I want pause here to acknowledge that in the United States anarchism is a poorly understood political system. Most people who think of anarchists conjure up the image of the wild-eyed bomb thrower with a top hat, cloak, black beard and maniacal laugh. Such a depiction is simply not true. Real anarchists strive for a world without coercion in which each human being is free to reach their full potential.

Federico came of age on the eve of the Spanish Civil War. He turned sixteen the day General Franco organized a coup to topple the Spanish Republican government. That was in 1936, four years before World War II broke out. The Spanish Civil War saw many of the same players that took part in World War II. Hitler and Mussolini supplied Franco with arms and advice. The Soviet Union came to the aid of the Spanish Republic while the European democracies and the United States did nothing to stop the advance of fascism. Some people think that if the Allies had supported the Republic during the Civil War World War II would have been averted.

Franco's coup would have been an immediate success had it not been for the efforts of the Spanish anarchist and socialist movements. On the day the coup began it was them, and them alone, who rose up in the streets and resisted the fascists. While the government did nothing to defend itself they seized arms from the army and the police and distributed them to the masses. When Federico went to the Anarchist Defense Committee to get his gun he was given an old rifle and six bullets. He and his friends demanded new weapons. They were told, "There are people here much older than you who will need the newer rifles. When they die you will take their place. That is your responsibility and our trust in you."

Federico later saw front line action and survived the war, which the fascists won. He spent sometime in France in an interment camp and then working underground. Eventually he returned to Spain and took part in the resistance movement against Franco. He was involved in the guerilla movement for almost ten years before most of his friends and comrades were killed and he finally decided to seek asylum in Canada.

Through all of this time Federico has remembered that moment at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War. He has strived to take the place of his many fallen comrades and carry on their tradition and their work. His house contains one of the largest collections of anarchist materials in the world and scholars frequently consult him. There is even a documentary being made about him.

Well, actually the movie is being made about Federico and Emma Goldman's suitcase. Federico's dedication to the anarchist cause has meant that as activists of his generation and the generation ahead of him have died they have entrusted him with important documents and artifacts. Federico befriended Emma's last secretary and when she died she entrusted him with Emma's suitcase. It is a sort of odd relic, to be honest, but the suitcase traveled across the world with her as she strove to convince people that there was a better world waiting if they only followed their hearts.

And the importance of the heart is probably the most powerful thing I have learned from Federico. He understands on a profound level that love is what is worth living for. Love is what is behind justice work and love is what makes someone struggle for a better world. Federico says, "Life without love is like a long death." By that he does not just mean romantic love but love for one's fellow human beings and for the potential that lies within all of us.

The Long Memory

The folksinger U. Utah Phillips is fond of saying "The long memory is the most radical idea in America." We keep memory alive by telling stories about those who came before us. This morning I have talked a little bit about three of the radical justice workers I have known. To some of you their politics might seem naive, dangerous or even outrageous. If that is the case consider yourselves among the comfortable who have been afflicted this morning. Even with that in mind I hope you will see that each of the people I have told you about has worked for justice in their own way. They each represent a slightly different part of the radical justice tradition. Ann has used legal tools to try to hold governments accountable. Carlos was a cultural worker who through stories, poetry and art kept his tradition alive. Federico is a romantic who reminds those around him that we do justice work because we are called to love each other. None them put their hope in messianic political figures. Instead they realized that real change would only happen if they rolled up their sleeves and put their shoulders to the wheel. Such change is like the root in Carlos's poem. Though the shoot may die at first eventually the plant will grow strong enough to break through the concrete.

Before closing let me offer this brief coda about theology and Unitarian Universalism. Some of you may think I have offered a non-theological or non-religious sermon and service this morning. If so, let me reply to your concerns in advance by offering you a definition of theology by the German theologian Paul Tillich. Paraphrasing, Tillich argued that theology is about that which is of ultimate concern. That means theology focuses on the thing that is most important to the individual or the community. For Unitarian Universalists human life and the life on this planet are of ultimate concern. We may all have differing definitions of the divine, some of us may call ourselves atheists while others identify as humanists or theists, but when it comes down to it Unitarian Universalists would agree that what happens in this world is ultimately more important than what might happen in the next. If life is our ultimate concern as a movement then justice is closely related to it. And working for justice is therefore part of our religious practice.

So, whether you have been one of the comforted or the afflicted this morning, I hope for you and for all of us that you will be like root, ever growing and gaining in strength so that someday we can all witness a better, fairer, more just world.

That may be so I say Amen and Blessed Be.