UU Society of Cleveland

December 2, 2007

Radical Hope

by Rev. Colin Bossen

My topic for this morning is radical hope. Radical hope is the desire for and, possibly, the expectation of fundamental change in human relations. Our radical hopes are the dreams of peace, equality, justice and fraternity that allow us to struggle to build a better world. Radical hope comes from trusting our own experiences, believing that some day humanity may reach its full potential and understanding that each of us has the power to affect fundamental change in the world and in our lives. We can realize radical hope when we choose to live in the present and when we refuse to separate means from ends.

Radical hope is a fitting topic for the beginning of the holiday season. Over the next month many of us will prepare for and ultimately celebrate Christmas. Christmas is supposed to be a holiday to honor the birth of Jesus Christ. If you strip the message of Jesus down to its’ bare essentials you will find radical hope.

Radical hope is also a good topic because the past three days have marked the eighth anniversary of the Battle of Seattle. The Battle of Seattle was a series of protests and civil disobedience actions that took place in Seattle in 1999 against the World Trade Organization. For those in the mainstream the Battle of Seattle came as something of a shock. It dwarfed previous protests against economic organizations in the United States. It also helped to spark the global economic justice movement, a movement that was able, at least temporarily, to build a broad coalition that included environmentalists, trade unionists, farmers, anarchists, progressives and concerned people of faith. For many activists of my generation the Battle of Seattle was a pivotal event.

It might seem a little odd to juxtapose a protest movement with the Christmas holiday. Yet, both the winter holidays and protest movements are ultimately about hope. Across many different faith traditions the winter holidays are a time to kindle light in the darkness. Many of the winter holidays have a myth of resurrection at their core. There is hope that after winter will come spring, after the dark will come light and after death will come new life. Likewise, protest movements have at their core the hope that our actions can make the world better, can stop a horror from happening or bring people together across previously impermeable boundaries.

I am a somewhat pessimistic person by nature. I see our world on the brink of a massive manmade environmental catastrophe and I do not know if we have the collective willpower to stop it. We are surrounded by violence and warfare and I do not know if we can change our ways before we bring about our own destruction.

When I was younger my pessimism was much worse. I grew-up in the Lansing, Michigan area. Lansing is Michigan's state capital and I as a child, adolescent and teenager I was surrounded by politicians. One of my parents' good friends was one of the most liberal legislators in the state and at least of few of my classmate's parents were either legislators or lobbyists.

What I saw of the political process was not encouraging. Every one of the politicians that I knew engaged in the practice of legalized bribery we call lobbying. Nepotism and dishonesty were rampant. One the legislators I knew lived in an entirely different community than the one he was supposed to represent. When term limits pushed him out of office he was able to rig it so that his son, who had never lived in the urban Detroit district he represented, inherited his seat. And these were, from my perspective, the good guys! They fought for the liberal social policies my parents believed in, they tried to stand up for the working class and they worked to ensure that Michigan retained at least some semblance of a social safety net.

Growing up, most of the people I knew my own age were either extremely cynical or totally apathetic. They did not care that the world appeared to be going to hell in a handbasket. My experiences both with politics and people of my generation made me very wary about whether real change could come about. It certainly did not seem like something that lay anywhere on the horizon.

Despite this, or perhaps because of it, as I grew older I gradually became involved in libertarian socialist politics. I was drawn to them, in part, because I thought that if there was little hope for actual systematic change I might as well be involved with organizations and groups that had a vision that I found compelling. The distrust of power and authority that lie of at the root of authentic libertarian politics also appealed to me. It resonated with my experiences with Michigan's political class.

After I graduated from college I moved to San Francisco. Like so many people, I saw San Francisco as a sort of liberal mecca. I wanted to live somewhere different from what I perceived to be the conservative Midwest in which I grew-up. While in San Francisco I met a number of young activists and organizers. One person whom I befriended was Patrick Reinsborough. At the time Patrick was the Grassroots Organizer for the Rainforest Action Network. As a result, he played a crucial role in developing some of the strategies that were used by protesters during the Battle of Seattle. On the eve of the protests, Patrick convinced me to head to Seattle.

In Seattle I had what might be called a conversion experience. I had a change of heart. I was not the same person on December 3, 1999 that I had been on November 28. As a result of my experiences in Seattle, I changed my life. Over the next several years I left my career as a software engineer, dedicated myself to social justice work and eventually became a Unitarian Universalist minister.

I shifted my life because Seattle convinced me that it was possible for people to struggle collectively to change the world. While I had heard stories about successful protest movements before, I had never experienced one first hand. To be part of a large scale protest that, albeit for only a brief period, actually won something was truly transformative.

What happened in Seattle was that the fractured and routed left, compromised by seven years of governance by the New Democrat Bill Clinton, was actually able to come together and shut down one of the most powerful institutions in the world. It was a sight to behold. Environmentalists and trade unionists cooperated to take on the common enemy of unrestrained corporate capitalism. Giant puppets draped in bright colors and coming in practically any shape imaginable mixed with people marching, dancing, chanting and singing to create a carnival like atmosphere. Other protesters had physically locked themselves together in the middle of intersections. In doing so they made it impossible for the police to easily disburse the protest or for the delegates from the World Trade Organization to hold their meeting.

Despite swallowing large amounts of tear gas, I remember a number of chants from Seattle. Two of my favorites are "Teamsters love turtles! Turtles love Teamsters!" and "This is what democracy looks like!."

The first chant was taken up by a brigade of environmentalists dressed as sea turtles marching with a group of Teamsters. Given the historic hostility between the environmental and labor movements at the time, the two groups marching together signalled a new sort of politics.

The second chant went on to to become the battle cry of the global justice movement. It boldly proclaimed that democracy is in the streets, not in the legislatures or the board rooms. The democracy envisioned by the global justice activists was one in which the average citizen was to be transformed from spectator to participant.

Seattle has become a reference point for me of what is possible when people cooperate for a common goal. I know that movements by the marginalized can win because I have seen it happen. My experiences in Seattle gave me hope that real change can occur.

There are really two different kinds of radical hope. The first is what we might call millennialist hope. This is the idea that at some future point an event will occur that will fundamentally alter the reality in which we live.

The opposite of millennialism is utopianism. For many utopia is a dirty word. The word literally means no place and it is used as a slur to describe something or someone who is unrealistic or unconnected with reality. For many it is utopian to believe that we human beings have the power to end war, hunger, poverty or sexual violence. Moving beyond these things, if it is possible at all, will only come when some event occurs that fundamentally changes everything about how people interact with each other. For some this might be the advent of a some sort of Marxist revolution and for others the appearance of a Jewish or Christian messiah.

A utopia is, to quote Jewish theologian Martin Buber, “the vision of rightness...realized in the picture of perfect space.” Utopianism is the idea that rather than wait for some future time in which the world will be perfect, we can strive to build the perfect world in some space here and now.

An authentic utopia has three elements: it exists in a physical space, it is a voluntary association and it does not separate means from ends.

A utopia exists in a place that people can go and visit and even join. Creating such a space is difficult and forming a lasting utopia is challenging. When people have succeeded in building utopias they have rarely been permanent creations. Some have existed for only a few days while others have persisted for years. In the end, creating a space that is truly free of the pressures of the external world is almost impossible. Western society is not overly fond of those who challenge its core beliefs. Successful utopian communities almost always face external threats from secular or religious authorities and intolerance from their neighbors.

True utopias are based on the idea of voluntary association. No one is forced to join a utopian community. To participate in one, or not, is a decision that individuals are free to make. Forcing people to participate in a such a community will destroy the community. If a utopia is a space in which a vision of a better world, a world free from violence, is brought into being, then compelling people to participate in it will destroy that vision. That is not to say that utopian communities do not have rules, rather it is to say that the decision to participate in the community and, therefore follow the rules that the community has set, is a voluntary one. If you do not like the rules you can leave the community and go somewhere else to start a new one or work to change the rules of the community.

Utopias do not separate means from ends. Utopians are not waiting for some sort of apocalyptic event to transform the world. They are transforming themselves by the way they participate in the world. A true utopian builds a better world by living as if it already exists. This, more than anything, is the true gift that utopianism can give. To be a utopian is to live in the present, because the present is all that we really have, and embody the phrase "be the change you wish to see." If we understand that we can change the world by participating in it differently we might realize the amount of power we have to change the world around us.

In some ways, the protests in Seattle were a utopian experience. For a few hours the streets were transformed and business as usual stopped. Amid the chaos, the carnival and the tear gas, I could glimpse a different society. The values of that society were clear and they stood in sharp contrast to the moral vision of the World Trade Organization.

We can experience the utopian outside of the realm of political and social struggles. In fact, I am a Unitarian Universalist in part because of the utopian experiences I had in church community as a youth. My time with Young Religious Unitarian Universalists, or YRUU, was formative to who I am and has shaped how I understand the world.

YRUU forms a unique subculture within Unitarian Universalism. In addition to regular Sunday morning religious education, YRUU organizes weekend or week-long retreats and conferences. These events give young Unitarian Universalists the opportunity to explore life issues, spirituality and their religious tradition in a safe and welcoming space.

Youth conferences provided me a glimpse of what Unitarian Universalist culture can look like when large groups of us gather. They were heightened experiences and also offered me a picture of what a better world might look like. As an awkward and alienated youth, conferences were a place where I could go and find peers who understood me. They provided me with an opportunity to experience worship that connected me both to a community and with the wider universe. Some of the worship experiences I had as a youth remain so vivid in my memory that when I picture them I can almost place myself back in time—gathered with a circle of friends by a lake as the sun sets and a bonfire rises, lying in a room with a hundred people all breathing together through a guided meditation and listening intently as one after another shared intimate stories from their lives. These images are almost visceral. To speak them is to bring them back into being.

At youth conferences I felt my worth and dignity affirmed. I was encouraged to be myself and to be fearless in my quest for truth and meaning. Memories of conferences continue to provide me with a wealth of spiritual experiences that I draw upon for guidance and sustenance.

Now, I realize I am painting an overly idealized picture of the conferences I attended. They were not for everyone and they were not without their problems. Some youth I knew felt alienated by the conference culture. Some parents felt that they were unsafe. In the early nineties, when I was active in YRUU, occasional covert drug use, sex and sexual expression were often tolerated, and in some ways encouraged, at a level that would now make many people uncomfortable. Despite this, conferences provided me with a safe space and safe haven from the complicated and sometimes ugly world that I lived in as a teenager. They have given me lifelong faith that a different, more justice filled world than the one we live in is possible. I know people can live compassionately because I have seen them live compassionately, even if only for a weekend or a week. Coupled with experiences like those I had in Seattle, my time with YRUU has helped fill me with the radical hope I need to work for justice.

My experiences with YRUU echo the sentiments of Stephen Pearl Andrews, who our reading came from this morning. Andrews was a classical libertarian and he believed that, to quote Rudolf Rocker, one his biographers: "Freedom is achieved not by submitting everyone to the same compulsions, but by securing for everyone the possibility of obtaining the happiness and contentment in his own fashion." For Andrews the idealized world was something that could be lived today through individualized actions and strived for in the future through collective action. I like his metaphor of the dinner party because it suggests that radical hope can found in the every day decisions we make. We have radical hope when we choose to treat each other with kindness.

This may sound naive, but utopian radical hope can be found at the root of some the most powerful social justice movements that ever existed. Consider the philosophy of non-violence. One of the main sources for the philosophy of non-violence is Leo Tolstoy's book "The Kingdom of God is Within You." In his book Tolstoy advances a few basic theses. The first is that violence and coercion underpin all of the injustices in our society. The second is that the way to transform our society is to reject violence. The third is that we have the freedom to change our hearts and reject violence at any given time. We may not be able to transform society in the short term but we can transform ourselves. In doing so we will ultimately transform the world.

Tolstoy's book formed much of the inspiration for Gandhi and, through him, Martin King. Gandhi and Tolstoy's relationship was such that the very last letter Tolstoy ever penned was to Gandhi. Gandhi named his first experiment in commune "Tolstoy Farm" in honor of the philosopher who inspired him.

Actualizing the kind of hope found in the "Kingdom of God is Within you," is actually easier than it may sound. While few, if any of us, will ever truly imitate Gandhi or Martin King, we can all make choices in our lives that reflect the values that we hold and the world we would like to see.

If you are concerned about the state of our environment you can choose to drive less, refuse to buy products that are not environmentally friendly, bike, walk, take public transit, start a garden, compost, start a community garden, use compact florescent lightbulbs, eat less meat and eat locally and organically.

If you believe in peace you can be kind to those around you, study non-violence, refuse to pay war taxes, choose not to serve the military and discourage others from serving.

If you believe in justice you can reach out to those around you and share what you have. You can also remember that we are all connected and that what effects one of us effects all of us. Most importantly, you can organize with others to bear witness to the values that you hold.

Now, obviously you might not choose to do all of these things. You might not even agree with some of them. You might decide that you are not able to, or do not want to, do them. My list is meant as a string of examples and not a set of commandments. My message is that whatever you do you should do your best to let your actions and choices reflect your beliefs because this is the way real change happens. Each action we take is our own form of radical hope. Each one offers us the chance to be the change we wish to see.

And what better time than the holidays to make such choices in our lives? Jesus said "for behold, the kingdom of God is within you." By that he meant that each of us can bring about a piece of a better world through our actions. And what better way to celebrate his birth than to hear that portion of his message?

In the hope that you will find your own radical hope I say Amen and Blessed Be.