The Impossible Will Take a Little While
Mural for my “Take Flight” project outside Portland’s AC Hotel. Mural by Alex Chiu. Photo by Adolfo Cantú-Villarreal.
This spring in my Artist as Citizen course at Portland State University, we explored a book of essays called The Impossible Will Take a Little While: A Citizen's Guide to Hope in a Time of Fear. Although it seems ideally suited for the beginning of a global pandemic, my co-instructor Suzanne Savaria actually selected it months before coronavirus entered the world. The title comes from the song “Crazy He Calls Me” written by Billie Holiday:
Like the wind that shakes the bough
He moves me with a smile
The difficult I'll do right now
The impossible will take a little while…
As you might imagine, the book is filled with inspired stories of resilience, creativity, and courage that point us past despair toward compassion and hope. Among the many wonderful pieces in the collection is a 2009 essay by environmentalist, entrepreneur, journalist, and author Paul Hawken, entitled “You Are Brilliant, and the Earth is Hiring.” I was surprised to find that it had its genesis as a commencement address that Hawken presented at the University of Portland—literally right across town.
In the essay, he quotes a line from poet Adrienne Rich that continues to resonate with me. “So much has been destroyed I have cast my lot with those who, age after age, perversely, with no extraordinary power, reconstitute the world.”
I’ve been reflecting on this quote during the past three months, as the “Take Flight” project has taken shape, and had time to think about why it strikes me so powerfully. I love it because it speaks to the ordinary heroism we see around us every day, and often take for granted. But also because I hear in it echoes of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s vision of what he called “The Beloved Community”—a world in which “love and trust can triumph over fear and hatred and disputes will be resolved by peaceful conflict-resolution and reconciliation of adversaries.” While most might call a dream, Dr. King saw it as a realistic, achievable goal that could be attained by a critical mass of people committed to and trained in the philosophy and methods of nonviolence.
As Portland and the nation continue to grapple with the ramifications of our country's systemic racism, I reflect on Dr. King’s admonishment that this tool—to which he committed his life’s work—should be wielded against “evil systems, forces, oppressive policies, unjust acts, but not against persons,” and that “through reasoned compromise, both sides [might] resolve the injustice with a plan of action.” How could he hold out such profound hope?
I try to be as positive as he seemed to be that there could be a world in which we might break the cycle of retributive violence and create lasting peace through reconciliation. And I wrestle with his most radical proposition—that the strength of the movement is in love, and the manifestation of love is the justice that is the birthright of every human being. And to be honest, many days I don’t think I’m any more likely to witness his vision realized than he was.
But I do notice that—even in the midst of the pandemic—I feel grateful to be an artist. To have the privilege and the responsibility to continually imagine the world anew. I’m grateful to be surrounded by so many who are rising to that challenge every day. I’m also finding myself inspired by, and feeling deep admiration for the younger generations. I see in those coming up in this time of turmoil a tenacity, a willingness to speak truth, to put their bodies on the line, and to persist that keeps me coming back to Dr. King’s words and hoping that maybe we can bring his just world into being. Maybe, if we try to do something each day to ensure the future for the generations that follow—we might actually reconstitute the world.
It just might take a little while.
Be well – Take Flight
Darrell