Recently there have been some shocking and extreme expressions of passion, compassion, and empathy in the media’s reporting about activists. I am always shocked that others are shocked as I find the extremism predictable, understandable and appropriate. Admittedly, it is my interest. I pay attention to this certain type of person. They are everywhere around the world.
Jumping right to an extreme, last week, Russian Pyotr Pavlenshy sat naked in front of Lenin’s Mausoleum and nailed his scrotum to the ground. In a prior statement, he said he was protesting the “police state.” He did it on Russia’s Police Day which is a national holiday. In 2012, standing in front of Kazan Cathedral, he sewed his lips together in solidarity with Pussy Riot. Again, he wrote an advance explanation that Pussy Riot's protest in the bascillica was a reenactment of Jesus scourging of the money-changers out of the temple. An interesting footnote is that when examined by psychiatrists, he was issued a “clean bill of mental health.” Hear, Hear.
Posting the photo of Pyotr on my facebook page and responding to a comment, I wrote that this form of action is a relative of cutting. It is a collecting force that demands to be released. Instead or (or maybe in addition to) pent up inner feelings that bring someone to cutting, this is a release of total frustration over social injustice. Media has identified Pyotr as a performance artist. I suppose that label gives it a distance, an eccentricity. Though I would disagree wholeheartedly.
Activists survey social conditions, take it in and devise a plan which demonstrates, with precision, their next brave move. Dreamers stand to say, I am undocumented. Veterans cuff themselves to the Commander in Chiefs HG (the White House fence). Russian queers publicly kiss. Voters flood the Austin capitol in support of Wendy Davis’ filibuster. Fasters in Gitmo. A Tibetan monk self-immolates. They have had enough. They have reached the limit.
But do not think that such photograph-able grand actions are any different from the sixth grader standing in the hallway, refusing to bully. The family member at Thanksgiving dinner stating clearly, “that was not funny.” The stranger speaking up when witnessing harassment. The next brave move is the move that presents itself in the context of life. It is not always on a grand scale, going viral, on Huffpo.
All of these actions are symptoms of a terrible dis-ease known as Divine Discontent. Whether one believes in god or not. These are the actions of a watchful mind, an open heart, an examined conscience. These are the ones who have found resolve and once in gear, cannot turn it off. They stand in determination. Touch softly, hold them in esteem. They are made of the same fabric as saints. They have a burning desire to live with purpose – to know no meaningless breath, to wake every day as a warrior in battle.
So don’t say that you do not understand. You most likely do. If you ever have seen an injustice and had to take a deep breath, leap into the fray, take a chance that no one will agree AND did it anyway; YOU UNDERSTAND. I am so glad you do.
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