Jamie S
AuthorPower Down Pratt: Mycelial Songs Freedom
I cannot be the only person internally conflicted about protests, about what constitutes effective processes, about intentions and, especially, outcomes. In this space of uncertainty, I’m finding it necessary to hold my vision of “future” justice loosely. To understand that protests and activism are valuable beyond the possibility of reaching a particular destination. Personally, I’m finding the process of moving together towards what matters equally important.
In fact, it is through the act of moving together towards what matters that our values, our visions of justice, materialize into the just world we seek – right now. A sense of agency manifests as we move together (yelling, singing, marching) in a flourishing act of resistance. Vanessa Andreotti speaks of mycelial agency as something that blooms out of humble respect for the vast complexity and enormity of human civilization’s trajectory across time. It enables a letting go of any inflated sense of power regarding one’s capacity to effect large scale change, instead leaning into the power of the present moment. This mycelial agency can be cultivated through mindfulness and presence, and through relations of care. This is not an invitation to stop fighting for what is just. It’s an invitation to name modernity for what it is and actively engage in the work of unraveling its inherent violence.
I recently gathered with comrades for a Power Down Pratt protest of militarization and state sponsored genocide. Multiple police vehicles flanked the New England Air Museum’s entrance, while celebrants gathered inside for P&W’s 100 year anniversary. Outside, protestors chanted incessantly: “Money for JOBS and EDUCATION, not for WAR and OCCUPATION!” I contemplated this; military manufacturers and companies throughout their supply chains provide many jobs to CT residents, and they partner with educational institutions (…to promote industry interests). Money for which jobs, what kind of education, how is that education used? What kind of future do we want to invest in? P&W’s slogan “connecting people, growing economies and defending freedom” lands differently when it’s about growing economies through militarization and connecting people in the interest of war and destruction. How easily certain American ideals are co opted for narrow, capitalist pursuits. We need to be asking: what kind of freedom, for whom, at what cost?
As our chanting continued, my curiosity lighted upon the party-goers. I observed defensive humor, righteous indignation. Condemnation brushed aside, our chants falling hollow upon the pavement. I drifted in my own thoughts, “do their brains tune to another station as they drive home from the party? I doubt the same songs replay in our consciousness… Pratt and Whitney you will see, Palestine will be free… will Palestinians ever? Be free?”
I remember an excerpt from The Message, when Ta-Nehisi Coates is traveling the land outside Ramallah in the West Bank and learning of settler violence from his Palestinian guides, Sahar and Nida:
It is a precarious life. At the same time, there is a strong will to stay and keep working. There are communities whose villages are destroyed eighty times and they come back. It becomes part of how you live. It’s a mode of survival. This is how you live on the land. We will keep coming back, building that which they keep destroying. 4
My fellow protesters spoke of various reasons for coming back, for “building.” All possessed a sense of justice and felt a responsibility to act. Some were newer to political activism, others well-seasoned, all compelled to speak up. A sense of care rippled through our gathering, both for the cause and for each other. Care shown through food – dates, each with an almond carefully inserted where each pit once lived – care reflected in people checking on others: “would you like a snack? …do you need a break from the banner?” Chants bellowed, call and response, laughter. Smiles. Hugs. A call to find someone you don’t know and talk about why you’re here, followed by the hum of connection, care-full connection rooted in building something beautiful.
The protest waned and a crescent moon shone through the budding branches of early spring. I wondered what impact we’ve had. How can we effectively reach the hearts and minds of people who don’t see themselves in the suffering of others? Inside me throbbed with a longing for a just world where all beings are liberated from the violence of capitalism, imperialism, domination and separation. Conflicting emotions wrestled in my body.
I don’t have all the answers, but I will continue to explore my questions, in good company. I will share this – as the last cars departed, the song of spring peepers drew me to the edge of the parking lot. Enveloped in their symphony, I surrendered all that remains unanswered and embraced all that vibrates with life in my blood, in my bones. I let myself slow and open, making room for it all. As the amphibious chorus pulsed all around, I inhaled deeply, and joined the choir of tiny, vibrant creatures, singing into the night – a prayer for life, for sacredness, for liberation.
My deepest appreciation to all the beautiful beings moving, loving, yelling, mourning, learning, laughing, and singing life into just possibilities.
4Coates, T. (2024). The message. First edition. One World. Pp. 136-139. Emphasis added.
