Writing at the intersection of motherhood, feminism and my Latinidad

24 December 2009

Obama and hope

I haven't written or done much in terms of the health care debate. I've been partially paralyzed by seeing allies paralyzed themselves. Paralyzed by what they felt was the failure of President Obama to successfully smash thru a health care bill that would reflect his progressive views that we voted him into office for.

And sadly what I have to keep reminding my friends in the fight is that Obama never said he'd govern by those progressive views. I can't pull them up, but my memory tells me that Obama spent a lot of time talking about his views, but would talk about governing in the middle to respect people on both sides. I watched him in 2002 at an anti-Iraq War rally talk about how Afghanistan was a just war. He never said he was a peace candidate or would be a peace President, no matter what the Nobel Prize people project.

That's not to say that I don't also project my hopes and wishes onto Obama. But Starhawk sent out a timely note for the Solstice that reminded me that we can hope all we want, but without a lot of action and movement, that's all it will be - hope.

But the message of Solstice is this:  hope does not come once into the world and fulfill itself.  Hope and light must constantly be reborn, over and over again.  They wax and wane, and must be renewed.
That renewal, that birthing, requires labor.  Labor means work, commitment, perseverance through that time when it seems you just can’t push any more.  The cervix dilates slowly, pang by pang.  The child begins to emerge, is drawn back, pushed forward another increment.
We are the laboring Mother, we are the spark of light.  New possibilities kick and squirm within us.  No, it’s not easy to bring them forth, but we are strong, and we are made for this work.  Bear down…breathe…push.  This morning the sun rises;  each day a new world is born.
2009 was our honeymoon - not that romantic honeymoon where we gaze adoring into each other's eyes, but rather that honeymoon when we realize that Mr. LoveOfOurLife likes to leave his underwear on the bathroom floor. Every day. We don't get a divorce, we adjust. We take our rose-colored glasses off and get to work. It's not that we don't love Obama anymore, but our Prince Charming has a few flaws.

Thankfully Jill Zimon isn't paralyzed and wrote a fabu piece summarizing the whole situation thus far. 

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