BENEATH THE SKYLINE

GETTING A WORD IN EDGEWISE

Deborah Good

On March 20, 2003, I was arrested for the "unreasonable obstruction of the entrance to a building." It was a cold day, the morning after our president officially declared war on Iraq. I think I wore a black trash bag, holes cut for head and arms, to shield myself from the rain. Some of my friends wore duct tape over their mouths and carried signs that shouted silently at our government, "Why aren’t you listening?"

There were more than 100 of us in all, arms and convictions linked in small chains of people power. We sat ourselves down, symbolically blocking all the entrances to Philadelphia’s Federal Building because we believed business should not go on "as usual" for a government that was dropping bombs on a nation of people who had already suffered enough.

Many essays could be written about the tragedies that have ensued, but this is not one of those essays. Even more could be written about the politics being debated in Congress as I write, about the relevance (or irrelevance) of pacifism, and about the tyranny of fear. But this is not one of those either.

During the fall and winter months leading up to my arrest on that wet March morning, millions had crowded into streets, plazas, and central squares all over the world. On a biting January day, we’d marched in D.C.—hippies and soccer moms chanting side by side. This is what democracy looks like! This is what democracy looks like! We called, again and again, for "No War in Iraq." Non. Nein. Nyet. La. Nem. Nee. No.

Apparently, we were not loud enough.

This column is about my friends’ duct-taped mouths in front of the Federal Building, and about the struggle to be heard. It asks whether democracy is really possible—in Congress or around the dining room table. It is about voice.

What does democracy look like? "Democracy literally means the rule (or kratos) of the crowd (or demos)," writes Rebecca Solnit in Orion magazine ("More Perfect Union," November-December 2006). "But it seldom means that the rule is by all the people, the whole demos."

According to the same article, if we do the math, only about one fifth of our country’s population actually voted for our currently unpopular president in the 2004 elections.

I expect few people would argue that everyone’s voice is truly and fairly represented in our country’s "democracy." There are simply too many of us, with too many different opinions. What’s more, the whole system is tainted by an impressively unequal distribution of money and power in our country—and the strategic use of both to influence decisions.

In one of our democracy’s less glamorous moments, Maryland Republicans bussed homeless men from Washington and Philadelphia to polls in their state. They paid them $100 apiece to hand out deceiving election propaganda targeted at black voters. (Don’t believe me? Search the Internet for "homeless men, Maryland election 2006.")

I also learned recently that the decision to lengthen daylight savings time this year came about partly because of the push to save energy (a good thing), but also because of a strong lobby including the Sporting Goods Manufacturers Association and companies selling everything from barbecues to baseballs!

Many instances of lobbyists’ influence on congressional decisions are not this amusing and harmless. The anti-Castro lobby has been loud and money-laden enough to keep an unethical embargo (or bloqueo) in place for more than four decades, made more restrictive in the nineties with the Cuban Democracy Act and the Helms-Burton Act. The blockade has been overwhelmingly condemned by the United Nations every year since 1991, and yet remains stubbornly intact.

"Honestly," writes Solnit, "I don’t know how democratic a system is even possible on the scale of 300 million. . . . Real democracy, not representative, or misrepresentative democracy, is much more possible on the smaller scale of a functioning community. And maybe only possible on that scale."

In my opinion, Solnit is too optimistic. I am still trying to find a "functioning community" that truly allows for the rule of the crowd. Whether in churches, office meetings, or simply around the supper table, some voices always hold more influence than others when decisions get made. Is it really possible to include all of us equally?

My mom tells me that years ago, when our younger family would eat supper together, we crowded the air with stories and laughter and argument. Then, into the clamor, my tiny three-year-old brother would add his voice. He would shout as loudly as he could, as though he was yelling across the playground—or as though the Redskins had just scored a touchdown. Mom puzzled over these shouting episodes until it occurred to her that Jason was simply trying to get a word in edgewise. It was his way of saying, Make room for me, too!

Sometimes it’s the loudest person who gets heard. Sometimes it’s the one who has been around the longest, the one with the most money, or the one with the scariest weapons; maybe the youngest or the whitest, the sexiest or the one in a leadership position. Sometimes it’s the man, sometimes the woman, sometimes the one with the Ph.D.

I am part of a quirky, imperfect, and committed group of people in my neighborhood. We meet on Sunday mornings, and sometimes in between—and we call ourselves West Philadelphia Mennonite Fellowship.

"Probably more than any other church I have attended, this congregation ‘agrees to disagree.’ Our theologies crisscross and butt up against one another. Our hopes for a new pastor vary like ice cream flavors at Baskin Robbins. One member of the pastoral search committee recently compared our congregation to dogs on leashes, panting excitedly while pulling their poor dog-walker in ten different directions."

I love this variety—and have been taught to love diversity ever since I was a kindergartner in the multicultural world of D.C. public schools. But when it comes to making decisions as a group, whose voices carry the most sway? And how is a community—or a nation-state—to hold onto the people who find certain decisions unacceptable?

The Mennonite church has a history of splitting over coat buttons and Sunday school. Today, several Mennonite congregations are asking themselves whether their sense of justice will force them to leave their regional denominational body, Lancaster Conference, as long as women are not allowed ordination. And I must decide, personally, how long I can participate in a denomination that is not openly welcoming of my gay and lesbian friends. Controversial decisions—whether about ordination or going to war—leave some of us feeling silenced.

This is the part of the column where I’m supposed to offer the alternative that actually does work—the answer—and then wrap things up nicely and send you on your way satisfied. But I don’t have an alternative, an answer, a suggestion for how we can give equal room for everyone’s voice.

This is what I do know: It is empowering to talk and be listened to, and the more we allow for honest conversation at the level of family and church and community, the less we will split ourselves apart.

I also know this: Not everyone can have their way. Sometimes we have to back down a little and give others room to speak. And other times, in the name of justice and conviction, we must force our way into the racket. Simply trying to get a word in edgewise, we must shout, strategically and at the top of our lungs, Non. Nein. Nyet. La. Nem. Nee. No!

—Deborah Good, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, is a writer, editor, and middle school classroom assistant. As she writes pieces of her father’s and grandparents’ life stories, she is reflecting on the power of words and good listening—and on their limitations. She can be reached at deborahagood@gmail.com.