it begins as an idea.
It begins as an idea, as revolution is wont to do. A small group of students sitting around a table, arguing, debating in an impromptu salon. Someone’s apartment or a quiet cafe’, out of earshot and away from prying eyes, shouts to whispers as a stranger walks by.
And then the spark, the idea, turns to flame as it is passed from mouth to ear, mouth to ear, person to person to person, finally blazing into the crowd, the collective, a voice of unity. The voice speaks truth to power, screams it, until They are forced to listen to its demand for freedom, for justice, equality.
The fire can be seen beyond the boundary of borders, and it often spreads. The stray ember falling far away, setting another land to flame, forming another voice. And another. And another.
The fire craves fuel, requires it, thrives on it. Wood is thrown upon it, liquid accelerants, our common desire for freedom. It grows larger, more powerful – cornering, threatening the structures of oppression.
And then the day comes when the rain begins to fall, power’s fear of the truth. It is inevitable, sadly. History shows and tells us this.
But then later, sometimes days and sometimes years, it begins again as an idea, as revolution is wont to do…
Pueblo, Natchez, Samba, Pontiac, American, French, Haitian, White Lotus, Mexican, Ragamuffin, Afghan, Maya, Taos, 1848, Sepoy, Sioux, Draft Riots, Paris Commune, Thai Nguyen, Pitchfork, Blair Mountain, May Days, Black Power, Wounded Knee, Intifada, Tiananmen, Oaxaca, Arab Spring, Occupy, Ferguson…