Joy and I were in Ireland last week visiting our granddaughter, a junior at Georgetown, who is spending her spring semester at Queens University in Belfast.
Among the many things we discovered in both Belfast and Dublin was that the Irish know a lot about what is happening here in the United States.
To say those we talked to are worried, confused, and anxious about Donald Trump being President is an understatement. After all, they know first hand about political chaos, instability, violence, and the impact of incendiary leadership, especially in Belfast.
We told them we shared their concerns about Trump, but also told them that he would not have the last word, that the best of us would outlast him and the worst among us who support him.
I don’t know if they believed us or not, but I meant what we told them because I believe in the American people. Yes, millions of Americans stupidly voted to give power to a mentally disturbed and morally corrupt man. But millions more are now taking to the streets to say no to Trump’s desire to be king.
President Obama talked about stepping up to meet the challenge of a given moment in his remarks at Jesse Jackson’s memorial service:
“We are living in a time,” he said, “when it can be hard to hope. Each day we wake up to some new assault on our democratic institutions, another setback to the idea of the rule of law. An offense to common decency. Every day you wake up to it, to things you just didn’t think were possible. Each day, we’re told by those in high office to fear each other and to turn on each other — and that some Americans count more than others, and that some don’t even count at all.
“Everywhere we see greed and bigotry being celebrated, and bullying and mockery masquerading as strength; we see science and expertise denigrated while ignorance and dishonesty, and cruelty and corruption, are reaping untold rewards. Every single day we see that. And it’s hard to hope in those moments.
“So it may be tempting to get discouraged, to give in to cynicism. It may be tempting for some to compromise with power and grab what you can, or even for good people, to maybe just put your head down and wait for the storm to pass.”
But he didn’t leave us there. The life Jesse Jackson lived, he reminded us, “inspires us to take the harder path…his voice calls on each of us to be heralds of change, to be messengers of hope; to step forward and say ‘Send me’.”
“Send me.” That’s what the prophet Isaiah asked of God: “Here I am. Send me” (Isaiah 6:8). Send him to speak to the people, to call them to a higher loyalty than rulers and kings.
But the question is, “Why?”
Why be the one to respond to the call to speak and to act, especially when there are risks in doing so? After all, who are we to do so? We’re nobody, at least nobody of significance on a national or world stage.
It’s true. We’re not. We matter to those who know and love us, but the world will not remember us when we’re gone. That path is for others.
I know that feeling well. As a writer of more than 20 books, I know my voice has a limited audience, just as this blog does. But I don’t write for recognition. I write because of the calling on my life. Writing is my life’s vocation even if it touches only a few.
I know that what I say is only a ripple in the water. No big splash for me. No mountains moved, no movement started, no headlines created.
Just a voice in the wilderness, but a voice nonetheless. And on the three No Kings days we ordinary Americans have had, our small voices have come together to form a chorus heard around the world.
The people of Ireland know what you did while we were gone on No Kings Day, just as they know what happened here in Minneapolis in January, about the killings of Renee Nicole Good and Alex Pretti, about the stand ordinary Minnesotans made against ICE and Trump, in our own way fulfilling the call, “Send me.”
There was no way we could have known that our protests would be that powerful. That they were is one reason why I believe our actions will ultimately prove to be more powerful than Donald Trump’s. We will be here when he is gone.
Ordinary people though we may be, we will outlast him, defeat him, will still be standing when he has fallen into disgrace. We don’t speak and march and protest and write and sing freedom songs because we are well known, but because we must.
Thankfully, people in Ireland reminded us that the impact a small act of mercy or justice or love can have is hardly ever anticipated before the action is taken. Minnesotans didn’t take a stand on behalf of immigrant neighbors because we knew it would reverberate around the world, or knew it would mean the end of Kristi Noem and Pam Bondi, or knew it would be the beginning of the end for Donald Trump.
We did it because the circumstances called us to action. We acted because it was the right thing to do.
That’s how things get changed. Someone steps up, then another, and then another, and when all is said and done, we look back to see that we, ordinary people no one knows, made a difference we could not have known in advance that we would.
That difference matters.
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