Miss (In)Activist

What exactly is solidarity? Within myself, I am still reconciling with my internal disillusion of the word and its material mutations.

Before May 2005, solidarity was a word that existed in the vocabularies of community radio, namely politically charged shows by volunteer activists who eat, sleep, breathe and excrete the "revolution". I was, and never had been, a part of this group. But, here I sit after two speaking engagements at the Canadian Labour Congress' national convention in Montreal where I shared a message of action, solidarity and equality.

I didn't write a speech (which I need to start doing), but my message at the first engagement, a woman's forum spoke to my transition from disassociation to full embrace of word "feminism" as I carried the Women's Global Charter for Humanity. I talked about my feminism/womanism and its impact on the work that I do. I also talked about the honour and privilege of having the opportunity to share these personal accounts with the 300+ group in the room. Still, despite my intentions and passion about the topic, my amplified words reverberated against the walls of the auditorium with an unfamiliar numbness that left me feeling hollow and inadequate.

The second engagement, a youth forum, I sat as one of 3 panelists sharing my views about leadership and what I have witnessed among my activist peers and how as well as if it had any impact on the work that I do. Instead, I ranted about the tokenism I experienced, and the misconstrued conventions of leadership that institutions recognize and exploit. I spoke about my privilege as a Canadian born, English speaking, passport holding, (quasi) educated woman of colour and I reminded the group about the perpetual cycle of poverty and homelessness that most institutions neglect to recognize when they pull you away from work for "exciting opportunities" (that don't pay the rent). I was candidly personal and open about my feelings about being sucked dry by the non-profit and activist scene. I shared my struggle to pay rent and get hired by organizations who question my commitment to them because I am in such high demand elsewhere. I let the room have it.

In response, the group looked back at me blankly and save the 3 people who had heard me speak before, filed through the door discussing where to go to get drinks. They didn't get it. And I was left regretting not having written a speech. I figured that they'll get it when they see my activism and my passion to make positive change in the world (cue: tree hugger music). Well, the stars were aligned and I had a chance to show everyone that another world is possible!

There was a Medicare rally today. I was accompanied by one of the executive members of the Canadian Federation of Students who suggested that I listen to Steven Lewis. While we missed some of it, I thoroughly enjoyed what I did hear and for one rare moment, I experienced a sensation of resistance bliss. Overcome by these feelings, I stuck with my well-informed, and connected companion yearning for another hit of this non-conformist-stick-it-to-them-euphoric tingle of what I now recognize, in retrospect, was activism. However, by the time the next opportunity came, a Medicare rally, the sensation was gone.

There I stood among the rushing sea of thousands of steelworkers, meat packers, union leaders, and community activists eagerly scurrying to show their support- their solidarity in the rain. Branded with messages of resistance and tattoos of the same token, these individuals exuded a fire within them that left the elements off balance. I suddenly became self-conscious and very afraid of... my inactivism.

Without a second thought, I removed myself from the scene. I didn't know how to handle my feelings of inadequacy and when asked to choose by my companion, the activist of all student activists, I bailed. The metro (subway) was connected to the building and moved towards it with the quickness, panicked and eager to avoid any familiar faces.

I need to come to terms with my inactivism. When forced, I can speak at and even celebrate at rallies. However, when I'm given the choice, I run for cover. Why? Who knows.

What I do know is that I need a 12-step program, or something like it that really allows me to understand my attachment to the shadows of resistance, rather than the spotlight of solidarity. I talk a good game, but when it's followed up by inactive gestures of resistah-hood, then what's the point?