By Patrick Woodall (Nathaniel Cox)
I'm afraid I have a little more in common with my character, Nathaniel, than I'm comfortable with. That is, I share probably all of his shortcomings verbally, certainly his lack of economy for language, most of his grandeur of ideas, and, sadly, little of his ultimate and inevitable profundity. All the same, I've been asked to write a few anythings on the dreams and hopes and fears and hopes again that we intend to address in Somewhere Safer. And so, in the tradition of men much greater than myself, I've gotten good and drunk and set myself to typing.
The word I can't seem to shake out of my head for the past few days is "persistence." It's a word easy to find in motivational rhetoric and probably more than a few corny inspirational posters, doubtlessly next to a big-eyed, furry animal in an adorably precarious spot. But it's an idea that finds little practical footing in our breakneck, movie-trailer-paced culture. Which is as much to say as, in a moment of inspired condescension, Dr. Patrick believes we as a society suffer from a bit of ADD. Seriously, though we must. As an extension of logic. Stimuli simply abound from the TV's that boast hundreds of channels (on demand!), to the card-deck-sized windows to the world that live in our pockets and purses. I've no interest in tackling our the cost and benefit of such a rhythm of attention generally, however, I think it's pertinent to note that, at current, our attention is a marketplace with a host of well-equipped competitors. Let's just tuck that away for a moment.
The word I can't seem to shake out of my head for the past few days is "persistence."
Anyway, I read, on my marvelous little world-window (on which I also do crosswords and play fantasy basketball), a comment made by President Obama today. In this instance, he spoke in that way he does from time to time that startles me into remembering that he cares. Honestly. The man can convey true give-a-shit like few others who have sat at that desk. It's easy to take as a given the dulled empathy of those in power; but, on the very same screen that tells me my Thai delivery is on the way, our President found occasion to remind me of something real and notable. That he's devoted his life to affecting change. On purpose. The degree to which he's been successful and the degree to which that success has been "good" for the country is a debate we'll leave for talking heads with a broader reach and sexier segment graphics. But this is a man who has spent most of the waking, working hours of his life trying to make the world, and specifically our nation, better. He's not alone. By no means do I intend to single out our President as unique pillar of civil service. He just happened to be the one who jogged my memory. And that's likely because he was my first love.
Hang in there, I know that was a bit of an All My Children paragraph break. I mean politically. To abridge a not very unusual story, I fell for Senator Barack Obama completely on that magical evening in Boston at the DNC in 2004. He talked about an America I understood. Complete with convictions and contradictions, triumphs and shortcomings, hubris and apprehensions, but most importantly, the irrepressible hunch that we're all somehow better together. And that we can, and indeed must, move forward together toward whatever is next. I was in Central Texas when I heard the future president talk about how "we worship an awesome god in the blue states … and yes, we've got some gay friends in the red states," and I knew he was talking to me. I don't happen to be gay, but as a West Texan who was tired of hearing his native accent only used to drive the kind of wedges between our people that this speech deconstructed, I dug my fingers into the arms of my chair and memorized that man's face. He got it. The idea that we've all got about what we can be. Nathaniel is fond of quoting Whitman, so I will too: “Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.” That happens to be from Song of Myself, but for rhetorical purposes, we'll pretend it's from Song of America (note: not a real thing). It well could be. We're a large land mass with a complicated history encompassing nearly a half a billion people of diverse values and thoughts and dreams and fears. And that can be what makes us great. Or it can be what keeps us from each other.
We're a large land mass with a complicated history encompassing nearly a half a billion people of diverse values and thoughts and dreams and fears.
And here's where persistence comes in. Remember that? I said it a while back, before I got all sentimental about a campaign that sort of started nine years ago. In my defense, I also mentioned our collective attention issues before embodying them accidentally and completely. In any case, I followed that man's rise to the Presidency with vigor and verve and avid podcast listenership. I joined email lists and regularly called my representatives and buried myself in the fever of hope that overtook the electoral majority in 2008. And since then, not so much. It's not that I haven't regularly read the news or even phoned my congresswoman. I have. But I've also had jobs and vacations and family events and the Mavericks won a championship (the last of which, I'm not ashamed to say, consumed at least a full month of my undivided attention), which is fine. In fact, it's normal. It's life. It can be relied on to occur. But as my life happened, this guy I fell for once took office and tried to keep a monsoon going as the storm died down. And, depending on the news climate of the week and what's showing in theaters, I may or may not have the time to keep abreast. I may even care enough about a given issue to click my signature onto moveon.org. Or sign Barack's birthday card on a lonely afternoon. But, like the twilight of a first love, it's just not the same.
...a cacophony of noise never did anything but make things harder for folks who like to dictate how things should be done.
Here's the truth though, avid readers who have made it through my over-long sentences until now: this is the part they all waited for. I'm going to use "they" here to mean anyone who stands to gain from things staying exactly as they are. I mean the very broadest definition of corporatist, sub-human, successfully lobbied interests. "They" are very real and much more effectively and thoroughly defined elsewhere, so I'll stick to pronouns. When we were the loudest and most interested and dissatisfied and Will-I-Am tore youtube to shreds, "they" were saying, "just wait, they'll get distracted." When Occupy demanded rational examination of distribution, "they" sat tight and waited. Then they exerted potent and persistent interest like only the professionally interested can. Or so "they" think. Yeah, that reads like the worst Rage Against the Machine line ever not written. What of it? The point is, to this young and easily romanced, slightly sauced citizen, that a cacophony of noise never did anything but make things harder for folks who like to dictate how things should be done. We have an unprecedented marriage of right and ability to stir shit up. On youtube and twitter and blogs and books and stages. I hope that's exactly what we do with Somewhere Safer. I hope we continue to fill the many microphones available to us with all our questions and demands and visions. It's when the voices and the noise die down, and the siren song of silent contentment drowns out the hunch that we can be better, that we're losing to those who lie wait for our passive acquiescence. Here's a radical thought: can we outlast them? Can we be so, cloyingly persistent that we carry debates and bill passages and elections on the waves of our unceasing racket? I feel like it's worthy finding out. Since I'm not in fact Nathaniel, I can reach outside Whitman and leave you with Public Enemy:
"Bring the noise, it's the moment they feared.
Harder than you think, it's still a beautiful idea."
Patrick Woodall plays speechwriter Nathaniel Cox in Somewhere Safer, which opens August 11th as part of the 2013 NYC International Fringe Festival. Find out more about the play or buy tickets here.
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