Her slap says to her child: "I AM MASTER, YOU ARE SLAVE!"

FUCK HER UP THE ASS.

Deep in the heart of the red state that claims the current occupant of the White House is a lovely little pocket park next to a small community library. The park, a nice mix of jungle gyms, quiet ground-carpeting pines, and picnic tables, was practically deserted yesterday at noon; it's just too freakin' hot to spend much time outdoors lately.

A colleague and I, two often-lonely progressives in a bidness-centric office where Fox News runs continuously on the monitors, showed up at the park in response to Anne Lamott's gentle, kindly call for a revolution. We saw two women with Starbucks cups at another table and my colleague, whose shyness is legendary, volunteered to ask if they were there for the same reason we were.

Turns out they hadn't heard the call, but once they found out about it they were all for it. We sat down for a chat. I placed on the table a couple of largely symbolic but organic bananas (they're only now becoming available here) and we started to talk.

They aren't rigidly conservative; in fact, they'd been feeling isolated and uncertain too, concerned about the drift of the public discourse and its grim real-world consequences. Our conversation ranged from hybrid cars to global warming to non-polluting utilities to what a shame it was that Israel and Lebanon had gone back to shooting at one another to gay marriage to the other lonesome, marginalized liberals we knew, people whose commitment to ecological responsibility and social justice didn't seem to be reflected in anything the U.S. was doing at the moment. An hour sped past, and as we were getting ready to go, we exchanged contact information with our new corevolutionaries. One of them asked, half joking and half anxiously, "You guys really are here, right? You're not a figment of my imagination?"

Tonight, to prove my corporeality, I sent her a couple of links, one of which was to Ms. Lamott's original essay.

So it's on, the revolution, in a most unexpected place, but quietly and politely and with bananas, as Ms. Lamott envisioned.

I'll be wearing green, and will be eating PBandJ's and I'll bring extra Diet Cokes.

I am broke right now, but if anyone has any extra money, I can float it to the Friends of the Lafayette Library.

In my e-mail today I had an invitation to wear green to the Lamont Revolution 7/14, (a picnic at my church, First Unitarian in Madison WI) and a note that the "silent majority" should "wear Red every Friday" to support the troops. As the mother of a marine currently serving in Iraq, I'll be a little like a Christmas tree. I want a different direction for this country. I support my son and his buddies; but that doesn't mean I support George Bush.

I often ask myself a similar question to the one she poses, "what will I tell my children when they ask what I did while democracy, liberty and all things green died at the hands of fascism?" I want to tell them that I fought, I screamed. I need to scream! Don't you?

I recently remarked to my partner after seeing the moving "V for Vendetta" (in which the hero incites a revolution against totalitarianism) that it only made me sad to witness such a stance against evil because I no longer believe that we are capable of such a demonstration. I used to believe that revolutions changed things; I have to when I look at the protests of my parent’s generation. However, as TV has slowly drained the life, sense of justice and anger out of this once fiercely rebellious generation, I cry that they did not teach us to dissent.

The previous generations are not solely to blame for the political climate because their offspring are, for the most part, past the age of responsibility. We are adults now, but we have our own set of issues. My generation (somewhere on the boarder of X and Y) could be called Generation Passive-aggressive. We sit brooding. We know the world is a heartbroken, unwholesome and generally fucked-up place, but to show that outwardly would violate some unspoken code that dictates politeness and avoidance of awkward situations at all costs. We wouldn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. Now all of us, young and old, sit quietly discontent with the status quo, afraid to make waves, so we make ripples instead, hoping no one will take notice.

Take notice!

I apologize to those of you who do fight, farm and love. Some of you are trying to raise consciousness and hope. You have not failed. I feel especially inspired by all I know who are learning to grow their own food and a friend of mine that recently organized an anti-war demonstration at my university. That takes great courage, and it touches people. We cannot stop there though—we must continue to enkindle.

I’ll be in Sonoma County, California, on July 14; won't you join me. I am calling on the generation responsible for so many positive changes in the 60s and 70s to be there, to teach us, to love us. Let us meet at local libraries, wear green, and sing songs like Lamott suggests. Let us leave the cell phones at home and bring fruit to share. Most of all let’s be kind and loving to all we encounter that day and everyday for that is the best way to affect change in the world.

Peace,

Jess

I'm thinkin' we need to call an end to re-volving all this stuff. Would you consider a we'volution on July 14th (ask Sam)? I know you probably don't like the "w" idea though "WE" could (shall) overcome that day. Or if we simply remove the "R" and have a green "E'volution...mother would like that.

In regards to honoring your father and we'viving our America, would you consider "a call" (a bird call of sorts) to build birdhouses that exemplify our dreams and diversity? Of course, we would take it birdhouse by birdhouse (overwhelmed... it seems only natural to honor the advice of your father)... perhaps starting with the "forgotten" 9th Ward? In front of our collective installation, we could place a white picket fence with our shoes tied-together, dangling with offerings of truths, hopes and solutions.

I don't know, maybe even display a boat, "The USA "W" ", something with a huge "W"hole in it and ask for solutions, even solidarity in helping fix it.

Much like the AIDS quilt, if "We" all work on our piece (our birdhouse, our shoes, our boats), it will act as a moving installation of solidarity which will speak louder than our silence or words.

What d'ya think? I'm free...and starting to sing, "working on a building, it's a new foundation," (ask Ann J. to sing at church)...St. Andrews could be the hub (ask Veronica). Models are in the kind, angelic, wings...waiting.

Call or write. I'm thinkin' we could start now and display on July 14th in a kind protest. And of course, we'd have brand, spanking, new welcome mats around us.