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Again and again Roy asks powerful, paradigmatic questions: "Can we leave the bauxite in the mountain?" "How deep shall we dig?" She reminds us of this shared summit, this sacred peak worthy of endless struggle and ultimate sacrifice: human dignity—timeless, sacrosanct, and unmuddied by the idols of extraction/empire or corporate-nationalism. She quotes Dr. King who named the "triple, interrelated evils" of empire—racism, economic exploitation, and the problem of war—and demonstrates in case after case the continued relevance of his assessment.
A few notes/essential reminders/lessons from this text, which to me feels really more like a manual to revisit and a guide to thinking through what it means to live in Empire:
1. That crisis reportage polarizes, unmoors and isolates individual events from their complex history, and diverts our attention from the real crises of quiet dispossession, the creeping violation of dignity, and the "unrelenting daily grind of injustice" that, in addition to causing astronomical harm, slowly and endlessly distance oppressed and oppressor further and further from one another as "neo-liberalism drives its wedge between the rich and the poor" worldwide.
2. That for most people in our world, peace is war. How easily and how often do we forget? That structural violences (institutionalized inequities) create an "endless crisis of normality." Importantly, we must "lose our terror of the mundane." We must focus on the ordinary, the everyday: on food, water, shelter, dignity, and "the policies and processes that make [them]...such a distant dream for ordinary people."
3. That Empire is inherently paranoid, filled with a kind of nervous insecurity that stems from a covering-of-the-Truth and spills over into endless acts of paranoid aggression. That its obsession with defense (offense) stems from its unending (deserved) terror, its ultimate exposure, its artificially wrought sense of safety: what Roy calls the "soft underbelly" of an Empire whose "economic outposts are," of course, "exposed and vulnerable." What does true safety look like, and where is it rooted? Another indirect but crucial question that echoes through the text.
Often Roy's questions sat heavy on this reader's chest—especially now, reading her in this global moment. How can one possibly live in Empire and do no harm—let alone start to right its mindbending wrongs? But in oases of clarity I felt heartened by the text's call to grounded action, to attention and prayerful devotion to the ordinary, to rivers and clinics and schools and farms. Oh, may we see things as they are; may we Remember when we forget; may we rise gracefully to the challenge of this discernment; may we serve body and soul, body and soul; may we be forgiven as we carry on in the heart of empire.
A few notes/essential reminders/lessons from this text, which to me feels really more like a manual to revisit and a guide to thinking through what it means to live in Empire:
1. That crisis reportage polarizes, unmoors and isolates individual events from their complex history, and diverts our attention from the real crises of quiet dispossession, the creeping violation of dignity, and the "unrelenting daily grind of injustice" that, in addition to causing astronomical harm, slowly and endlessly distance oppressed and oppressor further and further from one another as "neo-liberalism drives its wedge between the rich and the poor" worldwide.
2. That for most people in our world, peace is war. How easily and how often do we forget? That structural violences (institutionalized inequities) create an "endless crisis of normality." Importantly, we must "lose our terror of the mundane." We must focus on the ordinary, the everyday: on food, water, shelter, dignity, and "the policies and processes that make [them]...such a distant dream for ordinary people."
3. That Empire is inherently paranoid, filled with a kind of nervous insecurity that stems from a covering-of-the-Truth and spills over into endless acts of paranoid aggression. That its obsession with defense (offense) stems from its unending (deserved) terror, its ultimate exposure, its artificially wrought sense of safety: what Roy calls the "soft underbelly" of an Empire whose "economic outposts are," of course, "exposed and vulnerable." What does true safety look like, and where is it rooted? Another indirect but crucial question that echoes through the text.
Often Roy's questions sat heavy on this reader's chest—especially now, reading her in this global moment. How can one possibly live in Empire and do no harm—let alone start to right its mindbending wrongs? But in oases of clarity I felt heartened by the text's call to grounded action, to attention and prayerful devotion to the ordinary, to rivers and clinics and schools and farms. Oh, may we see things as they are; may we Remember when we forget; may we rise gracefully to the challenge of this discernment; may we serve body and soul, body and soul; may we be forgiven as we carry on in the heart of empire.