Monday Prompt

Challenge Authority? Moi? Let Me Count the Ways!

I’ve marched and sat in, spoken out, and even given satire a spin.

I’m basically a good little girl with an attitude problem.

I don’t like conflict. I’m happy to know what the rules are and stay within the guidelines. I don’t wanna cause no trouble, not if I can help it!

But sometimes, I just can’t help it. When things aren’t fair, when there’s any kind of injustice, the status quo has got to go — as we used to chant.

Whether it’s my militaristic, patriarchal father ragging on women, blacks, and gays, or Nixon, Reagan, Bush, and Trump doing the same things on a national/global scale, I gotta at least speak out. Or there’s no sleep for me. (No wonder I have insomnia, right?)

Now, like most diligent twelve-steppers, I’ll be the first to recommend acceptance. Page 449 of the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous: Acceptance is the key to all my problems today…etc.

And doesn’t the serenity prayer implore God to grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change? I pretty much have my hands full changing the things I can — me, myself, and I!

But I was a lefty before I landed my butt in recovery. Speaking out, marching, protesting, even civil disobedience populate my playbook. And for the most part, I’m glad.

My friend over in San Francisco, another fellow traveler cum recovering addict, has her own version of the serenity prayer: God, grant me the courage to change the things I can’t accept! Makes sense, right?

Standing up to my dad was scary.

I did it anyway. We’d be watching the evening news over dinner — not a good idea. When the Vietnam protest demonstrations came on, my dad would thrust a peace sign in my face — why mine, who knows — and yell.

Is this the peace they want? Is this the peace they want?

My early responses were along the lines of, no, Daddy. They want you to stop dropping napalm on women and children in Southeast Asia.

That only took the focus off the TV set and put it on me. Not fun. He never hit me, but his rageaholism was spooky enough that I stopped provoking it. And my mom nixed TV during dinner.

My protestations did not go away. They took on other forms.

It just so happened that my dad taught ROTC — Reserve Officers Training Core on the state college campus of our town. I went away to another state college in another town in the same state, Ohio.

When Nixon mined the Hai Phong harbor, extending the war into Cambodia, I sat in and got arrested along with 76 fellow students. Needless to say, my dad was not happy. He said this means you don’t love me.

No Daddy. It means I want them to stop mining the Hai Phong harbor and dropping napalm on women and children.

Those protests had a huge impact, but it still took three more years before the peace accords were signed in Paris. And 282,000 U.S. soldiers’ deaths, not to mention over a million Southeast Asian lives.

With age comes maturity.

Actually, for me, with age comes timidity!

Between the virus, the jumpy police, and my weakened endurance, I did not march in the recent Black Lives Matter protests, except one. That was a candlelight vigil at Lake Merritt, where we kept six feet apart. This is my new speed.

Though I am happy to put on my pussy hat and join the Women’s Marches. I live within walking distance of the parade route. And I can go at my own, much slowed, pace. As long as it’s not too hot, too far, and too rough.

Fortunately, there are many ways to challenge authority.

We need them all. Taking to the streets is great. It draws attention to the issue, ensures media coverage and discussion, and keeps the issue alive for a lot longer.

But in the case of racially-based police killings, we also need legislative changes, educational forums, and visionaries crafting new ways to provide public safety with minimal use of force and maximal use of creative ingenuity.

We need people speaking out on a variety of platforms, including our very own one here on Medium. I was very impressed with the depth and breadth of discussion after George Floyd was murdered. Even President Obama posted! Unlike you and I, he got 10K claps on day one!

While it’s not a direct challenge to authority, we started a book study at my church last July. Since then, we’ve read White Fragility by Robin D’Angelo, My Grandmother’s Hands, by Rasma Menakem, and currently, Born a Crime by Trevor Noah.

We also watched a riveting PBS documentary — Driving While Black. I’m pleased to report that our numbers have stayed steady, if not grown.

While reading and discussing books and films is not direct action, it does prepare us to be informed allies, better able to challenge white supremacy on various fronts.

When all else fails, try humor!

Or satire.

A huge chunk of my posts on MuddyUm, and elsewhere are satirical stabs at authority. After all, satire is defined as the comedy of outrage. Traditionally, the court jesters and fools were the only ones who could speak truth to power without losing their heads.

Check out the Fool in Shakespeare’s King Lear. Or even better, Feste in Twelfth Night.

When I joined Medium, Trump was president. So I mostly speak from the experience of writing about him and his actions. All I can say is, it’s almost too easy. He’s a spoof of himself.

He gives us writers lots of material, from the hair to the hands to the tweets, to the temper tantrums, and so on.

But I drew the line with diapers.

They were making fun of #45 for his incontinence, his drug-induced poopy drawers. Which I felt was not fair — hitting him below the belt as it were.

And since many folks suffer from incontinence and use reinforced disposable undergarments, I wanted to set the record straight. Hence my piece: One Should not be Shamed for Wearing a Diaper, but it all Depends.

In it, I make it clear that while there’s plenty to shame the Donald about, and I certainly got in my digs, being incontinent is not one of them. In so doing, I used every doo-doo, caca pun I could muster. Still, I drew the panty line at the mean-spirited antics of the poo-pooers on #DiaperDonald.

They say you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Similarly, I believe we can change more minds with laughter than with vitriol. So even though it’s only one weapon in the arsenal, it’s one I’m enjoying honing and using.

So between my brain, my eyes, my fingers, and my feet, look for me on the march, behind a book, or at the keyboard. Find me there pulling the metaphorical pants off those misusing power through the medium of my magical maniacal musings of the satirical sort.

James Madhlope Phillips was arrested under South African Apartheid for ‘inciting the people to sing.’ If I were to get arrested for ‘inciting the people to laugh,’ I would plead quietly and hope to be convicted!

Thank you, 𝘋𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘊. for this amazing prompt!

Marilyn Flower writes political humor and satire to delight socially and spiritually conscious folks. She’s a regular columnist for the prison newsletter, Freedom Anywhere, where she writes about faith and prayer. Five of her short plays have been produced in San Francisco. Clowning and improvisation strengthen her resolve during these crazy times. Stay in touch!