Rise Like Lions: The Role Of Artists In A Time Of War

In an era when many academics seek safety and comfort by avoiding politics, Howard Zinn stands out as a model of the engaged activist-scholar. His unconventional perspective on U.S. history has made him one of the most beloved figures of the progressive movement.

Zinn grew up in a poor Jewish immigrant family in Brooklyn, New York. He remembers moving a lot when he was a child. “We were always one step ahead of the landlord,” he says. There were no books or magazines in Zinn’s childhood home; the first book he read outside of school was a damaged copy of Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar, which he found in the street. Despite this inauspicious beginning, he was soon a voracious reader. His parents, seeing his interest, clipped coupons from a newspaper offer and ordered him the complete works of Charles Dickens, one book at a time. When he was thirteen, they got him a used Underwood typewriter.

Correspondence

There is a burgeoning movement in the arts toward activism. It insists that we exit our individual boxes, connect with others, and create change as well as art; that self-contemplation is a questionable luxury as the earth drifts toward disaster. I am heartened by this trend, but seem unable to join the movement.

I recently sat on a panel with other artists, most of whom were also activists. One of them proclaimed that it was imperative for artists to stop navel-gazing and look outward. I thought of the self-portrait I was working on, and my guilt mushroomed. I reacted defensively, but inside I felt she was right. Surely I could produce work that was more useful. Had I retreated to the safety of contemplation because I was too scared to assert myself?

I once heard a meditation teacher tell about living at a monastery in Thailand near the Cambodian border during the Vietnam War. A group of American Quakers came to help the war refugees and stayed at the monastery for a week. In the distance could be heard the engines and explosions of war. The Quakers asked the monks, “How can you just sit here meditating when there is so much suffering going on and so much work to be done?” By the end of the week, though, the Quakers understood: this was an island of peace, a living example of how life could be.

I am deeply grateful to the artists whose ideals lead them to activism. We need them desperately. But I also know that through my own work I have healed my heart’s pain. When our inner wounds have healed, we have more energy to volunteer, to organize, to dance.

Kathleen Edwards San Anselmo, California

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July 2004