Deep Solidarity
Ric Hudgens is a pastor at North Suburban Mennonite Church and an adjunct lecturer at North Park Theological Seminary
Over the first several months of the COVID-19 Pandemic, Wendland-Cook brought together 10 academic and activist voices to address the economic, theological, international, racial and labor intersections of this global crisis. To see the entire forum, click here.
Deep Solidarity
Ric Hudgens
May 12, 2020
As of May 1, 2020, there were 30 million officially unemployed in the United States. That’s about 20% of an estimated 165 million labor force. The New York Times reports that number could be higher: “A study by the Economic Policy Institute found that roughly 50 percent more people than counted as filing claims in a recent four-week period may have qualified for benefits but were stymied in applying or didn’t even try because they found the process too formidable.”
During the U.S. Great Depression, there were 15 million unemployed, about 25% of the eligible workforce.
At the time when I write this, over 60,000 have now died as a direct result of COVID-19. But that’s also an under-counted estimate as there are indications that some states are intentionally not keeping an exact count. ABC News reported that the number might be off by tens of thousands.
In the Vietnam War, more than 58,300 members of the U.S. armed forces were killed or went missing in action. (But for further perspective I should note that 200-250,000 South Vietnamese died).
And although stay-at-home restrictions end April 30, they have not been revised in 45 days. We have no idea where we are on this indefinite timeline.
This morning I recalled Miss Clavel in the Madeline books, who often sensed that “Something is not right.” Even Cassandra is unemployed because everyone (well, almost everyone) can see that things are very, very bad.
Recently, I finished teaching an ecology-related course where we looked at a recent debate between two climate crisis thinkers on how we should be approaching the societal changes that need to take place.
Two years ago, Jem Bendell from the University of Cumbria in the U.K. wrote a widely disseminated paper entitled “Deep Adaptation: A Map for Navigating Climate Tragedy.” Bendell’s thesis is that from now on, we must assume a complete societal collapse is the inevitable result of our current ecological trajectory.
Jeremy Lent made a “deep transformation” response, arguing that to assume collapse was to undercut our motivation to make the necessary personal and societal changes that might avoid this collapse.
Although both thinkers might be considered advocates for what Joanna Macy has encouraged us to call “the great turning,” they approach this calling in very different ways. But what my students noticed was how thin those responses were. Thick elements of our society, such as power, justice, race, class, or gender, were absent from their analyses.
The pandemic is demonstrating how crises like this do not unite us, but further divide us. They are like a wedge driven into and expanding our society’s existing cracks.
The myopia of these “deep” perspectives is also seen in our government. Workers being ordered back to work despite the risks to their health. The speed with which COVID is sweeping through the prison system, devastating neglected tribal communities, increasing the oppression of African-American communities, and most threatening those least likely to get this government’s attention.
So proposals to adapt or transform can be superficial, color blind, and whether intentionally or not, cruel. Both Bendell and Lent are fond of the adjective “deep.” Deep implies that we are looking below the surface of things, underneath the headlines, behind the lies and distractions that suffocate our compassion and solidarity.
If we want to keep the adjective “deep” and go deep, we need to think of “deep solidarity.” Deep solidarity is the term used by theologian Joerg Rieger to go beyond both charity and advocacy.
This crisis is making it easier to see where we are divided and where we are on common ground. We are seeing that the essential workers are not corporate executives, Wall Street traders, or celebrities Instagramming from their retreats. The real foundation of our lives is not what we are led to believe.
I have written before that we are not all in this together unless we are all in this together. Seeing how “front-line workers” are being both praised and discriminated against should enrage us, stir our compassion, and activate something more than just sympathy.
Deep solidarity calls us to see what is going on around us, our shared circumstances, the diseased roots that are making all of us weaker. “The ask is simple,” Rieger writes, “when it comes to deep solidarity: become aware of it, experiment with it, explore it at various levels and above all, resist any efforts to be divided and conquered once again.” (J Rieger & Rosemarie Henkel-Rieger, “Deep Solidarity: Broadening the Basis of Transformation”)
One specific example we can all support: workers from Amazon, Instacart, Whole Foods, Walmart, Target, and FedEx planned a General Strike on May 1. They protested their employers’ record profits at the expense of their health and safety.
I hope you supported them by not shopping at those stores on Friday, May 1. I hope you did not cross the picket lines.
These workers and those in hospitals are the essential workers helping keep us safe. They are our allies. We should be theirs.
We shouldn’t have to live in a society that depends upon division rather than unity. But we should know by now that solidarity comes from the bottom, not the top. Those up above don’t give a damn about us. They will sacrifice our lives to protect business-as-usual. We should join this virus in declaring an end to business-as-usual.
We must adapt. We need to transform. But most of all, we need solidarity. A deep solidarity.
This blog was first published on Ric Hudgens’s blog on April 30, 2020 at: http://www.medium.com/@rdhudgens