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Resistance and Renewal for Ordinary People
Simon J. Ortiz
© 2004A poem especially for my children, grandchildren, and friends
One of these days I want to say to my children, Hey, there was no war this year!
One of these days I want to say to my friends, Hey, there was no war this year!
And without sarcasm or chagrin or irony-no, no, none of that-but only with true sincerity and joyfulness, they will say, Yes, yes, it is wonderful and it feels so good there was no war this year! And they will smile, laugh, and chirp with happiness! Yes, I swear, one of these days I will not be a pointless optimist or useless dreamer!
My daughter Sara graduated this spring with an IAIA two-year degree in Fine Arts. She is a fine writer and poet, and she is a mentor to younger writers and poets. I am very happy for her as she continues her way toward fulfilling her dreams.
Stah Baabah Krista graduated 8th grade this spring too; now she is in high school. Her mother Rainy, my daughter, is excited about her growing oldest daughter as they both face, just like the rest of us, the hard world we have to face today.
My youngest grandchild was born in October in San Francisco to her happy parents who had been wanting a child for a number of years and now she was finally born. Kaash-tyaa'tsi, I named her. Rainbow. A name to brighten the horizon after rain.
Chayson, one of my grandsons, Rainy said, was thrilled about being able to see his breath on recent cold mornings! He was happy, his mother said, to make clouds! Yes, so happy to be alive, like little growing boys should always and always be!
One of my dearest, oldest friends, Peg, got back from Mongolia this early December. She and I have had some differences about U.S. policy and its huge negative impact upon the world as she continues, in her own way, to counter its negative results.
Another friend, Daniel, a young Native professor, is eagerly looking forward to 2005 and publication of his book on the Cherokee struggle and its literature of resistance. I am happy for him and his enthusiasm for the good, necessary work he is doing. And a Tucson friend, Stephanie, just bought a house, and she is fairly happy about it even though it is styled, she says, "ala Santa Fe!" And even though just a month ago she barely escaped being terribly injured in an accident that totaled her car. And Jean, another friend, also a relatively new home buyer, though she may disagree with a capitalist system that's more an entrapment system than anything else, grew a wonderful garden this summer with corn, beets, chile, potatoes, squash, and more!
Ordinary people, ordinary lives, ordinary children, grandchildren, and friends who have dreams and optimism and hopes that, yes, sometimes, yes, sometimes, may feel pointless, useless, hopeless because of the hard times that've come about.
Dear children, grandchildren, friends, we must not lose hope and we must not give up. As an Aacqumeh hah-truudzai, a man who is father, grandfather, and friend, I know we need strength and endurance-more than anything else we need this more than ever. In the Aacqumeh cultural world, vigorous renewal of ourselves is of utmost importance. Our good dreams and undying optimism are not pointless and they are not useless at all. No matter what, we must resist and struggle against what will weaken and steal our hope. My children and grandchildren, like your children and grandchildren, all surely deserve to know a time when there will be no fear, no loss, no tension, no turmoil, no more war. My friends, like your friends, truly deserve to also know a time when at long last, there will be no fear, no loss, no tension, no turmoil, no war, when there will be true renewal. Yes, we have the strength, endurance, courage, and the dreams and optimism we need to resist war and continue the struggle to reaffirm our good, ordinary lives so that, yes, everyone, even the most ordinary person such as me, at last will have true renewal.