What’s your manifesto?

Do you have a manifesto?

This week I read that Chris Dorner, the LA police officer who sought revenge by killing some people, had a manifesto. “Like the Unabomber,” wrote the news reporter. Manifestos aren’t only about destruction, you know, though they seem to get a bad rap. They can give us focus. They can speak our heart’s lovely desires and our life’s creative purposes.

Some time ago, a friend was in professional transition, and asked me to help her draft her “elevator speech,” the one she would use anytime she was able to steal 30-60 seconds with someone who might have a job connection. More recently, I was asked to write a faith statement, something I could tell to anyone who asked.Lift Every Voice and Sing

Then, in typography class this week, we were assigned to choose 80 or more words that mattered to us – song, poem, speech, whatever — and integrate them into a design. Mostly it’s a about learning to work with type, but I found the biggest challenge in choosing the 80+ words.

I considered “this land is your land,” by Woody Guthrie, especially the verses we don’t sing. Know this one?

One bright sunny morning in the shadow of the steeple
By the Relief Office I saw my people —
As they stood hungry, I stood there wondering if
This land was made for you and me.

(I think it’d make a dandy, way more singable, national anthem.)

Next, I thought of “here’s to the crazy ones” (which may be Jack Kerouac, Steve Jobs, some folks in the marketing department at Apple, or somebody else altogether); I considered the Ira Glass thing on not giving up, and Anne Lamotte’s irreverent reverence. I thought of “Passover Remembered,” by Alla Renee Bozarth, with its raw images of what freedom can do to a person and to relationships; I often read it in worship during our poverty events at UrbanSpirit. I pondered the UN’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and excerpts from any number of books I’ve read – Goad, Ehrenreich, Krugman, Kozol.  Poets and preachers, from Jackson Browne to Jeremiah Wright; Holly Near and others in the “women’s music” genre who were early influences for me. (“It takes every muscle in my heart to dance at our revolution, but I’m dancing, Emma.”) I thought about Sojourner Truth, Jesus, theologians, scripture, and the psalms and prophets that move me. There’s a lot to consider!

Finally, I landed on the words of the hymn by James Weldon Johnson, “Lift Every Voice and Sing.” Sometimes called the Black national anthem, it is a liberation song. So, for this assignment, I set it into the symbols of the gay community — symbols of Nazi genocide, burned into our psyches as they were carved into our forearms, symbols that we only later claimed as our empowerment. I also hear these words speak powerfully to the never-ending struggle for economic human rights; they move me, often to tears.

This song I’ve chosen isn’t my manifesto, exactly, and it isn’t my elevator speech, but it does call me to consider who I am, where I came from and what I want my life to be about.

My classmates in typography at Ivy Tech SoFAD are an interesting bunch of folks. We are all white, and mostly from Louisville/Southern Indiana, but we come from multiple generations and circumstances, and bear our varied perspectives on the world. They educate me; I hope I do the same for them. I’m asking them to post their choices, and offer a word or thought about how they decided.

I’m asking you, as well: what moves you? What would your “80 or so” words be? If you’re willing, add yours — or a link — in the comment section.

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About Deb Conrad
I’m Deb Conrad, pastor, teacher, photographer, writer, antique-lover, cat-mom, wine-drinker and old-house-seeker. I have a bike by Burley and knees by Stryker. I play guitar marginally, bowl when I can. I live in Flint, Michigan, with previous lives in SC, NJ, PA, MD, Washington DC, TX, CA and KY. I founded and still help run UrbanSpirit, a poverty education center in Louisville (link below), where I meet interesting people and try to do what I can to change the world. I'm pastor of Woodside Church in Flint, a groovy place if ever there was one.

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