The center will not hold

The revolution will not be televised

You will not be able to stay home, brother
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag
And skip out for beer during commercials, because
The revolution will not be televised

The revolution will not be right back
After a message about a white tornado
White lightning, or white people
You will not have to worry about a dove in your bedroom
The tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl
The revolution will not go better with Coke
The revolution will not fight germs that may cause bad breath
The revolution will put you in the driver’s seat
The revolution will not be televised
Will not be televised
Will not be televised
Will not be televised
The revolution will be no re-run, brothers
The revolution will be live

I am excerpting from Gil Scott-Heron’s extraordinary poem and song recorded in 1970 during a moment in time that in some ways was entirely different than now. And in some ways just the same. The poem is about racial inequality, about anger, about taking to the streets. It is about action. Change happens not from a distance. We don’t watch it on a screen. Or follow it on Twitter. It unfolds, as Scott-Heron writes, live.

For me, “live” doesn’t necessarily mean in the streets, although that is good too. Good for, as they say, “optics.” Optics are good for a news cycle or two. Or even a month or two. But what endures is what happens away from the cameras, in the trenches. In the trenches is the hard, grinding work of systemic reform, of changing policies, of enacting legislation with teeth, of reformulating budgets, of supporting and electing leaders with integrity, compassion and vision. (By that latter I don’t just mean “vote.” I mean work for–or become–a leader, a listener, a policymaker who can make a difference.)

In the trenches is where we rethink our collective definition of “to serve and protect.” It is where we do the sweaty work of confronting and learning from the past, opening our eyes (and hearts) to the present and learning to become what we are capable of becoming: A people who care about each other. An inclusive, egalitarian democracy.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand…
(William Butler Yeats, 1920)