On playing the game

This was written by Gabe, one of our summer interns. The opinions expressed herein do not reflect those of Civitas other than respect for the value of open dialogue.

the lutheran church changes their sign weekly & “love is kind- show some kindness to a stranger today” & sometimes they are witty & sometimes they are straightforward & sometimes they are wise & i do not know who changes the sign every week & i suppose i do not need to know & it is not the only sign in my neighborhood / but it is the one i love the most & my church has signs too / but they are never signs people like / just ones that tell them what they need to know: “pray for our acts retreatants” / “congratulations first communicants” & “interested in becoming catholic? call today!” among others & i never cared for that sign / probably because i was raised catholic & did not need to read the sign to learn anything new & when i was young i did not understand why the lutherans & the catholics could not just make up & the ninety-five were valid criticisms but the church did fix them eventually & it felt like two different organizations doing the same thing & my grandfather says it is because the lutherans flunked latin class & my lutheran friend says it is because they got it right the first time 

& the churches are not the only ones putting up signs & my neighbors have started to put up their own & all the houses were built with flag holders attached / even though most people never hang anything & one time a gay pride flag showed up / wrapped around itself because of the wind & maybe because it was too embarrassed to be the only flag out & it was not alone for long when the american flag next door went up / as if a challenge & eventually the pride flag did not come out anymore & the american flag lasted only a couple months longer & then the house went on the market & the pride flag left & the american flag popped up again & that was years ago & now the american flag is gone too 

& one time a house found a black lives matter sign / though it was white as the rest of them & the sign went up & came back down within two months when it was stolen on halloween & the house was caked with eggs / begging for a fight & the eggs are gone / but the stains are still there & the black lives matter sign is back too / though it is a replacement / i think the third one so far 

& one time someone spray-painted a penis on the racquetball courts & i liked it–not because it was a penis / or because of its enormity / or because it was red–but because it was new & it was something dangerous & it was something alive & my neighborhood does not feel alive & everyone drives everywhere now & the only people who walk do it to exercise & only do it around francis park & going to the store has become a joke / the ups trucks can navigate just fine / why bother leaving? it is a suburb for people who feel guilty about living in the suburbs & the signs change / but the people do not 

& they painted over the penis within a week 

& there is a bomb in my neighborhood / not all that different from the bomb in gilead & there is a bomb that will blow up & reset the system & it has happened before & it will happen again 

& there is a bomb in gilead & setting it off means we can start over & we can build atop the ash left behind a new world / free from the cancers of an “evil empire” lost to history & we can put up signs at will & not be bullied into submission & we can live 

& there is a bomb in gilead & it is waiting-has been waiting since the beginning of time-for someone to come along & detonate it 

& there is a bomb in gilead & we all want it to go so that gilead is no more & we can go back to the way things were-whatever that means anymore 

& there is a bomb in gilead / but only if you look for it & nothing changes if you do not & change is easier said than done & we all want an apocalypse / zombies / disasters / any chance for the thrillingly mediocre to become a folk legend & we throw ourselves into the movies & games & comment on how much better our plans would have been & we all want to be bold & we all want to be folk heroes & we all want to be protagonists while ignoring that we already are & we have got detonators & live bombs but it is easier to hate things & play the game than it is to change them 

& you set that bomb off & gilead falls apart & everything collapses & we start over / which is all well & good but who loses? who gets trampled underfoot? & who deserved to be trampled underfoot & who tripped & fell & could not make it up in time? & if that march started would you fall underfoot? & are you ready if you fall? because i am not & i doubt most are 

& so we cut our losses & we play the game & we learn what the rules are so we can be sure not to break them & we shut up / look straight & step lightly 

& i am tired of playing the game & i want to shout & march over whatever is underfoot & yet here i am / legs itching to move / detonator in hand & bomb ahead & i have always called myself something of a gentle anarchist / lawful neutrality in action / though i suppose a more precise term is calculated cowardice & that is irrelevant & what is relevant is my inaction & i am excellent at playing the game & i will weasel in & out of situations like a ferret on cocaine 

& i know the rules / so i know what i can do / but more importantly what i cannot & toeing the line in this liminal is exhausting / but it is safe & the signs & voices around me / some soft as whispers & others full-throated shouts / collide over & through me & tell me what to do in a cacophony of noise & some are more influential than others & often the ones i do not want to follow are the biggest & i did not define the circumstances of my birth / nor did i decide fundamental pillars of my life yet i exist in them all the same & i do not know how to rectify the person i am with the person everyone is telling me to be / though perhaps i do not have to & the fear of what could be keeps me from deviating too far from the norm / because once that first step is taken / it must be seen through / regardless of outcome & so why rebel / risk the world you know / risk the people you know / risk the life you know / when you can shut up / look straight & step lightly? i will not be killed if i break the “rules” but i cannot go back if i do & that is far more terrifying than doing nothing & the rules may be broken & i may want out of them / but the rules offer some form of safety & safety is far less scary / no matter what you must give up getting there 

& perhaps the worst part of it all is that sometimes doing nothing can very much feel like doing something & we can pat ourselves on the backs for marching downtown or at the arch grounds or around a building we think is abandoned / where we chant & cheer & talk & cry & sometimes more & sometimes all at once against some oppression or injustice that just so happens to be close enough to smell & in the most abstract ways / i suppose / there is merit behind going to a march ( or vigil or discussion or whatever word they tack onto the end ) but walking around a couple blocks does not change anything & we laud ourselves for doing the right thing-the moral thing-but how moral is it / really? it is far easier to declare what is moral than it is to do moral things & this problem is exacerbated when you find yourself in a morally repugnant sphere / where the right thing to do can be distinctly immoral 

& perhaps the one who spray-painted the penis on the racquetball courts is the same one who makes the signs at the lutheran church / “god’s work / our hands” just like the sign said after all 

& i could shake things up in my neighborhood too & i could really throw the whole system apart & it would be easy / truthfully / i know where the bomb is & i could realign my neighborhood into somewhere i want to stay & live & i distinctly do not & i am tired of playing the game / but i do not want to stop.