One Voice

I was listening to a song.  I don't remember the name or artist, but there was a line about how a single voice in a sea of voices could make a difference.  President Obama said something similar in his 2008 campaign - If one voice can change a room, it can change a city... and so on until it changes the world. 

Chalk it up to middle-aged cynicism or just my mood today, but I immediately dismissed this idea as naive.  I like the song and I appreciate its inspirational sentiment.  But this artist's intended audience is probably adolescent girls facing peer pressure and a life of possibilities rather than powerful, entrenched interest groups who are highly motivated to maintain the status quo. 

What is a single voice in the face of that?

The other side of my brain immediately went to work answering that question.  I am often of two minds for a bit.  It makes for lively internal debate.  What about all of history's dissidents and revolutionaries and whistle-blowers, I countered.  What about Martin Luther King?  He was one man, but only the most prominent voice in a much greater movement that outlived him.  What about Nelson Mandela?  Again, a determined, unifying, persuasive mouthpiece for a greater popular movement.  What about Aung San Suu Kyi in Myanmar?  I could go on.  These people risked everything, spoke truth to power, and helped usher in nationwide transformations.

Then the image of "Tank Man" popped into my head.  That is the name given to the courageous, iconic, unidentified man who stood down a column of Chinese tanks rolling toward Tiananmen Square during the 1989 student protests in Beijing.

What an image.  Could it be any more symbolic of what was at stake?  One simple man in simple clothes dwarfed by a machine of war backed by the might of one of the world's last remaining super powers.

And look what he has in his hands.  Just bags.  He's not holding a sign.  He doesn't have a weapon.  He has no visible symbol of protest anywhere on his person.  There is absolutely nothing about him that makes you think he had anything to do with the student agitators in Tiananmen Square.  I imagine that he was just an unsophisticated every man on the way home from the grocery store who witnessed something his conscience couldn't ignore and he literally took a stand against it.  Nearly 14 years later, that image is just as moving and just as powerful.

Isn't that one voice making a difference?

Let's consider that.  14 years later, the Chinese Communist Party remains one of the very few totalitarian Communist regimes to survive beyond the early 90s.  China is more powerful and influential - militarily, economically, politically - than it has ever been.  It's biggest export partner is the world's only other remaining super-power, the self-declared champion of democracy. 

And what of Tank Man?  Neither his identity nor fate can be definitively identified.  If he is alive, it's unclear if he even knows of his own international renown as all discussion of the '89 Protests is forbidden and information of the events is censored within China to this day. 

So, can one voice transform to world?  Undeniably.  I am a jaded, somewhat pessimistic atheist, but would our world be the same without the Buddha, Jesus, Moses, Lao Tzu, Muhammad, Confucius? 

I'll niggle on one fine point, though.  It may be nothing more than semantics, but it seems to me that it is not the singular voice that transforms the world but rather the countless listeners who change themselves.  If a man shouts fire in a burning building, he cannot save a single soul if the listeners do not get up and save themselves.  His voice only has consequence when it moves others into action.

I'll leave you with another photo of Tank Man.  This gives the moment new perspective, revealing just how stunningly bold it was for this small man abandon caution and confront the machine.  Change is coming very slowly to China.  We can hope this man's defiant example will someday bear fruit, if not in China then hopefully here at home. 

Short Story Published - Nature's Way at FatCityReview.com

It's a strong start to 2013 for me.  My first published short story, Nature's Way, makes its debut in FatCityReview today.  Alongside Dostoevski, no less.

I've had essays published in the past.  I even wrote a monthly column for a few years.  But this marks my first piece of published fiction.  I recently decided to emerge from my writing cloister and begin to share my work with more than a small circle of fellow writers and, in so doing, see how far I can take this.

For a few years, friends and family have occasionally asked to see some of my work and, in most cases, I've been reluctant.  I write about many things in many ways.  While I always try to explore the truths of the human condition, some of my work is warm & touching but much of it is dark & violent. 

It's also hard to ever feel a piece is good enough.  It's hard to know when it's finished.  This story, Nature's Way, was revised a fair bit after submission in multiple rounds of collaboration with the FatCityReview fiction editor.  Even then, the very day they informed me it was accepted for the January issue, I thought of three scenes I wanted to revise for greater impact.  Then there is choosing a title that is fitting without giving anything away.  And settling on an appropriate piece of artwork to accompany the piece (the picture below of wild grass emerging through snow was one of seven I suggested to FatCityReview and not the one they ultimately selected).

Alas, life in the end is about choice and sometimes you have to choose to be done even if you're not sure the work is finished.

The Fat City Review - Nature's Way by Matthew Swope

Nature's Way is a short story about a man who has, for various reasons, retreated from civilization into the wilderness.  There, he confronts the stark contrast between modern man's constructed order and the savage indifference of the wilderness:

Nature was an unforgiving mother who sorted all her children into two categories, the cautious and the dead.  You observe and you learn.  Or you die and others learn from your failure.

And, while man always struggles with the external world for survival, mankind's ultimate struggle is always with himself:

It wasn’t what lurked beyond the firelight that threatened to annihilate him, but what lurked within.

Fair warning - If you've read any of my poignant family stories, this is definitely not one of those.  It's also worth making passing mention that this is fiction.  I am the author of the story, but I am not my characters any more than Jack London was a Canadian sled dog or Tolkien was a hairy-footed Hobbit.

Enough with the caveats.  Enjoy the story.  If you like, please don't hesitate to comment and share this with a wider audience.  If you don't like it, maybe next time.  Link below.

Now, it's back to the keyboard with me.


The Fat City Review - Nature's Way by Matthew Swope