Tag Archives: politics

Fear and other motivations…

Since our most recent blockade at the Atomic Weapons Establishment at Burghfield last week, I’ve been thinking a lot again about fear, stress, and what it is that guides and motivates us. On our way to the base, I was feeling particularly nervous – the combination of the practical things that needed to happen to make our action work well, combined with the potential legal penalties made for a rich cocktail that fed fear and nerves, and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one feeling that way! Fear can be pernicious and I’ve found one of it’s little tactics is found in the desire to ‘find a way out’ can be powerful; the little voice saying “you don’t have to do this, you don’t have to be here, it’s OK to bail out…” can sometimes be making a lot of sense, but it can also be a voice driven by fear.

On that journey, driving through the Berkshire countryside at half past six in the morning, I found myself looking for a source of motivation, of something to be guided by that wasn’t stress, fear, or even determination and desire to be effective (whose counterpoint is the fear of being ineffective) – I was looking for something that put the action we were about to take into a wholly different context, beyond the pressure of being right or wrong, beyond effectiveness and failure. I wanted my actions that day to be born out of love, and while that feels easy to type, and easy to say in comfortable, warm, safe spaces, it didn’t feel immediately easy while sat in that van!

Looking out of the windows though, we were met with a deer running across the road, beautiful rays of dawn light through big, leafy trees, gentle mists, and – as we approached the boundary fence of one of the most abhorent places in the country- a bird (a Jay, I think) flew briefly fly alongside the van. Breathing gently and purposefully – finding those little seeds of joy and love, as Thich Nhat Hanh might say – and thinking about the beauty of the creation we’re so blessed to live among, every day, became a wonderfully rich source of guidance and strength, taking me a long way from the logic of fear. As we approached the gate of the base, opened the doors and got the lock-ons out of the van, jumped into the road, and blocked the gate, I felt glad to be where I was and doing what I was doing – once we were in the road, I felt happy and content (a long way from where I’d felt a few minutes previously!) Managing to see the world with eyes of love felt like a deep moment of prayer; I felt like was able to carry my fear much more gently afterwards.

Reading back, it can seem almost trite to recall those minutes in the approach in such a way, but the experience was once again a lesson in not letting fear be the sole, overwhelming force that it can become. There are other, brighter, lighter, more gentle emotions and experiences to be guided by, and we’re surrounded by them every day. While we were locked on, we witnessed a Red Kite treat the SOCPA law – which consider anyone who dares enter designated areas as a terrorist – with a beautiful disregard for the ridiculous contractions humans have set around particular areas of land, as it flew over the base! Even when legitimate and logical, fear is paralysing and disabling; it can stop us acting with the love we hope to. Seeing the world with eyes of love, even just very briefly, is empowering and nurturing. I felt lucky to be able to take the action we did, and glad to briefly find those little seeds of joy and love that fed my spirit while lying in that road.

In peace

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Food and resistance

“After this Jesus went to the other side of the Sea of Galilee, also called the Sea of Tiberias. A large crowd kept following him, because they saw the signs that he was doing for the sick. Jesus went up the mountain and sat down there with his disciples. Now the Passover, the festival of the Jews, was near. When he looked up and saw a large crowd coming toward him, Jesus said to Philip, “Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?” He said this to test him, for he himself knew what he was going to do. Philip answered him, “Six months’ wages would not buy enough bread for each of them to get a little.” One of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, said to him, “There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish. But what are they among so many people?” Jesus said, “Make the people sit down.” Now there was a great deal of grass in the place; so they sat down, about five thousand in all. Then Jesus took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated; so also the fish, as much as they wanted. When they were satisfied, he told his disciples, “Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.” So they gathered them up, and from the fragments of the five barley loaves, left by those who had eaten, they filled twelve baskets. When the people saw the sign that he had done, they began to say, “This is indeed the prophet who is to come into the world.”

When Jesus realized that they were about to come and take him by force to make him king, he withdrew again to the mountain by himself.”

John 6, 1-15

In their book ‘Saving Paradise’, Rita Brock and Rebecca Parker explain how Jesus’ act of feeding the multitudes, ‘regardless of status or need… undermined the paternalism of Rome, which was built on an elite and powerful few having so much that they might scatter their largess, distributing 20 percent of their grain as a dole to the vast masses’[1].  They describe how food was used by the Romans as a means to subdue the population of Palestine – the Roman empire had a monopoly on grain, and by being given just enough, the oppressed were expected to participate and maintain an economic system which led to their own continued subordination – the Romans created a dole system, and used it to subdue dissent.  The ‘generorsity’ of the occupying forces was in fact deeply manipulative, and a cycle of oppression and subordination was in full swing.  Jesus’ act of feeding all and sundry to excess, was a demonstration of how the kingdom of heaven might look, a kingdom whose understanding of power and the value of the individual sat in direct confrontation with that of the Roman empire, which derived power from oppressive military force and economic exploitation.  Whatever the source of the food that Jesus used to feed the crowd, it was not sourced from the occupation.

This story then, goes beyond a simple demand for charity, however noble that may be.  Jesus was not just feeding those who were hungry, he was launching an assault on the system that kept their tummies just full enough to not cause problems.  Jesus offered bread derived from love and community, and called on his movement to follow his example.  In the same way, we should provide for our communities in a way that openly challenges the power structures that maintain subordination.  We provide, yes, but we should provide in a way that both asks the question and provides a response to the systems and structures that make our ‘providing’ so necessary.  As we give food, money or shelter to the poor we should see a question – “Why is it I am having to do this?” – and start to demand answers.  If not, we are simply acting as a pressure release valve on a system violently out of control, and our participation in simply legitimises the mainstream discourse of scroungers, the undeserving poor, and of charity being a sufficient response (instead of system change).

Jesus’ act only makes sense as a response to an exploitative system, and our food banks, soup kitchens and every other charitable act is only necessary and only makes sense in the context of exploitative and degrading economic and political systems.  Our punitive benefits system hands out a similar ‘just enough’ as the Roman occupiers in the first century, expecting credit and thanks for maintaining a social order where the poorest are considered tantamount to criminal.  Our physical sustenance however, does not come from the state, from welfare systems or our earthly leaders, it is provided by the earth and by creation, by God, by our communities.  It is our deep separation from creation that means we come to rely on the ‘generosity’ of oppressive structures and have no way of undermining or challenging them.  The feeding of the five thousand is an image of hope – that beyond the vast, expansive desert of supermarkets and pre-packaged food that we see for but a fleeting moment as it passes over our lips – there is a different relationship we can create with our food, with our earth, and with our communities that is more wholesome, joyful and life-affirming.


[1]     Rita Nakashima Brock & Rebecca Ann Parker, ‘Saving Paradise’, Page 33.

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