We have forgotten that "to whom much is given, much is required."
Jan. 22, 2009 (World News Trust) -- Dear Friends:
Although I return from our nation's capitol filled with hope and anticipation of what the new year and the inauguration of our new president will bring, the age old quote still rings true to me, "It is the best of times and the worst of times."
I was born Black in Texas in 1967 -- actually I was mixed, but in Texas at the height of the civil rights movement, they just called it Black, if we were lucky. Then too, it was the best of times and the worst of times.
Just after September 11, 2001, I took a tentative step in the right direction. Again it was the best of times and the worst of times. And it was a new beginning for me, my family, and all those who my life touches. This Inauguration, this formal beginning and celebration of something new, something different, for me, my family, and my country is, yet again, during the best of times and worst of times.
I grew up the hard way -- sometimes poor, sometimes lower middle class -- the eldest sister of four younger brothers and the daughter of a Parsi man from India and a small town Black woman from Texas. It was hard to come of age in the 80s in Texas where this unlikely combination of conditions was not readily accepted and where the stress of those external forces wreaked havoc on our family. So to keep history from repeating itself, I ignored a tug I felt to a higher calling and put my nose to the grind stone. The rationale: To amass as much money as possible to get myself out of the mess that was my life so that I could help others, like my brothers, other family, and those who came up like me -- with domestic violence, substance abuse, incarceration, and depression as a part of their daily lives.
For some reason I didn't think I could make a meaningful difference until I had money. But 911 was a call to action for me. I sensed deep in my spirit that it was a wake up call. A brief moment of awakening for me, and for the country, and we could either heed it, or we could return to a drugged, pacified, and restless sleep.
As a nation we were searching, questioning, and rethinking the accepted and thereby opening ourselves to something new. What would step in to that opening? I didn't know, but I wanted to be part of contributing to it. So with great fear of returning to a life of poverty, I left my corporate job and took my first baby steps as an agent of change. How could I turn the mess of my life into my message? My tests into my testimony?
Like now, 2001 was the best of times and the worst of times. I pulled together a group of friends and community folk and started a nonprofit at a time when the economy was in the toilet and when everyone thought that no one would give. Just like they do now. They told me I was "stupid" to start an organization then and that "it wouldn't work" because at a time like that, people did not need high ideals, values and the "message" that our work was about creating. People needed the basics, "soup, blankets, bandages," I was told.
And if our work was not concrete and tangible, it would not be supported -- not in that economy. You see, our work was about empowering people to Think Differently and Think BIG about their power to make a difference. It was about creating a culture of engagement, about supporting unheard people to amplify their voices and be part of creating the community, country and culture that they want to live in. People gave their time, talent and treasure. And this unlikely organization called Project: Think Different, with a team of unpaid volunteers, in the attic of my home, began to soar and on its wings raised the voices of youth, immigrants, people of color, the poor and the disengaged.
Our participants have been seen on MTV, ABC, CBS, and even at the 2004 DNC in Boston! We did not have a lot of money, but together we made a difference. We are still a grassroots organization on a shoestring budget under $300,000. We have two full time staff, a few part timers and volunteers. Now we find ourselves once more in an economy where experts and advisers are telling us that this sector is "collapsing" and that we can expect individual giving to take a nose dive. Between federal and state budget cuts, private foundations closing their doors in our face because their portfolios look about as bad as my own, and emergency meetings being called by nonprofit directors that are struggling to provide services to those in need, it would be easy to lose hope. But instead I feel a curious swell of anticipation that builds inside of me with each passing day.
My instinct and lived experiences tell me that it is in times like these that we Rise. I think that we as a nation recognize that we have been richly blessed, but that after having been blessed for so long we began to take it for granted.
We have forgotten that "to whom much is given, much is required." Now, in these worst of times, we are blessed again -- this time with an opportunity to rise to the occasion.
As I pause to scribble these thoughts on the back of an envelope to be transcribed at a quieter time when the seemingly endless demands of being a mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend, change agent, and human being are a bit more manageable, I realize that this moment of reflection is a good investment of my time. It is an investment that will sustain my hope in the best, in the face of the worst. I am reinvigorated as I am reminded that I am not alone in my efforts and that my small part, joined with that of others is creating positive change. For me, this inauguration is the celebration of new beginnings fueled by an endless and sustainable supply of hope because now we can more clearly see that we are not alone with our dreams and efforts. Instead we are part of a family that is growing daily, each member contributing their own unique offering for the good of all.
This inauguration is a celebration of a new day where we will create a vision of what is good for us all, and where together we will work towards making that vision our reality.
In the strength of our shared values,
Scherazade