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The human hunger for drama: heros, sheros & the rest of us
Reading in the New York Times recently about the Russian hero Navalny, who died for his persistent opposition to Putin’s Kremlin, reminded me of my mother.
My mom, Gerrie Robeson, was a humble crusader who staged an individual march protesting discrimination against women office workers in her Retail Clerk’s union back in the 80s. She was fired and received death threats. She went into debt hiring a lawyer and took her case to the National Labor Relations Board.
These two people struggled for years, winning some and losing some points in their battles, then pushing on, speaking truth to power, to the big people — until their mega-stressful efforts and the forces against them exhausted their bodies and they died: Navalny imprisoned in the Russian Arctic, my mother at home after being fired a second time.
The Times article by Neil MacFarquhar asks why after surviving a fatal poisoning attempt Navalny returned to Russia to face imprisonment and possible death. MacFarquhar notes that some compare Navalny’s case to a classic Greek tragedy and I paraphrase: The hero, knowing he is doomed, returns home because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be a hero. Navalny was a hero.
My mother won her case against the union, backpay, and got rehired. But the union kept up their unfair practices. The other women office workers were too intimidated to protest. But Gerrie persisted in a polite but firm way to challenge the leaders. She was a shero.
These two fought for justice, for their “impossible dream.” They didn’t just read or watch drama, they lived it. The connection to myself and maybe some readers is a tiny one: we put ourselves into edgy situations to fill our hunger for drama.
For Lent, I’ve taken up a variation of the Arbonne Cleanse, for the third year in a row. At first I did it because my granddaughter was selling Arbonne products, but I liked the way it made me uber-conscious of my food choices and how they made me feel and think and move. This eating plan includes giving up all sugar, coffee, wheat, dairy and alcohol.
This year my daughter suggested I might instead just give up one or two of those items. I replied I like this plan because it is so dramatic.
I realized this extreme diet was satisfying my hunger for drama. Not just to read or see it, but to live it. Which is what Navalny and my mother did. They fought the unbeatable foe. I only fight my own complacency.
To each of us belongs the perfect sized battle. What is yours?
