Democracy Is Not Dead

As we waited to see how the transition of power from Donald Trump to Joe Biden would play out, Linday Graham, that beacon of convenience, declared that Republicans had to change the rules or no Republican would ever again be elected President. The whole waiting game was a scary, scary moment. Many of us feared that the peaceful transition of power simply would not happen. It seemed that the honor system had been blown to bits. Trump seemed to be searching for ways to justify overturning the election results, tossing them aside altogether. We speculated on all the ways that could happen and wondered if we were strong enough and clever enough to stop him. And yet, and yet. The election itself was a refreshing boost of democratic confirmation. So I wrote the following poem on November 17, 2020, two weeks after the election. It was inspired in no small part by Ingrid Jonker's brilliant poem, “The Child Is Not Dead,” and, as always, by the incredible words of Wilfred Owen, one of my soldioer-poets of World War One, “All the poet can do is warn.” 

  Democracy is not Dead 

Democracy is not dead. 

She rides upon the millions 

Of restless, marching feet, 

Demanding to be heard,

Mis-quoting Twain, “Reports 

 Of my demise are just a bit 

Premature—be vigilant!”

Democracy is not dead. 

She shouts alongside the millions: 

I have spoken, let me speak! 

Her epitaph, though written, 

Lies inside the editor's desk 

Unpublished. 

Her voice, though trembling, 

Has found renewed strength but is 

Caught in her hesitation, 

Looking for words, needing but a few. 

Democracy is not dead. 

Her body shows the bruises 

Of every time she stumbled 

But the multitude each time 

Has picked her up and set her back

Upon the terrible long path to Golgotha 

While Liberty awaits her 

To share her fate. 

Democracy is not dead 

Though there are so, so many 

Who would make her so.