“Militant Pessimism”

The morning after Ruth Bader Ginsburg died, I found myself reading a book review by Rich Yesselson in The Nation.

Loomis is one of a number of contemporary scholars and thinkers whom I would call “pessimistic militants”—embodiments of the Gramscian cliché about pessimism of the intellect and optimism of the will. The pessimistic militants study American history deeply, and reluctantly conclude that their desired goal—an egalitarian America—is not the likely historical trajectory. But they hope they’re wrong.

Perfect. Especially the week after President Trump has critiqued the history taught in schools and universities, the history I’ve taught. I doubt that he’s read Gramsci or even Eric Loomis’s A History of America in Ten Strikes, and I’ve only dabbled, I must confess.

But I wonder if RBG was a pessimist. I think not. She was a quiet but insistent militant, and she changed our world, forever, no matter what happens next in our appalling political culture, with not even a moment to mourn the dead. Robert Costa concluded Washington Week on PBS with “May she rest in peace.”

You may have seen or heard Nina Totenberg, the NPR reporter. Her reflection on Ginsburg made me cry again this morning. I love the idea of close friends doing their jobs – and bonding through shopping together!

But I had awakened crying. I was thinking about the juxtaposition of two events in Rittenhouse Square in Philadelphia, where I live.

My friend is the carillonneur at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Trinity down the block. She emailed me that she was doing a special program for Rosh Hashanah before sunset Friday.  Last night as I walked toward the corner to see the bell tower, a man — grey hair, but fit, younger than I — was ahead of me, and he stopped, looking up at the tower. He started walking as I approached behind him, and stopped again in the opening at the corner. I went around him to lean against the wall. He was standing in front of me as the music played. At the last song he raised his arms and began to dance, not big, but very prayerful. He turned to me when it was done and said to me, “I’d never imagine I’d hear church bells playing the Avinu Malekeinu.”

I said, “This is America.” He looked puzzled, and then said, “Yes, yes.” This is the America I feel we lost any chance of having: multi-religious, multi-ethnic, multi-racial, multi-gendered. I am so fearful. But I said this before I knew, when I was only a “pessimistic militant,” not in mourning.

At about 8:30 pm, I could hear drumming. I thought maybe it was a demonstration for RBG, so I went out about 10, after TV and phone calls and emails. No, it was a New Orleans-style brass band. The young players were terrific: drummer, three saxophones, trumpet, trombone, and tuba! They were really good! I left after “When the Saints Go Marching In,” which I don’t think was for Ruth, but I made it so. I couldn’t cry that night; perhaps the complexity of the second line, singing amidst sorrow, worked.  

Today, a third juxtaposition further breaks my heart. Members from the local Neo-Catechumenate parish have gathered right outside my windows. They are singing “Alleluia” and doing a dance similar to the Hava Nagila with all their young children. They’ve been interrupted by park security, so they are no longer blocking access; their circle is so big. Their usual format includes testimony, preaching, prayer and singing; they are accompanied by drums, trumpet, guitars. I cannot bear to go out today to hear what they are saying or praying, though I usually love the music. How is Alleluia possible?

I have it third hand that “in the Jewish Tradition one who dies on Rosh Hashannah is a tzaddik – which means a person of great righteousness!”

The front page of the New York Times and I hope every other paper in America and in the world details Ginsburg’s accomplishments, her great righteousness.

I say, may Ruth Bader Ginsburg rest in peace. May we never rest!