Have you experienced being what you want the world to become? Even if only in sparks and flashes, it’s amazing to experience the reality of the ideals we are striving for. There is power in these moments to re-generate ourselves and our visions. We don’t have to wait a millennium to get there!
SPARKS gives glimpses of a spiritual democracy in action right now. Enjoy what you read here and, even better look for sparks happening in your life. Please contact me if you would like to share your story.
Joseph Fotz Alford 1914 – 1988
“Dad, you were a fantastic supporter of civil rights, and we’re the better for it!”
Recently, I heard my friend, Joe Alford, speak with love and admiration about his dad, Joe Fotz Alford. I was struck by the sincere ways both Joe and his father lived their values, so I asked Joe to tell me more about his dad. The story of Joe’s dad, like so many hidden stories of ordinary people, reveals a daily commitment to democratic values that enriches our understanding of the words by Terry Tempest Williams, “the human heart is the first home of democracy.” The story of Joe’s dad is a reminder that democracy is more than principles and governance structures. Authentic democracy comes alive in people. Every person in each generation can make real the words embedded in the U.S. Declaration of Independence, “We hold these truths to be self-evident. That all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.”
A deeper democracy is about people using freedom to fulfill their heart and serve others. It is nurtured by mutual respect the allows us to live fully from the center of who we are and who we are becoming.
Joe Fotz Alford was the sixth of seven kids. His mother died during the flu epidemic of 1918 when he was four. “Sister” the eldest child, took over the household when she was 18. Joe Fotz didn’t talk much about his own father but acknowledged that he had two brothers who suffered from alcoholism and spent time in jail. Joe Fotz had a normal childhood in rural Tennessee. He was a good marksman, owned a Winchester single shot, loved playing tennis and baseball. He was drafted late in WWII, sent to Belgium and straight away fought in the Battle of the Bulge. He fought 30 days in the snow, was captured and landed in a POW camp in Germany. In the camp he met Charlie Bell from his hometown. Never good friends as boys, they buddied up in the camp. They were given one potato. They split it and lived on it for a week. Joe weighed 95 pounds when he was liberated by the Russians at the end of the war. Later, when “the Red Scare” prevailed across the US, Joe Fotz never lost appreciation for Russians. Contrary to the public sentiment, he proudly told his neighbors, “The Russians freed me and saved me from dying in the German camp.”
Years later, in-laws and cousins of Joe Fotz and Charlie Bell would gather for reunions. Since he was a good shot, Joe would be invited to go duck hunting. But Joe told them, “You gotta know that hunting for me is no fun. l flinch every time I hear a gun. When you’ve been hunted, hunting takes on a whole new experience.” Joe Fotz sailed home from Europe on April 30, 1945, the same day that Hitler died and the same day that his first son Joseph Alford was born!
After the war, Joe Fotz loved raising his two sons. On Sundays, on their way to the Southern Baptist Church, they would watch the steam trains and stop off at the local drugstore for chocolate sodas. He read Tom and Jerry comics to his boys and “laughed his ass off.” He worked as a postman all his life and stayed in great shape by walking 11 miles every day. To keep up on political events he read the New York Times and Wall Street Journal during his lunch hour (copies addressed to the wealthy folks on his mail route that he “borrowed”).
For years he never got a promotion. To do that he would have had to “cow tow” to Harry, the Union head. Year after year he affirmed, “I’m not gonna do it.” In the late 50s, when blacks were being enlisted to be postmen in Tennessee, Joe was the only postman who volunteered to train the new recruits. After a few years, one man he had trained got promoted to the regional level and straightaway promoted Joe to work as a mediator. The promotion didn’t last. Joe complained that he didn’t have enough to do and couldn’t fill the time reading books. He lamented, “I can’t just read books on the job, I’m getting paid to work!”
Young Joe recalled that their family hired Mildred to iron for their family. Years later, Mildred called the family crying with joy. She had received her first Social Security check and knew that she wouldn’t worry about money for the rest of her life. In contrast to many white employers of black “help,” Joe had chosen to pay Mildred’s Social Security employment.
In the 60s Joe Fotz and his son Joe bonded over the struggle for civil rights and their deep regard for the Kennedy brothers. President Kennedy was killed on a Friday. Joe called his son who was away at college and asked if he wanted to come home. Together they watched television day after day and wept with grief.
Young Joe took up the civil rights cause and volunteered to drive the film crew covering Dr. King’s visits in the South. Joe’s Dad was afraid for Joe; when violence got close to King’s entourage in Mississippi, he called and told his son to come home. A few minutes later he called back and said, “you’d better stay…and I’m sending you $10 to give to Dr. King.”
Joe Fotz fought off cancer once. But when it returned several years later, he said, “damn, I thought I could do it again.” But he couldn’t. He died of multi-melanoma when he was 74. Going in and out of comas, he kept asking, “Is the rent paid this month? Are the Christmas bills paid? One more thing, you’re gonna need to change the oil in your mom’s car. She doesn’t know how.”
Just these few highlights from Joe Fotz’s life, lovingly remembered by Joe’s son, reveal human qualities usually not broadcast in the media nor attributed to living in a democracy. Authentic democracy lives quietly, away from the daily headlines. It lives in humble people, ordinary neighbors, people who adhere to democratic principles especially when those principles are threatened; and people whose care for the well-being of others remains consistent throughout their life and takes them all the way to their last breath.
Joe Fotz is still a spark! His life teaches us that democracy is not just something to have but a way of living.
Hear Our Common Cry
“…it brought before my mind the whole cry of human life, all expressions of joy and aspirations of [men] rising from the heart of Humanity up to the sky.”
— Rabindranath Tagore
My search for a deeper democracy keeps taking me to the heart of humanity.
A fire of longing burns in the heart of humanity. In the face of myriad assaults, our common aspiration binds us together — it is a yearning cry for peace, wellbeing and care for all creation. As crises build and sorrows are shared, people all over the world are listening more earnestly to our common cry. Our hearts are awakening.
I hear this universal human cry in the words of Rabindranath Tagore, recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize for Literature in 1913. In his acceptance speech he likened the shouts of children to the trees of the earth and the cry of humanity…
The vigor and joy of the children, their chats and songs filled the air with a spirit of delight, which I drank every day that I was there. And in the evening during the sunset hour I often used to sit alone watching the trees on the shadowing avenue, and in the silence of the afternoon, I could hear distinctly the voices of the children coming up in the air, and it seemed to me that these shouts and songs and glad voices were like those trees, which come out from the heart of the earth like fountains of life towards the bosom of the infinite sky. And it symbolized, it brought before my mind the whole cry of human life all expressions of joy and aspirations of [men] rising from the heart of Humanity up to the sky. I could see that, and I knew that we also, the grown-up children, send up our cries of aspiration to the Infinite. I felt it in my heart of hearts.
Rabindranath Tagore (1861–1941), a mystic, teacher and prolific writer from West Bengal, India, was the first person from India [the East] to receive a Nobel Prize, an award coming from the [Western World]. His Nobel prize was awarded to his collection of writings Gitanjali, called “song offerings.” It is a collection of 103 poems of praise, profound joy, longing and love.
As I search for people who are ‘sparks’ for the rest of us — whose lives bridge the chasm between the inner world of spirit and the outer world of work and politics — I find stars like Tagore, whose eternal spirit lights our way.
In his acceptance speech Tagore also spoke with passion about India’s political gift to the world. Speaking of the diversity of religions and all varieties of sects in India he says,
No superficial bond of political unity can appeal to us, can satisfy us, can ever be real to us. We must go deeper down. We must therefore discover the most profound unity, the spiritual unity between the different races. We must go deeper down to the spirit of man and find out the great bond of unity which is to be found in all human races… [Man] is not to fight with other human races, other human individuals, but this work is to bring about reconciliation and Peace and to restore the bonds of friendship and love.
These words of Tagore, like the first glint from a campfire, can be snuffed out or set ablaze. Let’s use Tagore’s soulful words to build the kind of fire that binds humanity together. Humanity, with its glories and evils, mediocrity, unlimited diversity, sickness and health, is awakening to its inner power. The “demo-kratis,” the “people power” that the concept of democracy bestows, has provided valuable principles and governance systems. And the meaning of “demo kratis” is evolving, pointing humanity toward a new kind of heart-centered people power. Gratefully, we find sparks, people past and present, who remind us of where we are going.
Father Stan Swami – Tender Fierce Martyr for Justice
Stanislaus Lourdeswamy (known as Fr. Stan Swamy) was a Jesuit priest and a fighter for the rights of marginalized people. He died in Mumbai, India on July 5, 2021. He believed that the Adivasis (Original Forest Dwellers), who are indigenous peoples of India and considered outcasts/backwards by the predominate caste system, have a natural right to self-determination and to live on their ancestral lands, a right that must not be stolen by multinational corporations. Fr. Stan’s conviction that all people deserve basic human rights and to be treated with human dignity, is a flame of truth that will not flicker out. Fr. Stan was a gentle giant who could speak with fire in his belly and with the feeling that he was going to hold you. Stan embodied the reality that in gentleness is strength.
Fr. Stan sent sparks flying lighting up the heart of democracy. Here are a few highlights from his story.
During Fr. Stan’s seminary schooling he worked in a rural village in the summer time. One afternoon he overheard a father tell his son, “Go out to the big mango tree in the backyard. Go up and bring down the fruits, but leave one branch with all of its fruits…that one is for the birds of the air. These words transformed his values:
“I did a somersault in terms of my value system. It can be like this! You share what nature has given you with nature!”
He witnessed Adivasi women carrying their chickens to market and how they were attacked, their chickens stolen, and insufficient bills thrown in the dirt as payment. Experiences like these convinced him to live his life in pursuit of basic rights and human dignity for the Adivasi and Dalit of his home state of Tamil Nadu.
He saw how the Adivasi’s self-sustaining economy and governance rooted in ancient tribal ways was undermined by being forced to operate in a market economy, a system that exploited them and deprived them of their tribal values and respect.
He started the Bagaicha Center in the state of Jharkhand where people resisting unjust displacement from their tribal lands came together in solidarity with each other. He educated and trained people to know and stand up for their rights through legal and non-violent means. He told them, “when you get notice that your lands will be stolen away, let us stand shoulder to shoulder and say in one voice, we will not move!” He taught people to focus on their own strength and be ready to pay the cost. People stood together not only in resistance to unfair actions by government and corporate interests but to claim that the land was theirs and that whatever riches in the land, was theirs also. He said, “wherever people are they can start this kind of movement, asserting their nature-given rights which is a predominant right.”
In his fight for the rights of Adivasis against powerful interests, he understood that the sacrifice of his own blood, being wounded and even death, might be required of him.
Fr. Stan was taken into custody on several occasions accused of stirring up communal violence and organizing anti-national forces against the government. In September 2020, he was taken to a Mumbai jail for further questioning. Although his health was failing, his bail hearing was continuously denied, even by the High Court. His request to be transferred to a hospital in Jharkhand was also denied. He was finally transferred to St. Elizabeth’s Hospital where he died of Covid-19. Controversy persists whether or not he was given needed medical help and due process of law. His followers call him a martyr. He died as he lived, in faithful communion with the marginalized people he loved, because the face of Christ was reflected in them.
In the Adivasi culture it is understood that when you physically leave the body you are not here but you are not gone. Your spirit remains. Fr. Stan gave his life defending a core principle of democracy, the natural rights of people to dignity and justice. May his spirit never leave and always remain in communion.
Truth must be spoken, right to dissent must be upheld and justice must reach the doorsteps
of the poor. Fr. Stan Swami
Information for this blog was taken from following sources. To learn more go to:
Fr. Stan Swamy interviewed by writer Tapan Bose https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bJyJENDcVE4
Wikipedia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stan_Swamy
Thank you to Rev’d Dr. Matthew Cobb, www.walksback.com for his reflections about Fr. Stan.
Marian Anderson at the Lincoln Memorial
History is chock full of flashes and sparks of democracy rising to its finest potential. We can hear it in the grace and glory of Marian Anderson singing “My Country Tis of Thee” at the Lincoln Memorial in 1939.
Already a famed classical vocalist, world-renowned as “the voice of the century,” Marian Anderson was denied access to perform at Constitution Hall in Washington D.C. because of a rule banning black performers. Through the efforts of First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt and Secretary of the Interior Harold Ickes, it was arranged she would sing outdoors for the public at the Lincoln Memorial. 75,000 people attended. Nervous because she was facing the biggest audience of her life, Anderson said, “I could not run away from this situation. If I had anything to offer, I would have to do so now.”
Instead of singing “of thee I sing” she sang “to thee we sing.” Years after, she explained that, “We cannot live alone, and the thing that made this moment possible for you and for me, has been brought about by many people whom we will never know.”
When the Daughters of the American Revolution refused to allow Marian Anderson to sing at Constitution Hall, Eleanor Roosevelt objected and withdrew her membership. Anderson said, “Mrs. Roosevelt’s decision did not surprise me because she understood the real meaning of democracy.”
Tony — A Citizen’s Heart
This story taught me that even without having words to understand spiritual democracy we can see it in action if we look. Some years ago, my daughter and I visited the shoe repairman in town. A week earlier I had brought in her winter boots which he described as “tire blow outs.”
As we entered the tiny shop, to the left was a jumble of broken luggage; all around, shoes akimbo were piled high in various worn states of disrepair. It was one of those shops that is disappearing — a good smelling and messy shoe repair. It was a busy Saturday morning. Tony, the proprietor was present — beaming warmly. As he handled our order, with a little banter of conversation and a caring demeanor he looked at us and said to us, “you’ve done a good job raising a fine daughter and she can be a guide and helper to you.” A hidden “higher self” in Katie and me woke up. I wasn’t a Mom just vaguely wondering how my life would intersect with hers as she made her way in graduate school and beyond. Katie wasn’t just a young adult vaguely wondering how she might be called on to care for me someday. This little remark shifted our consciousness. We felt uplifted. We weren’t exactly sure how this shift happened in us — was it the vibration of Tony’s generous spirit? his warmth? his insightful comment? Katie said, “I’m always coming back here.”
I reflected. Here is Tony, like the shoe cobbler archetype from fairy tales, giving humble service to “journeyers” every day. He mends things people need for their journey — shoes and suitcases. While doing that, he offers deeper, greater things too. He works with a peaceful, giving spirit and an honest joy. When we are with him, we are changed. His heart-gift touches us and lifts us to a better place, a higher “see level” so to speak.
Tony is a change agent for spiritual democracy. He exercises civic spirit, not only by participating in voting and governance issues, but in the quality of his personhood.
As we reach for how to further a deeper democracy — let’s look out for people who, like Tony, are living it right now. If we share these stories we may help our dear friend, spiritual democracy, rise up from our hearts and souls.