Yes We Can
Don’t think that I don’t know. Know how you look at me with your withering eyes. I see you, cynical and old. You sit smug and cold in your own conclusions – that things have always been the same – that we can never change. But I say to you that we have already changed and grown better, we have done it time and time again. I have already seen in my short life how we have changed. I have seen the Berlin Wall fall in the face of flowers and millions breathe free. I have seen apartheid in South Africa wither before the flame of democracy. I have seen the birth of the internet and the rise of a global community of ideas and thoughts. I have seen my own nation rise up from poverty and post-colonialism to prosperity and self-determination. And yet you say that we will never change. You say that things will always be the same and hope is the luxury and folly of youth. And if you are right – what does that mean for me? Am I to become dry and barren like you? Does your disappointment keep you warm? I don’t like you man – you are too old in your cowardly suit. I don’t want to spend my short life inside that suit. I believe that there are times in history when we take another step. I believe that history is full of those steps. I saw Francois Mitterand and Helmut Kohl reach across a history of dead millions, a century of dead years, shake hands and build something better. I saw it man. I am a child of that community. They put that crap behind them and I was born in the very freedom that they could barely imagine. That was a step. Are they better men than me? No man is better than me. If anyone, anywhere was so courageous as to rise beyond his today and envision a better tomorrow then I can do at least that. I choose to hope. I choose to dream. I choose to believe because I find no joy in the comfort of cowards. And remember this – that I know you. I know you because you are me. And I know that your cynicism is not who you really are. I know how you drape yourself in philosophy, afraid to be left standing alone with just a hope to clothe your naked love. But now, maybe I have a home-spun truth for you – we will all someday stand alone, we will all someday stand naked, we will all someday see the dying of the light and realize that those seconds are our last upon this earth. And what then? What will your final thoughts be? What if? How will you stand that finity mocking all that you could have done? What would it have been like if, back then, if I had chosen to believe? Could I have done some good? And between your final heart-beats you will hear your own voice whisper back to you old man. Yes. Yes you could have. But your time is gone now. And your worthless corpse goes back to nature – another of her disappointing brood. So knowing you and knowing me, I choose differently. I choose to be a fool. And then? And then you and I will probably keep talking old man. And you will no doubt keep whispering in my ear and I am sure that there will be times when I will listen to you. But some days, like this day, I will smell hope and change in the air and know that she is the mother of all good things. And I mean to make a child with her man, an ideal, a hope, a dream. And that child will hold my hand as I pass, so that in the end, only you will die alone. Maybe in the end, only you will die.