They Say

They say my time's a time of change,
A new beginning, a fresh start.
Why, then, does it seem our range
Of change does not reach to the heart?

They say that all my people will sing
Of the god of Jacob, god of Zion.
Why, then, will so few bring
A word of comfort, a shoulder to cry on?

They say that we have all the power
To right the wrongs of time before.
Why, then, does this force all sour
Behind the comfort of closed door?

They say our feet will take us places
To relieve the world's great groans of pain.
Why, then, at home among the races
Are there still groups so cut in twain?

They say our hands will touch the lost
Who struggle in the dark of night.
Why, then, do these tempest-tossed
Still grasp, helpless, for the light?

We are not changed by what they say
Or by what their hopes and dreams spell--
No, it is our work, our destiny, our way
To save this cruel world from cruel Hell.

Plato Meets Clinton

Dramatis Personae: PLATO

CLINTON

CHIEFTAIN

WIFE

CHIEFTAIN and WIFE assume position of statue, motionless. Enter CLINTON and PLATO, arguing about the role of women in government. PLATO stops at statue.

CLINTON: I’m so glad you could make it today; it is an honor to have a man of your stature into my house. That’s an interesting uniform; it looks somewhat familiar.

PLATO: Yes, in my tour of your country, I met an interesting group of young people who represented my ideal of conformist education—they are called the Pathfinders, and they are indoctrinated from their early years in the way of their religion, everything from physical skills like marching to advanced physics. If they stay for many years, they become leaders—just as they would in my republic. So, I wear the uniform of these children, in the spirit of my republic.

CLINTON: I thought the uniform looked familiar. Normally, it is children who come in and see my art collection, for I find it an excellent education for them in the arts.

PLATO: How could show such a thing to children? This statue displays a gruesome, terrible death. As I’ve said in my writings, If a child believes that the place of the dead exists, and that it is terrible, do you think he will be unafraid of death, and choose death in battle before defeat and slavery? What you show here is nothing but defeat and slavery!

CLINTON: Well, I need to boost my performance in the polls, and education is a hot-button issue. By showing the children this art, I am educating them, and also improving in the polls.

PLATO: As a strong female leader, why do you keep something around that so poignantly reminds one of woman’s submission to man?

WIFE: Willing submission- look at the way that I kneel by my husband, even in death. Also, look at the way that he holds on so delicately—while he himself dies.

CLINTON, startled glances at statue.

CLINTON: I keep it because of its aesthetic value. I mean, look at it—it almost seems as though it were alive, as though it could spring to life and tell its own story.

PLATO: You speak of ridiculous things! You imagine it to speak to you, but imagination is a waste, for it is false. . . Doesn’t it bother you at all, how submissively the woman bends in death as the man stands over?

CHIEFTAIN: I was not killing her to show my superiority, but to save her from slavery. I could not stand to see my dear wife made submissive.

PLATO: In my republic, women would be equal with men in society and in politics; women and children would be in common, all equal.

CLINTON: Do you think I don’t know about that? Do you think I don’t know of woman’s ability to rule? Plato, times are changing. I am well on my way to becoming America’s first philosopher queen.

PLATO: angrily You are no philosopher! Look at this sculpture! No true philosopher queen would possess this. For one thing, it shuns the necessary poverty of true leadership and its excessive expression of emotion too easily captures the mind and inflames the senses. It will corrupt you, and I fear for your nation even more upon seeing this than when I heard it was a democracy, that endless pandering to the masses.

CHIEFTAIN: Did you hear that, dear? We corrupt leaders!

WIFE: Yeah, what did we ever do to deserve this badgering?

CLINTON: This statue will not corrupt me, but open my eyes to history. Look at it again, Plato, for it was made after your time. True lovers of art have much to say of it. It was made in the Hellenistic period in the Pergamene style—

PLATO: You mean Greeks fashioned such trash?

WIFE: In more ways than one; we were defeated, and according to YOU, WE, as a product of the imagination, are trash!

CLINTON: So Plato might say... ::turns to Plato: Anyway, several centuries after you wrote, Gallic invaders came from the north—

CHIEFTAIN: That’s us!

CLINTON: But they lost.

WIFE sighs audibly.

PLATO: How is such defeat a noble theme for art, then? In my republic, there would be no defeat—that alone displays how these conquerors are not Greeks of my government.

CHIEFTAIN: Your republic relies on perfect people, and there are none—no truly gold people, only those of false people, fool’s gold.

WIFE: How can there be any people of true gold? They can only strive to be so.

WIFE: Behold, we were made of bronze. . .

CHIEFTAIN: Until the Romans made a copy of us in marble and lost us in the sands of time. Still, Epigonos, or whoever it was that sculpted us, managed to catch our very last breaths. Plato wouldn’t approve of our portrayal; the artist followed the latest style, expressionism, to make us seem alive.

CLINTON: chuckles The Greek empire fell long ago to the Romans, who later fell to another empire. Defeat, it seems, comes to all. Sighs. That is what I fear of my country, for we are at war.

PLATO: Fear? You should not fear death. Do you believe anyone having in himself this fear could ever become courageous?

CLINTON: Certainly not.

PLATO: Looking upon this statue now, created 500 years after my time, it almost seems to speak to me, as well—tell me more about it.

CLINTON: It was originally a part of a larger bronze monument honoring the heroism of the defeated barbarians. No victors were shown; only the defeated.

CHIEFTAIN: As a chieftain, I did not fear death. Boldly, I went naked into war, like the rest of my fellow warriors. Plato, you yourself would have approved of this; you advocated that the male and female Guardians of your ideal republic should exercise naked together, throwing off ALL accessories.

WIFE: My husband killed me, then himself, that we would not be slaves.

PLATO: He committed suicide! The only noble man to have lost his life at his own will was Socrates. He did not try to escape the pain of life, but to accept justice as it came. See how this man’s face is so turned away from his wife, from the deed he is doing—there is nothing noble in that.

CHIEFTAIN: What do you know of our pain, scholar? You, descendent of kings, who lived a privileged life as a philosopher student of Socrates? Did you ever taste the heat of battle, ever feel the exhaustion of a drawn-out war after many miles of travel?

WIFE: Did you ever feel the despair of seeing your countrymen dying in multitudes before your eyes? Were you ever forced to choose between surrender to foreigners—or surrender to suicide? Or are you and your ideal leaders too purely gold to look upon the sufferings of the bronze?

PLATO: Bronze is a fitting medium for these statues, then. This man is so strong—powerfully built, as mighty and muscular as a man can be. His flesh is exhausted, though, dragged by the battle—had he more mental might, more of the higher arts than just the physical, he might be more able to deal with the problem of defeat!

CHIEFTAIN: Fine, you’ve found the core of my defeat. At the end of the relentless struggle, I could not think. But my government didn’t follow the same principles advocated by you in your ideal republic, where physical strength would be balanced with mental aptitude.

WIFE: Who could think after such struggle? Battle’s toil not only exhausts the flesh, but the mind as well. I don’t believe Plato realizes that.

CLINTON: How can I argue with a man like you? Perhaps, then, it turns out that I am only silver, or only bronze, for to me, this statue is gripping, seizing, and screaming for my attention with its story—see how the chieftain has killed his wife! ::point:: That is what my husband did to me, before ruining his own life. I have overcome, however, and I will rule, no matter what it takes.

PLATO: There is no room for you, or for your gaudy statue in my republic. Both are an abomination. You must never hold office, and this statue must be destroyed.

WIFE: Haven’t you torn us down enough already?

WIFE: Destroy us, and what’s left to tell our story? If you can’t find out for yourself by visiting the Terme museum in Rome, where we are currently housed, what will be left for you to debate of us?

CLINTON: This is now out of my hands. Unlike your republic, this is a democratic country, and now, in that spirit, I turn it over to my people. Turns to audience. What do you think—does this statue deserve to be destroyed? Question me, question Plato, and even question the statues—what should become of us?

PLATO: I do not believe in democracy, but let them ask, and I’ll beat you at your game! Go ahead and speak to us, citizens of America.