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Robert Frost would like a word, Changemakers

That was how Frost opened his first collection of poetry, North of Boston, and how he began many of his public readings. It’s a lovely set of words and images, through which the speaker introduces himself and his place. It’s springtime, he’s a farmer, he’s got tending chores to do. And he’s got a keen eye and a way of seeing and speaking that make us want to hear more. He paints a little picture of the near future of his intentions. And then, and only then, comes an invitation, and an invitation almost as an afterthought: that full stop, that em dash. It’s the kindest, most gentle imperative imaginable, and by the end of the poem we’re already on our way out to that pasture with him, he’s already taken us out to that pasture, and we’ve got a sense that what we’ll see there - in the literal space of leaves and water as well as the metaphorical space of the poems to come. If we turn the page or continue listening, it’s because we’re willingly along for the ride, there’s something we want to hear and see, we’re not being coerced or forced or shamed.

There’s a lesson there for all of us working or thirsting for social change, for an energy transition, for a more sustainable, just, equitable world for our fellow humans and animal friends. And that lesson is the importance of invitation, of positive vision, and something about being the kind of companion that your audience wants to ride out with. At Dancing Fox, we call it Invitational Activism.

A recent post over on Bluesky. I’m brianfit.bsky.social

It’s about inviting in rather than calling out. It’s about leading with vision instead of threatening with nightmare. And it’s about evoking hope instead of guilt, fear, and anger. There’s plenty of that to go around.

We do an exercise with some of our beautiful troublemaking pals where we ask them to imagine they’ve won their entire agenda - stopped everything they’re trying to stop, righted every wrong, and delivered on their mission to the point that they can close up shop. We invite them to describe the daily life they’d enjoy, and how the day to day reality of everyone around them would be improved. It’s an excruciatingly difficult exercise for most. They’ve never spent time in that world, never articulated it, never painted in the details. And most certainly never communicated to their audiences what it would be like.

Everybody’s got goals. Very few have vision.

The urgency of survival has been the drumbeat of my activist life, from the fear of nuclear annihilation in the 70s to the collapse of Earth’s ecosystems. I’ve witnessed the birth of an environmental movement that has moved from fringe to mainstream to center stage. But our go-to place is still the raised fist, the angry shout, the pointing finger, the rending of sackcloth.

For most of my angry days, if I were penning a version of Frost’s poem my first line might have been “I’m going out to scream at the status quo - get in the damn car or you’re part of the problem.” No matter how worthy my cause, does that really make you want to ride with me?

And here’s the weirdest thing. Behind those cardboard cutout stereotypes of organizational personas are real people who can be very different. Real people who are joyful in their constructive anger. Bonded and purposeful and prone to the laughter of the trenches.

As a rule we seldom show that side of activism to the world. We don’t talk about vision. And we never, ever, want anyone to know that we’re having the time of our lives making beautiful trouble, or invite them in to that work through the promise of what lies beyond the mountain.

I call this blog the Accidental Activist in part because I was invited in to a movement by a chance event, made to feel welcome, and seduced by art and a vision of the world not as it was, but as it might be. I came to love so many of the amazing people I worked with over the years, and the stories of the adventures and the friendship and the inspired dedication of some of those folks could fill a ten-season run of an Aaron Sorkin West-Wing-Style behind the scenes drama. But the story of that accident is one I’ll wander into another time. I have to go now to tend a little garden of storytellers we’re working with. I sha’n’t be gone long. — You come too.