Urjita Mainali, Contributing Writer
On Feb. 1, I joined my mother in paying respect to the venerable monks conducting the Walk for Peace. Just outside the city limits in Chesterfield, the usually empty streets were filled with people carrying flowers and gifts, helping direct each other and traffic towards the path the monks would walk.
The next day, despite the biting cold and lingering ice, thousands of people filled the streets of Richmond as they joined the monks on day 100 of their 2,300 mile journey. Their mission — to spread awareness of inner peace and mindfulness — has reached thousands of people across the nation and has brought communities together.
The venerable monks and their mission mean a lot to me, both religiously and culturally, but I was still shocked to see how many people were moved by their efforts. I couldn’t help but wonder why their message had resonated so deeply with so many people in so many different places.
In recent years, there’s been growing discussion about the effectiveness of peaceful demonstrations. While those questions don’t have easy answers — if any at all — I do know that within the reality of state-supported brutality, peaceful demonstrations are turned violent. Like many others, I have heard and felt how many such demonstrations have fallen short, often leaving participants and observers with a distinct feeling of hopelessness.
But the monks’ mission felt different — why?
Strangely enough, I found the answer in Bad Bunny’s Grammy acceptance speech. Accepting the award in a bulletproof vest — if the rumors are true — the artist took the moment to address the hurt and panic caused by the actions of Immigration and Customs enforcement, or ICE, across the country. He ended his speech by urging the audience to resist hate, which will only breed more hatred.
“If we have to fight, we have to do it with love,” the artist said.
For many people my age, it seems as though we, as a culture, have been angry forever. I’m not the first to say that it’s almost impossible to escape manifestations of hatred or anger, whether it be in-person or online. It’s near ubiquitous to our current cultural landscape.
That same anger and rage is what often fuels so much of our protests and political movements. Surges of momentum are born out of moments of rage (think Liam Ramos and Renee Good). At first glance this seems obvious — protests are understood as expressions of grievances against unjust conditions.
But the call to action for love and peace by Grammy-winning artists to monks ask us: “what if we thought about protests differently?”
The impact of the Monk’s commitment to peace comes not in spite of violence, but because of it — because “the only thing more powerful than hate is love,” as Bad Bunny urges us to remember.
Our resonance with that great demonstration of peace and with Bad Bunny’s work and words is, in itself, a demonstration of our cultural need (and perhaps desire) for a change in the way we think about political action.
Rather than tying our aspirations and ambitions to our rage against systems of oppression, they are better served rooted in care, love and respect for the ones they hurt. Not only is it better for us emotionally and mentally, but it is far more effective in sustaining a movement and achieving its goals.
So many times I have heard of movements quickly burning out, dismayed by the often distressing reality of organizing for change. When people are able to continue this work, they don’t cite their motivation as anger — they will tell you about a person whose life they changed, who they loved or who is depending on them to keep going.
Communities are not built through collective rage, but through collective care for one another. Not one of us can stand up to an oppressive structure alone, and none of us can take it down overnight. But we can still take care of and protect each other, and when that time comes, it won’t be from anger towards the government, but out of care and respect for your neighbors.