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OCCASIONALLY WHEN I'M SPEAKING TO COLLEGE STUDENTS, ATTEMPTING TO inspire at least a few to fight for social justice, I'm asked the question for which there is no easy answer; the one that goes: "What's the point? Can you really make a difference? Why fight against such incredible odds?"
As disturbing as such fatalism is, particularly from persons so young, I rather appreciate the opportunity to confront it. It's one of those rare times during a lecture when the speaker has to drop all pretense, put aside academic theories, and actually connect with that one other human being, even if only for a moment.
And it's a good question, after all. There is much to suggest that justice is a pipe dream: the bombing of Yugoslavia, the embargo against the people of Iraq, the passage of welfare "reform," and the expansion of the prison-industrial complex as education budgets are slashed. "Don't these trends," they ask, "ever make you want to throw up your hands and quit?"
There was a time when I might have said yes to that question, but not anymore. Like everyone, I confront fatigue and need rest. But that's not the same as wanting to quit. And what made the difference was a letter I received back in 1988 from Archbishop Desmond Tutu of South Africa. It was a letter he had sent to the antiapartheid group I co-founded at Tulane University, in which he thanked us for sending information on Tulane's investments in apartheid-complicit firms information that persuaded him to reject the school's offer of an honorary doctorate.
As if knowing that those of us involved in the divestment battle were doubting our relevance - after all, even if we succeeded would things really change in South Africa? - he offered what I consider an obvious, yet profound rationale for the work of any freedom fighter: "You do not do the things you do because others will necessarily join you in the doing of them, nor because they will ultimately prove successful. You do the...