After the destruction of Hurricane Katrina, a lot of talking heads said that the people deserved what they got because they knew the storm was coming but didn't evacuate. What a lot of them didn't realize is that many of the people didn't have the means to leave, or anywhere to go if they did.

Raise your hand if you feel like an oppressor.

...Did you raise your hand?

When you take a moral stance, on some level you're accusing others of taking an immoral stance. When you fight for justice, it must mean some people are unjust. There's not really a way around that unless you draw really vague boundaries.

It's not a perfect world. I'm reminded every day of my own imperfections. As I gossip at work when I know I shouldn't. When someone is insulted and I don't stick up for them, because I fear being thought of as difficult or a goody-goody, or I'm just too tired to bother.

To be an activist, very often, is to be angry.

An activist is a person with a sacred vision of the world that they are trying to manifest. That means living in a world that runs counter to what you hold most sacred. Otherwise, what are you acting for or against? And in my experience, activists aren't just working for a world that would be nice, but fighting for the world that they believe should be. That’s not always emotionally easy.

It’s the harvest season and my garden seems to be slowing down. This has been my first season gardening and I’ve been thinking a lot about Demeter, the cycles of the Earth, and our place in all of that. In fact a good part of this post was inspired by a gardening comment I left on one of Michelle’s posts and conversations I’ve had about it.

Today I wanted to write about something I’ve seen a lot of lately. When you become a vegan – or a feminist, an environmentalist, an activist of any flavor – you start to notice things. You have interactions with people that you didn’t have before.

The other night I ordered a pizza from a popular chain. If you’ve read my other articles, you can probably guess that it was a vegan pizza. The website where I ordered it even had no cheese as a standard option. But the box they sent it in told a different story.

The top of the box named and pictured five cows. The company hailed them as their unsung heroes, calling them an important part of their team.

I guess they picked the wrong box for my cheeseless pizza.

One day at work I looked out the window to see a customer walking in. The blinds obscure a lot so I couldn’t see them very well, and I cocked my head left and right trying to figure out if it was a man or woman. After a moment a few things went through my mind: What if they don’t identify as male or female? What if they decide to go back to the car and I never find out? Why do I even care?

No matter how good your ideas are, people may just not be listening. And it’s not really their fault.

Recently I took a road trip to the Smokey Mountains with a group of friends. On our way back to the cabin after sightseeing the driver said, “Oh is this the street?” and made a wrong turn. Another friend in the back seat started to berate him for about five minutes. Which is actually quite a lot if you’re on the receiving end, or stuck in the car listening to it. He probably felt justified in the rant because the driver should have known better.