Why Woman Hollerin'

I suppose it was wildly ambitious of me to think that I could finish a semester, put up a photo exhibit (the next post will give you a preview, or make a view possible if you don't live near Seguin, Texas), visit relatives for Thanksgiving and launch a blog all at the same time. Lest those of you who liked my first post give up on Woman Hollerin, I will add a couple of new thoughts.

Now that I have had time to breathe since classes ended, I want to start with a few words about the title of this blog. The name comes from a creek not far from San Antonio. I pass it when I head into the city on the weekends or, rarely, during the week for French or Thai meals. I like the notion that a woman spoke loud enough a long time ago that it made a lasting impression. I almost backed off on the name when I started looking into its origins because the first story I found about it was a legend that the eponymous woman of the creek had drowned her children in it, thus condemning her spirit to haunt the area looking for them. This legend says she will call for them forever near the headwaters of the creek.

I didn't want to equate women who write about political subjects with Andrea Yates, so I started brainstorming other titles. But then I asked a colleague who specializes in local history why the woman was remembered for hollering. His investigations of the facts behind the ghost story revealed a woman whose children were taken in an Indian raid. Yes, the ghost returns to the headwaters to call for her children, but I don't mind being associated with someone who has lost something dear to her. I, too, am searching for what is at the very least in danger of being lost (if not stolen): a voice.

Since I'm writing about ghosts anyway, this is probably a good time to write about a dream I had recently. Not a hallucination, but an articulate statement of a lucid bit of analysis (my second thought today).

In my dream I was sitting with a group of senior colleagues and emeritus professors from my university. These were men and women of various ideological persuasions and they were talking about the reasons young people fail to fulfill their civic responsibilities. I tried to present my thoughts on the issue, but they didn't hear me and followed a line of analysis that blamed young people for indulging in irresponsibility or simply not caring. In short, all the things I've heard before that don't help me to figure out why only about 20 percent of the age group I teach vote. I finally hollered, "They don't participate because they believe the system is broken. For them, it's not a matter of good or bad people running things. For them, the system itself lets bad things happen, no matter who's in charge."

When I woke up, I had much food for thought. If this is true, the posturing that they just don't care begins to make sense as a defense. I certainly don't like to admit that I care about people or institutions that hurt me. Generally, I'd rather move on to a place where I can start fresh and rely only on myself. But how far can one go before one runs out of open space? And besides, I've discovered that I enjoy hanging around with the same group of people, even if we can't seem to get much of anything right.

I hope we can keep communicating and keep trying. It's the trying that really matters.