Hope Me Something

By Claire B. Crawford, PhD., Contributing Writer

Where is our now-hope? 

Dr. Irvin Hunt begins his book, Dreaming the Present, with the words of Fannie Lou Hamer: “Hope me something.” Hunt finds it as a call to action “as in [Hamer meant] what I need to live, to flourish, now.” Later in the text, Hunt leaves us with a question to meditate on: “ Dreams are often considered the precedent for freedom, but what if freedom was the precedent for dreams?” I’ve been hope-dreaming.

I find myself watching Sweet Honey in the Rock perform Ella’s Song on YouTube. As they harmonize the words “We Who Believe In Freedom Cannot Rest Until It Comes.” Yet, as I hold close the voice of Dr. Bernice Johnson Reagon singing “Struggling myself don’t mean a whole lot, I’ve come to realize that teaching others to stand up and fight is the only way my struggle survives.” I want to struggle with my people, yet I am restless for the striving of something better. We need that something better now.

I am looking for hope in this time, to live in the present. Hope: this boundless resource we all possess, a cyclical well of life lived, the birthright of Black life. Hope can spin time, offering up something slowed and wayward, giving us space to do something different and otherwise when everything around you can feel like broken, limited. Currently in America, we are in between time, in the cracks of light from a future we can hope for and a present-past that is astringently dark. 

But, to live in the present as a people surviving peril, I ask you to hope me something. Hope me something so I can breathe without holding it. Truly speak life, tell me something beautiful you see for your loved ones, and let’s go do it. Hope with me and I will return the hope back. Our hope is tied together. We need each other to flourish, so that we aren’t just witnesses to a broken time but experimenters of hope in it. We must explore what might be now. 

Hope is not of the intangible future but a living present posture. I lean on hope, I stand with it, I dream with it. I’m unrepentant about my hope. I live in the world I know must be; it’s in my sojourning on this Earth, my touch, my voice, my acts of care for others. The world I dream to be a part of, I must act as it is now. On Earth as it is now. That world where violence isn’t power and power is only truly love. I dream of that world for us. I know it will take more pragmatic elements, but the first step is hope: I hope I’m not alone in that dream. To carry that charge, I live a life led in love now as practice for that world I dream of. 

Black political life has always existed beyond state-centric institutions and leaders, often in the margins —whether on a porch, in a pew, on a couch, or in a hush harbor —living beyond the present political time. 

We may have to improvise a little this time. It won’t be the first time. It won’t be perfect. We may feel like we really don’t know what we are doing. But we can will ourselves the audacity to hope. Dive into that dream that feels distant and alluring. Pull out those elements you can breathe life into today. Can you try with me?

Will you hope me something today?