It was late spring, and the Alliance for Democracy was sponsoring a small protest in the Rotunda. We had a training session the night before in a church basement, and everyone gathered into small groups to talk about what was making them most nervous. There might be violence, said one person. I might not be able to handle jail, said another. At root, we think of writers as observers.
Activists can write, of course, but they're activists using writing as one tool in their kit.
They can hold strong opinions, write powerful op-eds, but they tell us what is happening, what should happen. For a long time, though, I've found my literary fellowship among the nature writers. This genre may be America's strongest suit in contemporary letters, our most distinctive gift to world literature. There's Rick Bass, the novelist, essayist and champion of Montana wilderness, working to save the Yaak Valley. Wendell Berry, the Kentucky farmer and chronicler of the fictional town of Port William, who has been working to save family farming for decades.