Dear America,

It’s me, Hope. Remember me? A lot of you haven’t been feeling much hope lately, but don’t worry; I’m still here. Admittedly, I’m a person named Hope and not the abstract concept, but I’ll have to do. I consider myself an expert on hope, because, given my name, I’ve spent my whole life thinking about it and searching for reasons to be hopeful. 

Hope can be found in many places, but I have concluded that the most important source of hope is stories. That’s why I got a PhD in English and became an English teacher. Stories allow us to imagine that things can be different, that seemingly impossible tasks can be achieved, and that happy endings are available to those who don’t give up. And if we can imagine these things, then we can make them real, shaping and improving our lives and the world around us.

However, the story our country is telling now is not headed for a happy ending. People on both sides of the political spectrum are being driven by fear and hatred, and I have heard many saying that they feel like they are living in a dystopian novel or even the Apocalypse. Around the world, we can hear the hoofbeats of the four horsemen: Conquest, War, Famine, and Death. 

Personally, I’ve never been a big fan of dystopian novels. They’re depressing, warning us of the consequences of failing to embrace our common humanity. I definitely don’t want to live in one. So I’ve been racking my brains for a better story, a template for defeating the darkness threatening our nation without succumbing to division and violence. And I have an idea: let’s party.

I grew up reading The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis. In Prince Caspian, an oppressive king has usurped the throne and forced many Narnians–including the talking animals and others who are magical and different–into hiding. A resistance forms, and Narnia comes to the brink of civil war, with armies lined up on the battlefield, ready for slaughter. But then something unexpected happens. The lion Aslan (the Christ figure) appears, and he brings friends: Bacchus, Silenus, and the Maenads. If you’re not up on your Greek mythology or haven’t read Percy Jackson lately, Bacchus is the god of wine and revelry, and the others complete his party crew. Together, they start a festival that attracts more and more Narnians, including a school teacher freed from her classroom and an old woman on her deathbed whom Aslan heals. Lewis writes,

And so at last, with leaping and dancing and singing, with music and laughter and roaring and barking and neighing, they all came to the place where Miraz’s army stood flinging down their swords and holding up their hands, and Peter’s army, still holding their weapons and breathing hard, stood round them with stern and glad faces. And the first thing that happened was that the old woman slipped off Aslan’s back and ran across to Caspian and they embraced one another; for she was his old nurse. (204)

With this embrace, the battle is over. It’s a weird ending, one that didn’t make it into the 2008 movie, but I love it. Here’s why: victory in battle can only be achieved through violence. Though one side may have better, nobler reasons to fight, on the battlefield the two sides are indistinguishable, killing and maiming their opponents, whose common humanity they are forced to ignore. Everyone loses, because everyone has blood on their hands. Lewis’s novel imagines an alternative to violent confrontation, one in which conflict is resolved by its antithesis: a party. Faced with the spirit of community, joy, and love that parties foster, the battle simply ends, its rationale forgotten. Who would rather fight than party? Who would choose hatred and death over communal rejoicing?

It has come to my attention that June 14th is the President’s birthday, as well as the Army’s 250th. I know he’s excited about it, because he’s throwing a big parade. However, a lot of people are feeling afraid, because the procession will celebrate America’s military might, rolling tanks and artillery through the streets of the Capitol. “No Kings” protests are being planned across the country, and conflict seems likely to break out. 

I think that we should take a page out of Lewis’s book and turn June 14th into a day of celebration. Let’s throw the President, the Army, and each other a proper birthday party! I’m imagining local celebrations happening around the country in community parks, neighborhoods, and people’s homes. 

Such celebrations took place across the British Commonwealth in 1897 to mark Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee. The queen rode along a parade route from Buckingham Palace to St. Paul’s Cathedral, where a service of thanksgiving was held on the cathedral steps. As the BBC writes,

it wasn’t just the high and mighty who celebrated. The spirit of Victorian philanthropy was kept alive and well with street feasts laid on for 400,000 of London’s poorest residents and 100,000 of Manchester’s. Tea magnate Sir Thomas Lipton sponsored the London event, which included free bottles of ale and pipe tobacco.

The parties went on into the evening, with a chain of beacons lit across Britain; a series of civic festivities in the newly-created Jubilee cities of Nottingham, Bradford and Hull; fireworks displays; and the son et lumiere illumination of St Paul’s for the first time. By order of the government, and to much disgust from the Temperance Movement, pubs remained open until 02:30.

The Victorians had some great ideas. Personally, I plan to have a potluck at my favorite local park, with my friends and neighbors, good music, and delicious food (I’ll be bringing a birthday cake from Publix). I’ll give people presents (I’m having a hobbit-style birthday party where everyone gets gifts) and encourage guests to bring donations for the local food bank or to donate to reputable humanitarian organizations online. Of course, you can celebrate however and wherever you want at your party, as long as you do it in a spirit of joy and love. 

Will throwing a party magically make everything better? No. Our country will still have a lot of problems. But I believe that a party–or a lot of parties–could change the spirit in which we tackle those problems, reminding us that we can face them together and that we still have so much and so many people to celebrate, even in these dark times. Stories have taught me that our greatest danger, the biggest obstacle to a happy ending, is giving up. Throwing a party for a country in crisis may be a crazy plan, one that only an English teacher would come up with, but it is a plan. And we have to try something.

So this letter is my invitation to everyone: choose fun over fear, and party with me on June 14th! 

Sincerely, Hope

Learn more at funoverfear.org.