She smiled, explained that she knew our public line, and instead wanted the "real" agenda. Sorry, no hidden agendas, I said. Her response: "I don't believe you would do this without an agenda."

Skepticism about political motives is understandable. Nevertheless, Eliza Gilkyson (a singer-songwriter), Jim Rigby (Presbyterian pastor), and I (professor/activist) concocted Last Sunday with the goal of making a modest contribution to community-building. We knew many people who yearned for a place to combine interests in progressive politics beyond the electoral arena, spirituality beyond traditional churches, and music beyond concerts and bars. So, like politicized, middle-aged versions of the Mickey Rooney/Judy Garland gang in old MGM musicals, we figured, "Let's put on a show!"

After a run of Last Sundays (held at Saengerrunde Hall on the last Sundays of the month, from November 2006 to April 2007), we have taken a break, to assess the experiment and evaluate feedback. And we've concluded the project was a great success and a huge failure.

The success came in presenting relevant information, provocative analysis, and good music to audiences from 300 to 500 people, on subjects ranging from race relations in our largely segregated city to U.S. domination of the world. Highlights included a UT-Austin economist's discussion of the economics of climate change and an explanation by Workers Defense Project organizers and clients of how immigrant workers are sometimes cheated by employers out of hard-earned wages.

The failure was that we didn't help the audience become more than an audience, during or after the event, but in that failure were useful lessons about contemporary politics. The following observations are drawn from written suggestions after each event, conversations with people at Last Sunday, and comments during the discussion at the final gathering in April.

Common in progressive circles is the imperative to get beyond "preaching to the choir." Last Sunday showed the problem with that truism. There is no choir – if by "choir" we mean organized people facing these cascading crises with a coherent ideological framework. There is a disparate group of liberals and leftists with some common policy goals but no common analysis. At Last Sunday, we weren't claiming to have the grand plan but simply suggesting that extensive conversation that challenges the conventional wisdom is necessary.

A few questions sharpen this point: Is corporate capitalism compatible with real democracy? Can we continue to believe (or pretend) the Democratic Party is a vehicle for progressive politics? How many who opposed the invasion and occupation of Iraq are willing to condemn the bipartisan nature of U.S. empire-building? What kind of future does an increasingly pornographic culture offer? What is the connection between the U.S. middle class' consumption and the ecological crisis?

Raise those questions in left/liberal circles, and it's clear that the members of the choir are singing from dramatically different hymnals.

While avoiding apocalyptic fantasies, we wanted to confront not-so-pleasant realities: The U.S. economy is a house of cards built on deficit and debt, in our so-called democracy the majority of people feel shut out of policy formation, the Iraq war is not a break from post-World War II U.S. history but merely a particularly disastrous episode, white supremacy and patriarchy still structure our hierarchical society, and the "normal" operation of our society undermines ecosystems' capacities to sustain life. Living comfortably in the midst of unprecedented first-world affluence feels like being a drunk waking up after a bender. Gilkyson captured this in new songs that resonated with folks – "Runaway Train," "The Party's Over," and "The Great Correction."

Views vary widely about how dire the situation is and what that means politically and emotionally, as was captured by two comments during the final Last Sunday discussion. One person asked whether this kind of political engagement couldn't be made more fun, a comment that drew both applause and sighs of frustration; another responded that problems this serious shouldn't be papered over.

No one suggests that political work – even addressing the grimmest realities – must be depressing. There can be joy in struggle. After the final Last Sunday, a young man told me that he wasn't put off by the blunt talk. "This is one of the few places where I hear people talking about the way I feel," he said. "It's not about fun – it's about what's happening."

If our systems are unsustainable in economic, cultural, political, and ecological terms, how do we make confronting that "fun"?

A common complaint about Last Sunday was that it focused too much on problems, not solutions. That marked another split in the audience between a) focusing on short-term actions to influence public policy and b) thinking about more fundamental changes for which there's no short-term strategy.

Consider the dual problems of oil – we're running out, and burning what's left accelerates rapid climate change. A demand for solutions that would allow us to maintain our lifestyles can lead to the corporate boondoggle of corn-based ethanol or the hazy illusions around biodiesel, instead of confronting a troubling reality: There's no viable alternative to petroleum for an unsustainable, car-based transportation system. So what are the realistic "solutions," other than to radically curtail the way we move ourselves about? The fact is that we can't go to some of the places we now go and can't do some of the things we now do.

Sometimes truly facing a problem is to recognize that it has no solution without a dramatic refashioning of the context in which we try to solve it. Some at Last Sunday found that depressing; others said they felt a sense of relief.

 1  |  2