A few years back, our little town elected people to the school board who trumpeted themes we hear from many extremists these days: the school was corrupt. The teachers were pedophiles. There were kitty litter boxes in the bathrooms. No one knows how they got in, except that the grownups weren't paying attention. That's how logic dies.

When I went to a board meeting to see what all the fuss was about, I found a half-dozen other retired teachers who were as shocked by the new board members' behavior as I was. We started meeting informally to discuss how to help curb the mania that had swept our little town. As the extremists on the board tried to change school policy, state law, and even the U.S. Constitution, we lost one good superintendent and then another due to constant harassment. Teachers began looking for jobs elsewhere. The number of candidates applying for open positions dwindled as our reputation for having an anti-education majority on our board spread around the state.

After months of sitting through meetings almost too weird to be believed, our group of retired teachers and other interested citizens decided to recall one board member. Prone to emotional outbursts and woefully uninformed about his duties, he'd been downright gleeful about how they got their way through collusion and dirty tricks. Members of our group were given petitions voters could sign to request that board member's name be put on the fall ballot.

I hate knocking on doors, and I don't like asking people to do things on the strength of my recommendation. I had already been slammed online and at meetings because I'd asked board members to sign a pledge not to lie or defame others. Though I'd have preferred to enjoy my quiet retirement, I was determined to do what I could for the school. Several days a week for almost a month, I set out with a petition for every township in our school district and a lot of angst.

 I avoided homes that I knew were in the extremists' camp, but still, I usually didn't know what reaction I would get when I knocked on a door. Surprisingly, in many cases it was, "What took you people so long?" (Sometimes it came with a knowing smile; other times with a frown, like I'd been lax in my civic duty.) The next question was likely to be, "When are you going to get rid of the rest of them?" In general, people were appreciative of our efforts and eager to see their elected officials held to account for their bad behavior. The silent majority hadn't acted, but they hoped "somebody" would "do something." 

In the end, we had far more signatures than we needed, and the recall was successful. The target lost his seat in the fall election; two of the others were not re-elected. (One had already quit when she realized her power was gone.) 

The point is this: What we found, once we organized and made a plan, was that people were with us. They didn't say it online. They didn't attend board meetings. They didn't organize themselves and make their own plan. While they recognized the need for action, they didn't act. Instead, they waited for someone to literally knock on their door and give them a way to register their dissatisfaction. That might not be the way it should be, but that's the way it is. 

The situation we have today in our nation is very similar to what we faced. So my question to you is Who is out there right now, waiting for you to do something?