Just Call Me Mike: A Journey to Actor and Activist

The following is an excerpt from Mike Farrell's memoir, Just Call Me Mike: A Journey to Actor and Activist (Akashic: 2007).

Preface

"So what do we call you, actor and activist?"

"Why don't you just call me Mike?"

It happens -- usually when I'm about to be interviewed on television or radio-because these days the discussion may not be only about M*A*S*H, or Providence, or Hollywood. Since we're as likely to talk about war, or peace, or human rights, or maybe even how I could possibly object to executing some fang-toothed, slobbering monster, they want to fit me into a category.

But I don't want to be put into somebody's category. I'd rather just talk and let whoever's listening take it in, see if it fits and figure out how they feel about it-and maybe even why. Pigeonholing does the public's thinking for them, and kind of insults them in the process.

I don't want to be part of that. Because it's been quite a trip, this journey of mine. So if someone wants to discuss -- or debate -- the issues, I'm happy to do that, but I'd rather not start off with a label that sets someone's teeth on edge.

Say I'm a "liberal" and some think they know my views on everything. They start dialing the phone or writing an angry letter without even knowing what I'll say. Or others think we agree, when we might not.

I've been around the block a few times now, and I think I've learned some things. A lot of these things have surprised me, and many have been painful, but mostly what I've learned is how lucky I am. This is some world we live in. I've been privileged to see a fair amount of it, and the more I experience, the more I realize the special place we inhabit in it.

Being an American, as I've discovered, is often a great privilege. Being a privileged person in today's world -- a world where much of what we take for granted here is unknown elsewhere -- makes you think. It's made me think about the invisible people who live a quiet life of misery -- and about those whose misery has made them unwilling to remain quiet.

Where do I fit in? becomes the question, and, What is my responsibility here? What does it mean to be alive in the world today? What part do I play as an American?

Like it or not, we Americans play a big part in the world, not all of it positive, as you'll note if -- unlike our current president -- you read the papers. So knowing who you are and what being a citizen of the United States means is important. I've certainly found it to be.

It's more than "Don't worry, be happy," or "Shop till you drop" and spend your way into debt. It's more than "Go for the gold" and drink hearty and cheer the team -- singing the national anthem first, if you can remember the words.

It's much larger than that. It's what we aspire to and yearn for and what we owe to each other. It's about making the invisible visible, about salvaging those thought disposable, about recognizing and reassuring those who think they don't count, or perhaps fear they don't actually exist.

But there are some who don't really want us to know all this, or take it too seriously. These are the folks who want to make your decisions for you; who want to put you to sleep. Today it's friends of Karl Rove, tomorrow it will be someone else. They want power and money, and money and power, and they don't want-regardless of what they say-you to think too much. They want you out of the way, kicking back and relaxing, dreaming about winning the lottery.

They don't want you to think about life and love and responsibility: what I've come to think of as the spirit of America. They'd rather take charge, make the decisions and relieve you of all that. Because as the spirit of America awakens, as it struggles to find its way out from under the authoritarian cloud that's now attempting to smother it, as it reasserts itself as a beacon of hope for the world, we take back the power granted us so many years ago by those who invented the American dream. And those who would deny us that right have to go back into their caves.