Molly Ivins died eight years ago. Why should you care? And why should you even consider kickstarting a documentary about her life and work?
Eminently quotable, and made to be memed, Molly’s folksy writing and wry speeches, deceptively simple, were built on a foundation of the strongest journalistic standards, academic training, and decades of research, observation, and experience.
She did not aggregate or curate. Molly was a capital-W writer, an artist, a creator. She used her prodigious talent to expose the wealthy and powerful in defense of the least among us.
Let me reconsider, actually, saying she wasn’t a curator. She was, but not in the sense that she filled the Texas Observer with listicles.
She was a curator of good people, bringing them together around the table for beer, chili, and the kind of conversation that mends the torn parts of your soul. She connected her friends to the people they didn’t even know they needed to know.
When Molly Ivins passed away, she left it all on the field. Essays she published decades ago resonate still, and remind us of our obligation to call out injustice.
We owe it to her, and to ourselves, to remember. To document what she did and what she stood for, and to take the baton she offered us every time she spoke out. To give credit and pay homage to a woman who inspired so many of the journalists, writers, and bloggers carrying that baton today.
I challenge you to watch this sizzle reel without laughing out loud.
And I urge you then to donate to get this documentary made. Just a bit, or a little bit more. Six more days to get this project to $100,000, and just a little over $6,000 to go.
She’s a voice for those who didn’t have a voice. We still need that voice. Desperately. Let’s make this happen, and keep raising hell in her memory and for our future.