(no subject)
Something I wrote today...
Logic tells me I should be recalling the night of the last election and the many days that followed before it was certain who would become the next president. But let's face it. I was thirteen years old and, while I'm certain there are many extraordinary thirteen year olds who care deeply about politics, and while I had had a political awakening of sorts, and while I was in the most contested swing state at the time, there was no changing the fact that I was an ordinary thirteen year old who happened to be in Disney World. Yes, Disney World. It's almost comical that the frenzied, disorganized, news coverage of that election night is overshadowed by memories such as Epcot, over priced food, nightly fireworks and "that one cool water fountain." Now, I wanted Gore to be president. This decision was not the result of nuanced political analyzation, but partly from a general intuition that made me glare at the pictures in Newsweek of the then Governor of Texas, one George W. Bush. And I simply liked the Democrats better, based on the vague knowledge I had on what the party stood for.
The real memory comes from Bush's inauguration speech, one cold winter day. Dad and I were in the car, listening to the speech on the radio. We were mostly silent, driving past the empty trees above us and the snow blanketed ground to the right and left of us. As I listened, I knew I still did not trust Bush, and couldn't bring myself to feel any excitement that he'd been handed the country. I missed Clinton, amazed that he was no longer in charge, reflecting on the fact that he'd been president since I was in kindergarten. From the look on Dad's face, I could tell he was similiarly unimpressed.
I am seventeen now and much more politically aware. The 2004 election is over and done with and Bush is still inexplicably the president. My "redefeat Bush!" pin still sits on my bookshelf, admonishing the electorate. I am sure there's a Howard Dean button or two or five lost in a forgotten corner of my desk. I'm wondering what to do with them.
I have been interested in the results of this election since I was at least fifteen. I have been invested in its outcome from the moment the war in Iraq became inevitable. Since then I have followed Howard Dean, followed Kerry, downloaded speeches from the DNC, screamed with thousands at a rally for Kerry in the suburbs of Pittsburgh, analyzed the debates in my AP Government class, refreshed the yahoo.com homepage for election results and went to bed defeated when Florida appeared on my screen in unapologetic red. It didn't become real until the I saw the headline on the TV in my Gov class. Though here my memories fail again. Did it say "Bush re-elected" or "Kerry to concede"? Somehow I don't remember, but the message was the same. It was real and I was angry. As an editorial in the New York Times said recently, it's unsettling to realize that more than half of the country probably views America in a completely different way than you do. It's unsettling to wonder why people in areas devastated by the economy vote for Bush. It's unsettling to have the red states try to save the blue states from themselves, as The Daily Show put it.
So now here I am. I am angry. I keep thinking "angry angry angry angry!" I can understand the impulse to yell "Yeeeeeeeeargh!" even more. But like Caroline I feel a sense of pride. I admire the voters, the 48% who saw through the flag draping, the "you're with us or you're with the terrorists," and the use of faith as a wedge to divide. I am proud of the voters who are willing to compromise and pay attention. Yes, I am proud of the people who voted for Kerry. I am proud of my 18 year old friends who did vote and pushed Pennylvania into the "cool swing state" category. I am also proud of my 18 year old friends who voted, even if their state went to Bush.
I am not going to immigrate to Canada or Australia or anything like that. Well... I can't promise that I'll live in the United States for all of my life, but I will never give away my U.S.A citizenship too. If all of us crazy commie liberals leave, then who will give the radical right opposition? Who? This is my country too, I care what happens to it, and when I am 18 I will try my hardest to vote every damn time I can.
Yes, I am angry. There is hope, too. I feel like someone is screaming in my ear, telling me I can be doing something, change, screaming that I'm standing at a crossroads of my life. Either way, this is not a concession speech.
There are many sides to this difficult problem. And people persist in discussing soil-erosion and tribal decay, and lack of schools and crime as though they were all part of the matter. If you think long enough about it, you will be brought to consider republics, and bilingualism, and immigration, and Palesttine, and God knows what. So in a way it is best not to think about it at all.
In the meant time, the strike is over, with a remarkably low loss of life. All is quiet, they report, all is quiet.
In the deserted harbour there is yet water that laps against the quays. In the dark and slient forest there is a leaf that falls. Behind the polished panelling the white ant eats away the wood. Nothing is ever quiet, except for fools
*
A belief that we are connected as one people. If there's a child on the south side of Chicago who can't read, that matters to me, even if it's not my child. If there's a senior citizen somewhere who can't pay for her prescription and has to choose between medicine and the rent, that makes my life poorer, even if it's not my grandmother. If there's an Arab American family being rounded up without benefit of an attorney or due process, that threatens my civil liberties. It's that fundamental belief--I am my brother's keeper, I am my sisters' keeper--that makes this country work. It's what allows us to pursue our individual dreams, yet still come together as a single American family. "E pluribus unum." Out of many, one.
Logic tells me I should be recalling the night of the last election and the many days that followed before it was certain who would become the next president. But let's face it. I was thirteen years old and, while I'm certain there are many extraordinary thirteen year olds who care deeply about politics, and while I had had a political awakening of sorts, and while I was in the most contested swing state at the time, there was no changing the fact that I was an ordinary thirteen year old who happened to be in Disney World. Yes, Disney World. It's almost comical that the frenzied, disorganized, news coverage of that election night is overshadowed by memories such as Epcot, over priced food, nightly fireworks and "that one cool water fountain." Now, I wanted Gore to be president. This decision was not the result of nuanced political analyzation, but partly from a general intuition that made me glare at the pictures in Newsweek of the then Governor of Texas, one George W. Bush. And I simply liked the Democrats better, based on the vague knowledge I had on what the party stood for.
The real memory comes from Bush's inauguration speech, one cold winter day. Dad and I were in the car, listening to the speech on the radio. We were mostly silent, driving past the empty trees above us and the snow blanketed ground to the right and left of us. As I listened, I knew I still did not trust Bush, and couldn't bring myself to feel any excitement that he'd been handed the country. I missed Clinton, amazed that he was no longer in charge, reflecting on the fact that he'd been president since I was in kindergarten. From the look on Dad's face, I could tell he was similiarly unimpressed.
I am seventeen now and much more politically aware. The 2004 election is over and done with and Bush is still inexplicably the president. My "redefeat Bush!" pin still sits on my bookshelf, admonishing the electorate. I am sure there's a Howard Dean button or two or five lost in a forgotten corner of my desk. I'm wondering what to do with them.
I have been interested in the results of this election since I was at least fifteen. I have been invested in its outcome from the moment the war in Iraq became inevitable. Since then I have followed Howard Dean, followed Kerry, downloaded speeches from the DNC, screamed with thousands at a rally for Kerry in the suburbs of Pittsburgh, analyzed the debates in my AP Government class, refreshed the yahoo.com homepage for election results and went to bed defeated when Florida appeared on my screen in unapologetic red. It didn't become real until the I saw the headline on the TV in my Gov class. Though here my memories fail again. Did it say "Bush re-elected" or "Kerry to concede"? Somehow I don't remember, but the message was the same. It was real and I was angry. As an editorial in the New York Times said recently, it's unsettling to realize that more than half of the country probably views America in a completely different way than you do. It's unsettling to wonder why people in areas devastated by the economy vote for Bush. It's unsettling to have the red states try to save the blue states from themselves, as The Daily Show put it.
So now here I am. I am angry. I keep thinking "angry angry angry angry!" I can understand the impulse to yell "Yeeeeeeeeargh!" even more. But like Caroline I feel a sense of pride. I admire the voters, the 48% who saw through the flag draping, the "you're with us or you're with the terrorists," and the use of faith as a wedge to divide. I am proud of the voters who are willing to compromise and pay attention. Yes, I am proud of the people who voted for Kerry. I am proud of my 18 year old friends who did vote and pushed Pennylvania into the "cool swing state" category. I am also proud of my 18 year old friends who voted, even if their state went to Bush.
I am not going to immigrate to Canada or Australia or anything like that. Well... I can't promise that I'll live in the United States for all of my life, but I will never give away my U.S.A citizenship too. If all of us crazy commie liberals leave, then who will give the radical right opposition? Who? This is my country too, I care what happens to it, and when I am 18 I will try my hardest to vote every damn time I can.
Yes, I am angry. There is hope, too. I feel like someone is screaming in my ear, telling me I can be doing something, change, screaming that I'm standing at a crossroads of my life. Either way, this is not a concession speech.
There are many sides to this difficult problem. And people persist in discussing soil-erosion and tribal decay, and lack of schools and crime as though they were all part of the matter. If you think long enough about it, you will be brought to consider republics, and bilingualism, and immigration, and Palesttine, and God knows what. So in a way it is best not to think about it at all.
In the meant time, the strike is over, with a remarkably low loss of life. All is quiet, they report, all is quiet.
In the deserted harbour there is yet water that laps against the quays. In the dark and slient forest there is a leaf that falls. Behind the polished panelling the white ant eats away the wood. Nothing is ever quiet, except for fools
*
A belief that we are connected as one people. If there's a child on the south side of Chicago who can't read, that matters to me, even if it's not my child. If there's a senior citizen somewhere who can't pay for her prescription and has to choose between medicine and the rent, that makes my life poorer, even if it's not my grandmother. If there's an Arab American family being rounded up without benefit of an attorney or due process, that threatens my civil liberties. It's that fundamental belief--I am my brother's keeper, I am my sisters' keeper--that makes this country work. It's what allows us to pursue our individual dreams, yet still come together as a single American family. "E pluribus unum." Out of many, one.