A Political Autobiography
As I sat among new friends, watching the drama of election night unfold, I became very attuned to the emotional investments of those around me in the outcome. I've only been eligible to vote in two presidential elections so far, and neither of them have led to the same sort of devotion or dedication that I witnessed on Tuesday.
It was certainly an odd experience to become of voting age so shortly after 9/11. I knew then in late 2001, that Bush's victory over Gore didn't seem quite right. But the stakes were low. The democratic system had failed, yes, but the result seemed only to be that an inept buffoon had landed into office who would overlook the actions of those who saught to profit off of our government. Something told me that this was business as usual. Not ideal, certainly, but not the end of the world either.
Then in 2003, now 18 and somewhat more aware of politics out of a sense of duty mixed with wonder, I remember watching the first of the American bombings in Iraq and getting a sudden and overwhelming feeling of dread. The calm complacency of living under a lameduck disappeared as the shock of living under madmen set in. That past election retroactively took on a sense of extreme importance. It meant something very different now to be an American. I had never been proud of what had always seemed to be a mere circumstance of birth, but now I was ashamed to be an American. I didn't want to be associated with the images I saw on that screen, not in the least bit.
The fall of 2004 promised a new beginning. John Kerry wasn't my choice for the Democratic nominee, but he was at least respectable and more importantly he wasn't a Republican. Living in a conservative part of the country, I could feel the tension in every place I went and in everything I did. But there was hope among my friends. The terrible nightmare of the past four years would pass, and things would begin to return to what we vaguely remembered as being "normal".
But nothing changed. There were murmurs, even among those dissatisfied with Bush, that even though things were terrible, we at least knew what to expect oout of four more years of the same old corruption. At least, they should have said, we knew that we would have nothing new to fear. We were used to the same old fears. Those fears were still horrific, but we understood them. It's 2008 now, and that bit of nonsensical, circular logic is the only way I think to describe our country's rationale for re-electing Bush. The country is falling apart now: we got what we deserved.
And so, sitting in front of the television on Tuesday night, in a group of those who had also been permitted into politics during the Bush era, I couldn't help but hold onto a cynicism tempered by 8 years of insanity. The people in Grant Park cried. Those around me cheered. I felt nothing. I want change as much as they do, but I will not be made to follow a pied piper just because he tells me what I want to hear. In politics, so to speak, the proof is the pudding. I'm glad the party of Bush has been so soundly throttled, but I'm not ready to celebrate yet.
A distrust of power, I think, is healthy. I often even question my own as I stand in front of faces both eager and disinterested, helping them to learn how to reason, demonstrating models of thought, pushing them to express themselves and to cultivate their own interests. I have the power to encourage if used correctly and the power to discourage if I'm negligent. What I do in the classroom will have a deeper impact, even if my students are never consciously aware of it, than what any politician does in Washington on the daily lives of those I work with.
I serve my community in the classroom, and I shouldn't be called upon to do anymore. If that makes me selfish or dangerously apathetic when it comes to the affairs of our nation or our society or our world, then so be it. I'm just one man, and my actions speak for themselves.
It was certainly an odd experience to become of voting age so shortly after 9/11. I knew then in late 2001, that Bush's victory over Gore didn't seem quite right. But the stakes were low. The democratic system had failed, yes, but the result seemed only to be that an inept buffoon had landed into office who would overlook the actions of those who saught to profit off of our government. Something told me that this was business as usual. Not ideal, certainly, but not the end of the world either.
Then in 2003, now 18 and somewhat more aware of politics out of a sense of duty mixed with wonder, I remember watching the first of the American bombings in Iraq and getting a sudden and overwhelming feeling of dread. The calm complacency of living under a lameduck disappeared as the shock of living under madmen set in. That past election retroactively took on a sense of extreme importance. It meant something very different now to be an American. I had never been proud of what had always seemed to be a mere circumstance of birth, but now I was ashamed to be an American. I didn't want to be associated with the images I saw on that screen, not in the least bit.
The fall of 2004 promised a new beginning. John Kerry wasn't my choice for the Democratic nominee, but he was at least respectable and more importantly he wasn't a Republican. Living in a conservative part of the country, I could feel the tension in every place I went and in everything I did. But there was hope among my friends. The terrible nightmare of the past four years would pass, and things would begin to return to what we vaguely remembered as being "normal".
But nothing changed. There were murmurs, even among those dissatisfied with Bush, that even though things were terrible, we at least knew what to expect oout of four more years of the same old corruption. At least, they should have said, we knew that we would have nothing new to fear. We were used to the same old fears. Those fears were still horrific, but we understood them. It's 2008 now, and that bit of nonsensical, circular logic is the only way I think to describe our country's rationale for re-electing Bush. The country is falling apart now: we got what we deserved.
And so, sitting in front of the television on Tuesday night, in a group of those who had also been permitted into politics during the Bush era, I couldn't help but hold onto a cynicism tempered by 8 years of insanity. The people in Grant Park cried. Those around me cheered. I felt nothing. I want change as much as they do, but I will not be made to follow a pied piper just because he tells me what I want to hear. In politics, so to speak, the proof is the pudding. I'm glad the party of Bush has been so soundly throttled, but I'm not ready to celebrate yet.
A distrust of power, I think, is healthy. I often even question my own as I stand in front of faces both eager and disinterested, helping them to learn how to reason, demonstrating models of thought, pushing them to express themselves and to cultivate their own interests. I have the power to encourage if used correctly and the power to discourage if I'm negligent. What I do in the classroom will have a deeper impact, even if my students are never consciously aware of it, than what any politician does in Washington on the daily lives of those I work with.
I serve my community in the classroom, and I shouldn't be called upon to do anymore. If that makes me selfish or dangerously apathetic when it comes to the affairs of our nation or our society or our world, then so be it. I'm just one man, and my actions speak for themselves.