the night is dark;
the stars aren’t out;
I stared for hours
up from the ground.
I heard a silent song-
-taught myself to sing along.
you could be listening;
I could be wrong.
you ran your hand
right through the sky.
can’t tell if that
was in my mind.
I’ve run for all these years,
and somehow I’m still here;
you might be laughing now
at all my fear.
tell me how it is to see
the distant heavens glow,
and lock within your eyes a gleam
so rarely seen below.
show me what it is you do
that I feel half awake,
as when a dream is barely through
yet gone without a trace.
and be the muse unrealized
that waits to feel the sun,
and lives on the requited side
of unrequited love.
Does anyone remember what happened a couple years ago? Of course, everyone who reads this will initially say “yes.” But I’m not referring to the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon on September 11, 2001. I’m talking about what happened after, when in the wake of national tragedy and heartache, we pulled together and somehow showed that adversity would not break us, but make us stronger; that we would not turn into a paranoid citizenry, but rather, come closer together, supporting each other when the need was most desperate.
Nobody had an unkind political comment to share on the news networks. We were in one big, awe-inspiring, fear-smothering, unifying group hug. It was strange to see the idea proven right, that adversity can make us better people. And for a while it appeared that the difficulty of regrouping from a national tragedy had not only made us better individual people, but it had also made us a better people, collectively. But, as usually happens, as distance separated us from tragedy, most people seemed to lose that newfound sense of American “family.”
And as more individuals reverted to pre-9/11, every-man-for-himself mode, the collective citizenry also regressed toward its less admirable, previous state.
We lost that “loving feeling,” so to speak. Political rivals took their familiar places, slinging criticism on the news shows, even as many feared to take opposition stances, for fear of a nationalistic backlash. And pretty soon the TV talk show comics were back to their cheap jokes about the President. Protesters were called traitors, even though many who protested had bravely served their country in the past. War supporters were labeled greedy oil vultures, if not simply cowards, afraid to stand against the “evil” war plans. I’ve had many a conversation with each side of the debate, on which I admittedly seem to be straddling the fence (but only because I don’t adopt a pre-selected belief template). I’ve heard the protesters who obviously don’t understand why they’re protesting; and I’ve heard the war supporters who are only agreeing because they don’t want to make up their own minds. But it’s clear to me, despite these lockstep protesters and supporters, that there are many people on each side who have passionate, well thought out beliefs for or against the actions taken by our government. And few, if any, of these people can correctly be labeled as traitors or greedy vultures.
We need to modify the discussion a little. Whether it’s Donald Rumsfeld and John Ashcroft, or Michael Moore and Al Franken, or any one else spouting divisive rhetoric about those with whom they disagree—there needs to be a higher premium placed on civil discourse. And since I’m not betting on any of the people named above reading, much less following, this advice, I’ll settle for the kind readers of this essay giving the idea some consideration.
Thanks for reading.
I had a conversation with a co-worker recently. During the conversation, this co-worker proudly claimed to have pulled the big lever every time she’s stepped into a voting booth. She proclaimed what a wonderful boon to democracy that this lever has been. And I thought about it—isn’t it wonderful to have a tool that allows us to bypass the thought process as we cast our votes? If not for the large partisan lever, I might mistakenly start thinking while I’m in the booth; subsequently, I might even vote for someone outside of my party affiliation—oh, the horror! Horror? No, not really.
Please allow me to steer the topic away from my partisan co-worker to this guy named Matt. He’s my state representative. He’s a Republican. I’m not, but I still vote for him every time he’s up for re-election. I don’t agree with him on a few issues, but I vote for him anyway. I’ve found political issues aren’t always the most important criteria for electing people. So what is?
It just depends on the person. Matt, who holds different political views than I do, gets my respect and my vote because I trust his judgment. And really, outside of trusting a political candidate’s judgment, what else is there? History should be a lesson that litmus tests don’t always work.
In 1992, Bill Clinton ran on some pretty radical promises, many of which weren’t kept. Remember National Healthcare? And what about his gung ho stance on gays in the military? How quickly he watered down, if not completely abandoned two of his highest profile issues. And he brought in the age of NAFTA and the WTO, two awkward measures for a Democratic president. Then, as the Clinton Presidency rambled on, non-political controversies came into full-bloom, and the character question loomed once again. So did it matter? Does character count? In Clinton’s case, I think yes, unless you’re in the camp of “it’s the economy, stupid”—in which case, there is no other measure, and Clinton belongs in the Presidential Hall of Fame. That is, until you realize that the recession we began to trudge out of almost two years ago began with Clinton still at the helm.
And of course, Clinton’s predecessor, George Bush the elder, cursed his own presidency by reneging on one very infamous promise; it was something about lip-reading, I think. And that economy for which President Clinton reaped so much praise? It actually began its recovery during the last months of Bush’s term. But the economy aside, I always liked Bush on the character issue.
And now, George W. Bush—what to make of him?
I didn’t vote for him, but I remember defending him to people who seemed to think perfect elocution was the most important requisite to being a leader. I always felt he got picked on unfairly (—and I really don’t agree with much of his politics, so that should mean something). And I did tremor with the rest of the country when he rallied us after the horrific attacks of two years ago. I think he should always be acknowledged for performing well when it was most important, but I still don’t know about him.
He surrounds himself with a variety of advisors, some of whose motives almost have to be considered when they propose certain actions. I supported the war in Iraq, even if not for the stated reasons—there were more than enough reasons to be there. And I never liked the idea of subjugating national security interests to the whims of any of the five permanent security council members with an ax to grind. And the “no blood for oil” crowd was pretty annoying to me, too; I’m still surprised how many intelligent people I know who have embraced similar accusations.
I guess I’d be more comfortable if I saw some actions apart from the war on terror that showed that kind of leadership. My perception of Bush is hampered by the presence of too many divergent themes in his message; I sometimes wonder if all of his ideas are his own. (And while I’m at it, I don’t much care for either installment of the so-called Patriot Act, but I digress…)
I think character counts, probably more than strict ideology. But I notice (with a feeling of great disturbance) that our political landscape isn’t as powered by individual people as it should be. It has become a playing field slanted toward the cleverly-packaged ideologues of established political machines. And the big lever allows the dominant political structure to remain as it is, leaving people like me to flail against the machine, hoping that I can just pick a candidate who can be trusted with important decisions. And that’s really all I can hope for.
But the first decision most people make when they go to vote is this: Who do I trust to cast my vote? Do I trust an established political party and the ensuing template of pre-selected candidates, or do I trust myself?
Who do you trust?
