You shall no longer take things at second or third hand,
nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self. – “Song of Myself,” Walt Whitman
I have this memory of sitting in the dining hall my freshman year of college. I remember noticing how many kids ate cereal at dinner. It felt like an act of rebellion, like an expression of their newfound independence: Our mothers weren’t looking over our shoulders anymore–you could eat whatever you want, whenever you want. I never ate cereal at dinner my freshman year, or any other year of college.
For almost ten years I made a conscious effort to pursue independence. But you can’t consciously pursue independence. You can only achieve it when you’re ready to–it can’t be forced. All my attempts to force it only amounted to small steps forward.
I’ve always seen myself, and everything around me, through someone else’s eyes, typically my parents’. The parental influence is immeasurable–they teach us everything: how to eat, how to drive, how to care for ourselves, how to think about the world, what to study in college, what careers are “acceptable,” how to register to vote and what party to register with…
I was taught that Democrats are Liberal, Progressive, the “right” party.
I was taught that, as a petite girl, I should wear heels to appear “taller,” to appear “leaner.”
I was taught to wear makeup to be “attractive.”
It’s only now that I will wear sandals in public. Now I will go without makeup. Now I reconsider being a registered Democrat. Now I question my voting history. Now I question the supposed American tenets of freedom, equality and justice. Now I question my perspective on everything I ever believed to be real. Now I see through my own eyes.
I feel a little lost in all of this. Inspired, but lost nonetheless. But I accept it, because feeling a little lost makes sense in this context. It’s scary. Not the I-Want-To-Turn-Back Scary, but the I’m-Not-Sure-What-I-Will-Look-Like-Tomorrow Scary. And it’s exciting. Not the I-Want-To-Stay-Out-Til-Four-In-The-Morning Exciting, but the I’m-Seeing-With-My-Eyes-For-The-First-Time Exciting.
There’s no reason you shouldn’t, as a writer, not be aware of the necessity to revise yourself constantly. – John Irving
Shortly before Obama was elected, I watched a documentary on Ralph Nader. It made me think a lot about our government, our society, the entity in which I engage and live. It made me question, momentarily, my “vote for change.” But I stuck to my guns — I wanted to be a part of this historical time. I wanted to look back and remember that I participated, that I voted for the first African American president.
I hoped, along with many others, that Obama would mean what he professed — he would bring change. I had my doubts, but I hoped nevertheless.
If Obama was the progressive individual he appeared to be during the election, things would already be headed in a more progressive direction. We’d see change now.
When I read that a 24 year-old soldier, who has already spent 13 months in Iraq, refused to show up for his deployment paperwork and was thrown in jail for 30 days, it’s solidified for me — change has not come.
What happened to our “vote for change?”
This country has taken what amounts to a negligible step forward — we’ve “made history” by electing an African American. But this doesn’t mean we’ve put racism behind us. What does this step mean in the face of all the other steps we’re not taking?
I voted out of fear, and I think that many of us did. I didn’t want another conservative, greedy man in the Oval Office, so I voted for the other guy. And I was thankful “the other guy” wooed so many of us. But that’s exactly what he was doing — wooing.
I don’t think a vote made out of fear is a real, true, “American vote.” I think it’s a scam. If I were to vote again, today, I wouldn’t vote for Obama, and that scares me, too — if I’m not voting for Obama, who do I vote for? If I vote for Nader, or another third-party candidate, then it feels like I’m giving the McCain’s of the world a better chance. It’s terrifying. And if it all boils down to fear, then I begin to doubt the fairness, the freedom of this democracy.
Some people, both in and outside of this country, still admire America and what it stands for. But I am reluctant to be a “proud American.” Our country has done so much wrong. Does my participation, my vote, inherently mean that I support it? Does it mean that I support the invasion and continued occupation of Iraq? Does it mean I support invading Afghanistan?
If we’re only given two choices for the “most powerful man in the world,” for the President of the United States, then I’m not so sure I want to vote anymore. But I’ve been taught that is “un-American.” I’ve been taught that is refusing my right, refusing to take advantage of the representative system I live in.
I don’t know what my vote means anymore. I don’t know if it has any real value. And, if this is the case, our democracy is a farce.
Since I began this blog, it has been many things: a journal, a creative outlet, an offering of reviews, a place for sociopolitical commentary and reflections. After some time off, I have decided to return to a semi-regular schedule of posting, with a new outlook — I cannot define exactly what this will be, but it will pertain to the questions I am asking myself and the way I explore my place in the world.
I’ve also decided to adjust my comment policy. I welcome discussion and response to any post, I look forward to it, but if your comment does not specifically pertain to the subject matter, I will probably not approve it.
If you’re interested in contacting me privately to discuss this new policy, or any post, the Contact form is the best way to reach me.
