The election is heating up… or so I’m told.
I try— I really do. I watch The Daily Show and listen to This American Life. I follow A.O.C. on Instagram and do my best to fact check before sharing shit on social media. I’ve been to a few handfuls of rallies, marches and protests. When someone I believed in ran for congress in my district, I signed up to volunteer for the campaign. And even actually volunteered one day— going door to door in my neighborhood registering people to vote.
I think I walked around for two hours; I think I registered three people.
I paid attention to the Kavannaugh hearings… until I couldn’t stomach it anymore. I bought the Mueller Report. I did not read it.
I try— I really do.
But I couldn’t tell you much about the current Democratic candidates. I know all about Bernie, obviously, and Elizabeth Warren. Oh, and Uncle Fluffy (Joe Biden). I know a bit about Kirsten Gilibrand, too, because she’s a Senator from my state, but until I just doubled-checked while writing this, I wasn’t sure if she was still in the race (she’s not). Other than that, I know some names and a couple faces. I guess I figure I’ll start paying closer attention when the crowd thins out a bit.
There’s only so much room in my head for these things— there are only so many things I can care deeply about. The issues, yes, all the candidates, not so much. I have only so much passion to go around. I save most of it for my job. I think my students appreciate that.
Since I do try, I attended a town hall meeting the other day with a friend of mine. We wanted to hear what our congressman had to say. We’d both voted for him; we both liked him. But we were both upset with him for not supporting the impeachment inquiry.
I didn’t ask any questions; I didn’t have to. My questions were posed by others in the crowd who’d seemed to come for the same reasons. I can’t say I agreed with everything he had to say, but he answered every question genuinely and earnestly. And I appreciated that. Others didn’t.
The next day, a coworker told me she saw it on the news. To her, it looked like a drama-filled event with lots of crazies.
“Not really,” I said. “I mean, there were a few people who needed some meds, but most people were there to listen.”
She brought up the Trump protestors the news showed outside the school where the event was held. Yes, there were a handful of old, white, red-hatters looking rather pitiful on the corner, struggling to hold their signs while leaning on their walkers. But they were few amid the many more there to support.
She brought up the lady she’d seen crying so hard she couldn’t choke out her question to the congressman. Yes, there was an unstable woman whose cringeworthy performance only served to hurt the cause. But she’d been the only cryer.
She brought up the man she’d seen somewhat aggressively interrupting the congressman when he attempted to answer his question. Yes, there was a guy who’d come for a “gotcha” moment he never got. But the congressman handled him with poise.
“I feel like most of us were there to listen,” I said with a shrug. “People had questions; they got answers. They might not have loved the answers, but they got them.”
But of course, all they showed on the news was the nonsense.
Or maybe we’re all nonsense now. Maybe we’ve all gone round the bend. It’s hard not to these days, especially if you’re trying to be an engaged citizen. All you hear about is mass shootings, divisive issues, and the increasingly concerning behavior of Trump.
I used to think that most people fell somewhere in the middle of the political spectrum— that there were very few true blues all the way to the left and very few wholly red all the way to the right. I figured most were really some shade of purple. After all, I was a registered independent for a number of years, even though I voted democratic in every major election. I guess I wanted to hold on to the belief that I was impartial and open to hearing differing points of view.
But now it doesn’t feel like there are any purple people left. It doesn’t even feel like it matters whether you’re a democrat or republican or some outlier. The only thing that seems to matter now is how you feel about Trump. Because there is no middle ground there.
When people tell me I just have to “swallow” Trump the way they did President Obama, I want to channel Dwight Schrute and throw a decisive “False” at them. I had to swallow President Bush the way they had to swallow President Obama. Trump is in a league all his own.
A line has been drawn in the sand, and we’ve all been forced to pick a side. You’re either with Trump or you’re intelligent.
I suppose that’s a little unfair. Not supporting Trump doesn’t necessarily mean you’re intelligent; it could just mean you’re sane.
Either way, there’s no standing in the center any more.
So, while I try, sometimes it’s too volatile to stay engaged. Mostly I’m out here just trying to live my life the best I can. And if I had to wager a guess, I’d say that’s the case for most people.
I live in an urban area. My neighbors are diverse in every way. My little block has Muslims, Christians, and a Buddhist Monk. We have refugees from Myanmar and Thailand; we have immigrants from Bosnia. There’s a family from Puerto Rico across the street, and quite a few families who were born and raised right here. There’s an old interracial couple a few doors down and a lesbian couple across from them. There’s a family with a POW, there’s a garden variety drug dealer right next door, and a well-off lawyer at the top of the hill. I don’t know everyone’s names. I don’t know their political affiliations. But I know the names of their dogs and cats.
I think most people are too busy actually working, tending to their families, and walking their dogs to read twenty “presidential” tweets a day (Not-so-fun fact: the average number of daily tweets is actually higher than twenty).
“Well,” my colleague said, “it’s good you went and listened.”
“I try,” I replied. “I really do.”