Tuesday, November 4, 2008
A Change Gonna Come
Note: I wrote this over a year ago, afraid of believing in anything. In high school I watched Meet The Press religiously,had the Supreme Court Justices memorized,hung a Gore poster in my window, worked polls, but after two faulty elections politics weren't about me. In the past year that has changed, I believed again. I'd like to hope that by the end of today this country has a little bit more hope. We need it.
DANA, 27,Waits on a subway platform
Have you seen these women on the subway? These little asian women on the subway. Is that politically correct? Asian? Can I say that? I can’t say oriental right? Like the rug. But these women with the masks. They scare the shit out of me,. What the hell are they protecting themselves from? Like what is so fucked up that is floating around the subway that they need this mask, and why haven’t I gotten the paper mask memo, and if some chemical warfare is floating around why aren’t these mask wearing people telling us. Why aren’t they sharing Also what the hell is a fucking paper towel wrapped around your face going to protect you from? Anthrax? They’re probably laughing at us, laughing at us behind those little masks. I know I could wear a surgical mask too, and they’re within their rights to do so, as Americans. But it’s… It’s selfish .
I’m not saying it’s not a scary world out there. It is. But it’s just. I’m so sick of fear you know? I don’t watch the news anymore. I don’t. I can’t, and it’s ignorant. And it’s gross . I know it’s gross that I know more about Britney Spears’ divorce proceedings than what’s going on over there. I admit that. I don’t read the New York Times. I pretend to, but I don’t. Not even the arts section. It’s just paralyzing. And it’s not like a concienscious choice or anything. Not to do these things. Maybe it’s laziness? And I don’t feel like hopeless about all of this. I feel we still have hope. But like somehow to keep that, that hope, to like keep going, I have to not add to the fear you know? And I don’t even know what I’m afraid of. Who I’m afraid of. Like there are so many people in between me and the people that actually get things done, Like tons of memos and papers and votes between me and them that maybe I’m afraid of that. In Fourth grade, during the first Gulf War, That’s what we call it right, the first Gulf war? Whatever. We made these cards for soldiers over there, with all these crayons and construction paper. And we sent them over. And I remember thinking that those people weren’t so far away, that somehow the President would deliver the cards for us and you know make sure they got there, and that it mattered. And I guess that’s what I’m afraid of, is that it doesn’t.