Friday, November 11, 2016

Today We Get Political

Well, friends. I have recently undergone what will likely be one of my largest college adventures: voting in my first election ever. And how cool that it was a presidential election! I considered my strategy carefully. I decided to vote at home by absentee ballot rather than at my college, both because New Hampshire is a swing state and because I wanted to vote for the other elected officials that would affect my own home state. I filled out my absentee ballot with excitement, seriousness, and conviction. I began the election as a Bernie supporter, but I had no problems with switching over to Hillary, and while it wasn’t the reason for my choice I felt good about having voted for possibly the first woman president in US history. I knew voting was important, and I knew we weren’t out of the woods yet, but in my youthful optimism I believed there was no possible way someone as awful as Trump could become the president of my country.

The morning after Election Day, that youthful optimism was forever shattered. I woke up at 7:45 for my 8:30 class (ew) and, far less bleary-eyed than usual, grabbed for my tablet. The results read out on the screen in red: Donald Trump as the next President, with a Republican House and Senate to back him. I dropped my tablet and sat there on my bed with my head in my hands, in shock for a good ten minutes. How the fuck did this happen? How is a certifiable cartoon villain the next President of my country? Yesterday I pouted and ate my feelings, but today it’s time to fight, starting with answering those questions.

How the fuck did this happen, anyway?

Fear-Mongering

This was a large part of Trump’s campaign from the beginning, and honestly I thought we were better than it. There’s that naïve optimism again. Our next president won with a campaign which advocated mass deportations, closing off our borders, and literally building a giant wall between us and another country! That’s insane! The last time humans divided themselves with a giant wall, it did not end well. Just ask Berlin.

It would seem logical, then, to assume that Trump’s supporters are either insane, stupid, or both. I can’t refute any of those claims completely, and in plenty of cases I’m sure they’re true. But I’ve met Trump supporters. Probably about half of my family is made up of Trump supporters, and in most respects, most of them are very intelligent people. However, they’re scared. And that’s not entirely unreasonable, in and of itself. The world is a scary place, ISIS is a scary thing, and I don’t think anyone is trying to deny that. If you’re not at least a little bit scared of some of the things going on in our world right now, you’re probably not paying attention.

The problem occurs when that fear is misdirected, which is at least part of the reason why rural areas tend to be red and urban blue. Cities (and the surrounding areas) tend to have a more diverse populous. For people growing up in those areas, the people Trump wants to blame the problems of the world on are real people in their everyday lives, and it’s more difficult to see them as boogeymen. But that’s not the case everywhere. I was fortunate in my education and my parents, and I never bought into the fear-mongering. But it’s also true that I had never met a Muslim before I came to college, and I found myself with a few shattered expectations when I did. For people who grew up places like where I did, where fear is bred into the populous and the only example of a Muslim they have ever seen is the extremist kind, it is easy for Trump’s version of events to look terrifyingly real, especially for people who never leave these tiny homogenous communities.

An at Least Somewhat Valid Sense of Disenfranchisement

I don’t agree with this, and I don’t think in any way that this disenfranchisement compares to that felt by minorities and women in this country at the moment. That being said, if we want to close the gaping skism between us and them, we have to at least try to understand the other side. A lot of working class America feels as though it’s been left behind by the Democratic party, and honestly it’s not wrong. Employment, while better than it was at the beginning of President Obama’s eight years, is still in peril in many ways. Dems have been talking about making it better for a long time, but we haven’t really delivered. Trump has promised to champion these people. I don’t believe him. I think his plans will harm this demographic more than help. But the current system hasn’t really been helping them either. If we want to get at least some of these votes back, we need to make working class America more of a priority than it has been.

The Electoral College

Without the Electoral College, Hillary Clinton actually won the election. According to the results that Google has up, Hilary beat Trump by 301,002 votes. I want to say that we as a country can take heart in the fact that more Americans chose Hillary than Trump, and to a degree we can, but it is also important to point out by how thin a margin. Neither major candidate garnered a majority of the vote, but Trump did win with 279 electoral votes to Hillary’s 228.

So why do we have the Electoral College if it dilutes the opinions of American citizens on the whole? There was a time when it made sense to have the Electoral College. This was the same time that something like the Three-Fifths Compromise, stating that slaves counted as three-fifths of a person for census purposes, made sense to us. This sounds like nothing short of insanity now, but it was linked to the delicate balance of state’s rights. At the time, the American colonies considered themselves to more or less be separate entities that had come together to fight a common enemy. It became clear that the loose confederation under the Articles of Confederation did not provide enough of a union, but states still thought of themselves as largely independent. The Electoral College in concert with the Three-Fifths Compromise made sure the north could not maintain dominance over the south, which was a large concern at the time. Another issue was the general education of the populous. Most people simply did not have the means to make informed decisions.

Neither of these concerns are concerns anymore. It’s not true in the case of every individual certainly, and I think most of us have a certain degree of pride for our home states, but I think most people identify as Americans before they identify as citizens of their states. I know I’m proud to be from New Hampshire, but I’m a citizen of the United States before anything else. And education in America is far superior to what it was at the time the Constitution was written. Currently 88.4% of the population aged twenty-five and older are in possession of a high school level education. If we look at only the twenty-five to thirty-four age group, the percentage is 90.5. Education is on the rise, and at this point the majority of voters are qualified to make the decision of who the face of their country is directly.

Frankly, the system comes out of an era that has been gone for a very, very long time. It’s difficult, in a way, to question the electoral college, because it is built into the constitution of our country, the very foundation of our civilization. However, our founders recognized that the country would not be stagnant, and in their wisdom they incorporated a system to legally change the constitution. In respect to the Electoral College, it is time to use that system.

Voter Apathy

To anyone who was somehow prevented from voting, either through some sort of bureaucratic screw-up or voter intimidation, none of this applies to you and I’m terribly sorry you had to face such an injustice.

Guys, this is the one that makes me the angriest. I find it even more frustrating than the bigotry driving a large portion of Trump supporters. This kind of lack of care, not bothering to vote, is the epitome of unacceptable. If you stand by and watch something happen, you are complicit in it weather you want it to happen or not. Voting is not a privilege. Voting is your civic duty, and you owe your country no less than to show up and do it. I have a similar frustration with protest voters. While I agree with the sentiment that the bipartisan system is rigged, this is not the way to vote it. We have to work within the system while we still have it, and fight for change between elections rather than in them. That being said, protest voting is more understandable (to me at least) than not voting. I cannot imagine the lack of drive that must exist in someone to simply not show up to the poles. Our eligible voting population is 231,556,622. Only 131,741,500 ballots were counted. That means only 56.9% of our eligible voting population came to the poles. That is an abysmal statistic.

I am ashamed to say that this is a problem prevalent in my own generation. I admit that I couldn’t find numbers for this election. Perhaps they’re not out yet. But last election, only 46% of eligible millennials (defined as ages 18-35) showed up to the polls. Those numbers are abysmal. Abysmal. Most people my age who don’t vote say it’s because their vote does not matter. I assure you, it does. It. Does.

My home state of New Hampshire has historically been a swing state, which is a large part of why I decided to vote at home instead of in New York, where I’m currently living for college. As I watched the poles on Tuesday night, Trump and Clinton were running within a percent of each other pretty much the whole time. I was sweating watching New Hampshire vacillate between being blue and being the only spot of red in the New England area. I yelled at the screen, “Don’t you embarrass me like this!” By the time the results were in, I was relieved New Hampshire came out blue. With such a close race, it was clear that every vote mattered there.


I’m not going to lie to you and pretend the system is perfect. Personally, I agree with you that it’s kind of fucked. But it’s not impossible to work with. We might not elect the president directly at the moment, but we do elect them. The way the population of a state votes determines how the electoral representatives of the state votes, and every single vote casts contributes to that. This graphic has been circulating, showing what the election would’ve been like if only millennials voted:

Obviously this could not have been the map on Tuesday. Millennials are not the only generation that would have voted. However, we are a large part of the voting public. We are a generation large enough to rival the Baby Boomers, and we could’ve had some sway, especially in the swing states. For this election, I’m specifically looking at Pennsylvania. It flip-flopped between red and blue for quite some time. At twenty electoral votes, PA could’ve kept Hillary in the game. Millennials easily could’ve pulled this swing. With PA and just a couple other swing states, Hillary would’ve won the electoral vote to go with the popular vote. If a larger portion of the voting population turned out, it would be far more difficult to have a discrepancy between electoral and popular votes. We have the power to affect political change, Millennials. But we have to fucking show up to do it.

What can we do about it?

Keep Protesting

Honestly, guys, I’m not a trained political analyst, but it doesn’t seem to me like this will do too much, politically. Trump is our President-elect as hard a pill as that is to swallow. We can work to change the system that allowed it to happen, but we can’t change it retroactively. However, these protests can have a couple of affects. One, they will let Trump know that a large portion of the country does not agree with what he has planned. As Trump doesn’t care what others think, I don’t think this will alter what he does much, but it will still be an important statement. More importantly, these protests make a statement to everyone marginalized by this election that people are still standing with them and will not abide poor treatment of them. It is imperative that these protests are peaceful and respectful. Most of the ones I’ve witnessed have been, but some toed a dangerous line. We won’t garner respect and open a dialogue by lowering ourselves.

Petition for The End of The Electoral College

A petition to this end has already been circulating the internet. I’ve added my name, and I urge you all to add yours. Bringing this to the attention of our congress through a petition is an excellent first step. Opposition to the Electoral College is common on both sides of the political spectrum, so I am fairly confident it has a chance of passing, though it will take a Constitutional Amendment. An eventual new amendment requires three fourths of the states in the Union to ratify, but this is a possibility. When a possible new amendment comes up, make it to the poles! Vote! It’s important, I promise!

Focus on the 2018 Midterm Elections

Honestly, I can’t say much about this right now. They’re pretty far out, so there’s not too much information on who’s running. However, I can say that historically the party flips during these elections. A Democratic majority Senate and House would go a long way to mitigate the damages of Trump’s presidency. But again, we have to vote to make this happen. I’m looking at you, Millennials! We can do this! We are the future, and that future can be now.

Safeguard Planned Parenthood and The Environment

The results of the midterm elections can’t stop Trump in the next two years, so that’s up to us. Planned Parenthood and the Environment are what I think we should be the most concerned about during the next two years. One thing I find heartening in all this even with Trump having his party majority in both houses of Congress is how many Republicans came out against Trump. Even many of them think he’s crazy, and I have at least some hope that they’ll block some of his more extreme agenda points. These points seem like the easiest for Trump to pursue. Therefore, they will likely be pursued first.

Planned Parenthood has had a huge target on its back as far as Republicans are concerned. They’ve been trying to defund a crucial service for years because of one aspect that shouldn’t be controversial but is and which already cannot be done with tax money. That’s right, I’m talking about abortions. What women do with their bodies is not the business of anyone but the individual woman, and yet politicians keep sticking their noses in it. And in this nose-sticking, they attack vital services such as access to contraceptives and breast cancer screenings. President Obama has already taken steps to protect Planned Parenthood before he leaves office, but it won’t be enough to stop Trump on its own, so the rest is up to us. Donate time or money, or write to your representatives, or do all three if you can. Make it clear how important Planned Parenthood is to our nation.

Be Kind to Each Other

This may seem like the most trivial thing on this list, but it’s actually the most important. We’ve already seen the horrifying backlash of Trumps win. Men have been celebrating the win by grabbing women’s crotches. School children are terrified of their families getting broken up. A woman in Walmart had her hijab ripped off her head and was told to hang herself with it. Anti-LGBT hate crimes have spiked. Really, just more overall horriblness than I’m going to take the time to list right now. The world is a fucking scary place right now, but being afraid won’t fix that. Kindness will.

It’s amazing how far a smile, a kind word, a hug can go when it seems like the whole world is against you. This is a similar notion to the reason I think we should keep protesting even if it doesn’t bring about political change. It proves to people that even though the voices yelling out against them right now are the loudest, they are not the strongest, and they will not be allowed to intimidate us.

We’re on a sliding scale of fuckedness right now, and it is undeniable that some of us in the movement are more privileged than others. Don’t waste time feeling guilty about having those privileges. I’ve been there, we’ve probably all been there, but it’s not productive and this isn’t the time for a pity party. Instead of feeling bad about your privilege, use it for the greater good. I’m a middle-class white queer woman, so I have two strikes against me in Trump’s America, but one of those strikes can’t be seen just by looking at me and honestly I’m probably safer than a lot of other people in this country right now. If I see a person of color being harassed for their race, or a Muslim woman facing religious discrimination, I have enough privilege to stand with them, and I will. White guys, if your female friends or friends of color have to go somewhere alone, especially at night, go with them. Your presence alone will be a deterrent against people who would attack them.
No one should do anything that makes them feel unsafe. But none of us should have to feel unsafe walking down the street, and if we stand together we won’t have to. If we stand together, we can show them we are better than the fear they want to instill in us. We are loving people who are loved in return.

The last part of this plan is more difficult, and it’s not for everyone. Unfortunately, there are people it won’t be safe for. But those of us who can safely do this must. We have to reach across the other side of the aisle and open a dialogue. Progress will remain stalled as long as there’s such a huge divide between just about two halves of our country, and it’s imperative that we start working together. We can begin to build relationships over bipartisan issues such as the Electoral College. And once those bridges are built, both sides need to use them and listen to each other. We can defeat the fear mongering if people just interact with us and see that groups of people who have been demonized to them are really just people. And we might find that on issues that don’t have to do with setting civil rights back fifty years, the other side has some valid points. Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” I cannot think of more apt words for our current situation.

Sources Sited


Thursday, October 6, 2016

Of Graveyards and Kittens

It’s been a long month or two since I’ve written anything like this, but it was a needed couple of months. It’s been a couple months of growing pains and laughter, complete with everything from Hirsch’s propensity for setting off the fire alarm to testing out my dad’s Shirley Temple recipe on my friends. I’ve come to feel more or less at home here. I no longer fear (or relish in) getting lost late at night, a feeling I may have to find a way back to again sooner or later. But, for all the normality I’ve managed to find, Bard still manages to surprise me from time to time.

For this story, I need to give you an idea of the geography of my fine campus, or at least a portion of it. We’re a small college in the middle of the woods; Bard is refreshingly like my home in New Hampshire in that respect. I live in one of the quiet dorms, which is off of main campus and separated from it by a patch of forest. It is possible to get to main campus by taking main roads, but it takes much longer. The quickest path is through the little college graveyard, which cuts through the section of woods.

You also need to know something about the local wildlife, or rather one element in particular: kittens. Cats pretty regularly roam the campus, likely because some of the dorms leave cat food on their porches for local strays. Right now we have a gang of little grey and white kittens that look like they can’t be more than a month old, and they seem to have taken up residence near Hirsch. With those facts in mind, we can begin.

My roommate and best friend had to be out past dark for a variety of reasons tonight. As she approached the unlighted shortcut through the graveyard she realized her phone, and only source of light, was low on batteries. She was nervous to make the trek alone with the possibility of her light source dying, so she called me and I left the dorm with my own mostly-charged phone to meet her.
On the way down the hill that leads to our dorm, I came across one of these grey and white kittens. I smiled at in and said, “Hey sweetie. Don’t worry. I’m not gonna bother you.” Then I continued on my mission. But I wasn’t alone. The little grey and white kitten followed me, then eventually trotted in front of me, weaving back and forth in front of my feet. Occasionally it batted at the dead fall leaves as we made our way through the graveyard to reach my roommate. It was clearly playful. It kind of reminded me of my dad’s cat, Junior, in his kittenhood.

When we reached the other end of the graveyard, it seemed like the kitten was going to leave me, but it trotted along with me and my roommate back through the graveyard. As we walked, we talked about how lively and sweet it was. Eventually we started calling it Angel, because it seemed to be trying to be a tiny, adorable guardian angel in the middle of the star-lit night. It even followed us all the way to the porch of Hirsch. When we got there, we met another friend and dorm mate, who brought a bowl of milk out for Angel, a sweet kitten who clearly deserved a better life.


As soon as we got back inside, I emailed Bard’s head of security about the kittens on campus, hoping that there was something we could do to find them homes. The head of security immediately found a home for Angel and said that if I could catch the kitten, a good home would be waiting for it. My hope is that my roommate and I can catch Angel before the snow starts to fall. Hopefully she’s living close by. I still want to do something for the other kittens on campus if I can, but I’m more than happy to start with Angel. 

Sunday, August 14, 2016

Bring Me That Horizon: Going West

I grew up in New England, sandwiched between ocean and trees with a smattering of stars above me. One thing I always feared about going to college was that I would no longer be able to see the stars that seem to shine so much more brightly here. Every friend I’ve made so far has been from the city, where light pollution blots out the stars. I wonder how they’ve made it so far without those little points of light.

Having grown up in New England, I lived between two staple literary symbols with similar meanings: the vastness of the ocean and what once seemed like the vast, untamable county of America that lies to the west. Both are symbols of freedom and adventure, as at one point they seemed like insurmountably large places to be explored. However, they are both also symbols of danger. The sea and the large forests that used to populate my home (and still do to some degree) are both easy places to get lost. I went west in the literal and metaphorical sense, coming to Bard.
              
Last night I got lost. It was dark, I was alone, and I ended up on the opposite side of the campus from where I should’ve been (or where I meant to be – are those always the same thing?). I told myself again and again that I had loved the stars too dearly to fear the night as I quaked in my converse and anxiety labored my breathing. Was it fear of the unknown, or fear of isolation?
             
I am terrified. I am alone and terrified. I look around myself and I wonder, How the hell did I get here? Am I good enough, or will I be dragged to the depths with the first unsatisfied roll of the ocean? I want to say I can do this. But right now, I’m not even sure what “this” is.
             
Fascination with the stars is fascinating. The black of space is infinite, and it holds far more that we don’t know than we know. How is it that something so foreign, something that is quite literally alien, can bring the comfort of home? It seems that I am alone here, but the multitude of stars tell me that I am not alone in the universe.
              
I am terrified and alone, but I am not. Everyone else, or at least a good portion of everyone else, is terrified and alone as well. We all have somewhere, even if it’s not presented in quite the same way, an image in our heads of ourselves standing alone at the head of a ship, staring into impenetrable ocean. But the image is flawed, because we’re all standing on the deck together, if only we could make ourselves believe that.
              
The forest is mysterious, and we can’t know what it will bring for each of us as individuals, but the forest has always brought truth. And the ocean has always symbolized new beginnings, so maybe with the two symbols together we can decide what some of those truths are going to be for ourselves. The sky is cloudy, the canopy is thick, and the North Star is nowhere in sight. But we often have to get lost before we can find any direction. So it’s time to stare out into the seemingly endless ocean, say “I’m ready”, and keep going. Some things should be done because they’re terrifying, and because we don’t know.

The compass is spinning, so bring me that horizon.

Friday, August 5, 2016

Contemplating my Roots

Today is the day before I leave for the actual odyssey that this blog is named for. By this time tomorrow, I will be at Bard, and my family will likely be gone. I feel, now, like a young adventurer standing on a dock before the ocean, preparing to board a ship to explore the distant sea. The metaphor is, perhaps, inaccurate. I’m only a four, four-and-a-half hour drive from home, and with today’s technology I can keep my family in my pocket. However, regardless of the relative accuracy of the metaphor, it is how I feel. And, like that adventurer, I can’t help but take one last look over my shoulder before I take the last step that exists between myself and the endless ocean.
              
I turned eighteen a few short months ago. On that day my father, covered in a kaleidoscope of ink himself, took me to get my first tattoo. I was certain of my decision, and certain of the meaning. The tattoo, nearly an exact copy of the cover art of my first publication, was intended to be a symbol of the beginning of what will hopefully be a lengthy career in writing. That meaning has not been lost, but my Dad told me the day I went in that tattoos often evolve to take on meanings you did not expect, or realize, with time. He could not have been more right.
              
Josh, a truly remarkable artist, strove to remain true to the original artwork on my book. An artist himself, though of a different sort, he was in a unique position to understand the weight of the meaning of this particular tattoo. However, some slight alterations were necessary to make the art, a cherry tree in full bloom with lined-paper petals, work on a human arm. One such change, easily the most noticeable, was the softening of the hard line where the edge of the book ended into inky roots. The tattoo began, because of this alteration, to represent more than the beginning of my writing career. It began to symbolize myself, in past, present, and future. The roots where I came from, the blossoms where I could one day be, and everything in between a sliding scale of my personal reality.
              
Despite coming from divorced parents, I have been lucky enough to have an exceptionally stable family. My parents, all three of them, manage to be unerringly civil and sometimes even friendly with each other. All of my grandparents have survived well into my life, long enough to offer support and influence who I am and who I will be. My paternal grandmother has been a particularly important figure in my life. She manages to be both formidable and unendingly kind. She was a single mother before we had achieved at least the illusion of gender equality, and she took the added challenges of the time and bent them to her will.
              
My father, an artist like me (a musician, a poet, a writer, a true renaissance man), has always had an innate understanding of a need of the soul I don’t think I could ever properly articulate, despite my love of words. My mother, an easy and non-judgmental sounding board, always convinced I hold the keys to the universe at my fingertips. My step-mom, the spark of hope alive in my chest when the world seems a little less than worth it, the point of light that keeps me from making the transition from disappointed idealist into cynicism. My older brother, my built-in confidant, protector, and partner in crime. My uncle, the moment of unabashed mischief. My family, those mentioned and those not, of blood and otherwise. I’ve made my home in them far more than I ever did a place, and I carry them with me as a part of me as I take the step from the edge of the pier to the dock of the boat, as a part of me. And yet, in a way, I leave them behind as well.

              
They say you can never come home again. I wonder if that’s true.

Sunday, July 31, 2016

Leaving Home

I never expected the adventure to begin so soon. I fully expected that by the time I was feeling the way I am, I would be at college, or at the very least on the way down. But I’m sitting in my mom’s car with a week to the day left until I leave for Bard, and I feel like something has begun. I don’t know why this is a surprise. Most if not all stories, after all, begin with someone coming to town or someone leaving home. I guess I just didn’t count the time leading up to the leaving as part of the leaving.

Life is a flurry around me, and at the same time, it is impossibly still. I have homework to finish, shopping to do, and packing to start. I need to sign up for an absentee ballot, because the first time I’m old enough to vote I’ll be states away from home. I have more than enough to do, and more than enough to worry about. I said goodbye to my best friend for the last time yesterday and cried. I still have more goodbyes in store between now and leaving, and the mental cataloging and the preparing never seem to end.
              
Yet, at the same time, everything is normal. I’m waiting in the car with my brother in the front seat while my mom runs into a craft store. I’m visiting my uncle’s house later today and him and my mom are fighting about it. Dad and Marie are cooking, Evan is reading. The dogs are being dogs and the cats are being cats. Everything is normal in an almost disconcerting way. I never expected life at home to stop with me leaving for college, but it’s almost too easy right now to see everything continuing on without me as though I was never really here to begin with, never actually a part of it all. How much has my life been worth so far?
              
More importantly, what will it be worth a month from now? Unintentionally, I set college up to be the end of my personal narrative. It has always been the goal I’ve honed in on. As a small child, it was an elusive but promised part of my future. Almost every decision I’ve made since becoming old enough to be conscious of the weight of my decisions has been geared towards making it to college. I made it through high school only because I knew college was waiting at the end of the gloomy, cavernous abyss. I made college the happily ever after, when in reality it’s the once upon a time.
              
So this is the beginning of the journey that I’ve waited for. My life so far has been a prologue, or maybe a prequel. The kind of prequel that only the painfully dedicated readers have any interest in, because there’s no way it could ever be half as good as the original. The adventures are small-time, and the characterization is off because the author is trying to stay true to the character, and in a lot of ways they succeed, but the character just isn’t who you know yet because they’re still stumbling all over themselves, or they’re too much who you know and you know it doesn’t make sense for them to be who they are without some events that just haven’t happened yet.

              
But this, this is where the good stuff starts. I have choices now. My life at this point is literally nothing but infinite possibility stretching into innumerable universes. Any one of those, right now, could be the one I occupy. Every day is going to be a new choice, and it will be impossible to tell what affect those choices will have until it’s already too late. I don’t know if I’ll be fighting destiny or finding destiny. All I really know is that I’ll do it at Bard. Right now, I am no one and I am everyone. This… This is the beginning.