One Hungry America
"Let's face it, there are two different Americas, two diametrically opposed set of values." -- from KRISTOF Responds, #654.
The Myth of the Polarized Empire
In truth, there are 300-plus-million Americas. That's a fact. For every person, be he a poster-boy, apple-cheeked class president; be she an illegal, dark-haired immigrant bent over a South Florida field of pepper plants; be they the illiterate, gun-toting offspring of poverty in inner-cities; be they the wealthy, priviledged sons of bankers, lawyers, and Senators; each of these people has a unique idea of what America is to them.
Each idea of America is a multi-layered conclusion based on the individual's background, experiences, prejudices, and desires. Everyone percieves political issues through a set of filters: news outlets, personal relationships, candidates' speeches, and local gossip. And just as the contents of a can of peaches are thoroughly processed, so too are these issues. They are strained through every person's Idea of America, sometimes slipping right through, now breaking the strainer, maybe getting caught in the mesh every once in a while. And just like a can of peaches, the quality on what comes out hinges on the quality of what went it.
The real Problem of american politics is that we don't have the right words to describe this process. "Democrat," "Republican;" "liberal," "conservative." These are all catch-alls. These are abstractions which obliterate crucial distinctions.
This is the "Great Divide." Washington warned us against a Party system, and now we see why. The Imperial two-party system swallows 300-plus-million opinions and sluices them, boils them, cures them, and serves up two at the table. The idea that we are a divided country is ludicrous. In fact, we are a starving country; these gourmandes don't provide us with a miracle of Political Loaves and Fishes. Instead, all we are left with is a watered-down broth of "consensus." Savory and nuanced positions become bland, bread-and-butter politics. Creative solutions are over-salted and served with Pork.
For me, America is the Empire. It is a land steeped in the blood of it's own native peoples, human chattel, the idealogues who emigrated, and those unfortunate souls caught up in events beyond their control. It is the Empire of economic opportunity, which despises poverty but treats it as anathema. It is the Empire of tolerance, where everybody has a right to their own way of life, regardless of how reckless that lifestyle may be. It is the Empire of brutal punishment, where the theft of packs of gum and candy bars can put a man in prison for the rest of his life. The Empire is home to some of the most beautiful natural wonders in the world; it is home to Indianapolis, a town so ugly that it should be scraped off the Earth. The Sun Belt and the Rust Belt. Raleigh Fingers, "Mr. October," Mark Maguire, and Sand Koufax. The Red Sox and the Yankees. Hockey in the north and high school football in the South. Portland, Oregon, and Roswell, New Mexico. Apple pie, grits, and soul food. An italian restaurant in Ohio; all the bad Chinese food in all the suburban malls, everywhere. Best Buy and the local music shop. Wal-mart. Microwave popcorn. Sunsets on the West Coast, sunrises on the East Coast, and the blistering sunny, summer afternoons in the mid-West.
Sum that paragraph up in one word. I fucking dare you.
The Myth of the Polarized Empire
In truth, there are 300-plus-million Americas. That's a fact. For every person, be he a poster-boy, apple-cheeked class president; be she an illegal, dark-haired immigrant bent over a South Florida field of pepper plants; be they the illiterate, gun-toting offspring of poverty in inner-cities; be they the wealthy, priviledged sons of bankers, lawyers, and Senators; each of these people has a unique idea of what America is to them.
Each idea of America is a multi-layered conclusion based on the individual's background, experiences, prejudices, and desires. Everyone percieves political issues through a set of filters: news outlets, personal relationships, candidates' speeches, and local gossip. And just as the contents of a can of peaches are thoroughly processed, so too are these issues. They are strained through every person's Idea of America, sometimes slipping right through, now breaking the strainer, maybe getting caught in the mesh every once in a while. And just like a can of peaches, the quality on what comes out hinges on the quality of what went it.
The real Problem of american politics is that we don't have the right words to describe this process. "Democrat," "Republican;" "liberal," "conservative." These are all catch-alls. These are abstractions which obliterate crucial distinctions.
This is the "Great Divide." Washington warned us against a Party system, and now we see why. The Imperial two-party system swallows 300-plus-million opinions and sluices them, boils them, cures them, and serves up two at the table. The idea that we are a divided country is ludicrous. In fact, we are a starving country; these gourmandes don't provide us with a miracle of Political Loaves and Fishes. Instead, all we are left with is a watered-down broth of "consensus." Savory and nuanced positions become bland, bread-and-butter politics. Creative solutions are over-salted and served with Pork.
For me, America is the Empire. It is a land steeped in the blood of it's own native peoples, human chattel, the idealogues who emigrated, and those unfortunate souls caught up in events beyond their control. It is the Empire of economic opportunity, which despises poverty but treats it as anathema. It is the Empire of tolerance, where everybody has a right to their own way of life, regardless of how reckless that lifestyle may be. It is the Empire of brutal punishment, where the theft of packs of gum and candy bars can put a man in prison for the rest of his life. The Empire is home to some of the most beautiful natural wonders in the world; it is home to Indianapolis, a town so ugly that it should be scraped off the Earth. The Sun Belt and the Rust Belt. Raleigh Fingers, "Mr. October," Mark Maguire, and Sand Koufax. The Red Sox and the Yankees. Hockey in the north and high school football in the South. Portland, Oregon, and Roswell, New Mexico. Apple pie, grits, and soul food. An italian restaurant in Ohio; all the bad Chinese food in all the suburban malls, everywhere. Best Buy and the local music shop. Wal-mart. Microwave popcorn. Sunsets on the West Coast, sunrises on the East Coast, and the blistering sunny, summer afternoons in the mid-West.
Sum that paragraph up in one word. I fucking dare you.
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