hope is a thing with wings -- and off it flies
i know i should feel angry, or up in arms like the kossacks. mostly i just feel like some kicked me in the face, pulled my guts out, and spat on me. sure, it's not ME they're against, it's my sushi-eating, volvo-driving, latte-drinking, vegetarian values. but in the haze of depression, the subtle distinctions are difficult to make out.
i don't think we did anything wrong in this election. honestly. the pundits will go over it with a magnifying glass, searching for turning points. should kerry have picked a different running mate? should it not have been kerry at all? maybe they'll blame it on the gays, because those initiatives banning gay marriage really brought out the evangelical voters. people are surprised that the initiatives lost. are they kidding? the only thing that could have lost by a greater margin would have been an initiative that pledged every first born male child to a satanic, vermont-based cult.
but if folks do blame the gays for seeking civil rights in the first place, thus prompting the backlash, i'll feel even more morose than i do. (um, if you couldn't tell, that's pretty fucking morose.) despair, catholics say, is the unforgivable sin to god. well, god, to me, the unforgivable sin is your turning your back on the world you created while letting the fools run amok in it, unchecked, thinking they're doing your work.
i can't blame myself for letting hope in. it seemed promising -- damn it, it did. people were riled up, they cared, they worked for it. people! not just swatties! in the end, it simply wasn't enough. (speaking of "simply," here's slate's interesting take.) maybe diebold delivered ohio to the president; thanks to its paper-less trail, we'll never know. in the end, i don't think it would have made enough of a difference anyway. people didn't want to change commanders in the midst of a war, no matter how wrong-headed and mismanaged a war it was.
the night before the election, i dreamt i was mugged. now i feel like i was. but i'll soldier on, as will you, until we find a silver lining we can cling to. we'll make it through the next four years. we may be in the minority, but we're far from alone.
Writers Week at the New Zealand Festival
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