Political Apathy, Political Anger

During my junior and senior years of high school, I anchored Mustang News Network's daily, morning news program. I reported upcoming events, sports scores, the day's lunch menu, and the odd human-interest story around campus—usually involving our cheerleaders. (Always involving our cheerleaders.) And, often, I was joined by a co-anchor. She and I were and remain friends. I attended her wedding two years ago. Flew from my home in California to Florida for it. During the summer. Florida's summer. 

However, then, we rarely agreed on… much of anything. 

Especially politics. The one topic, above all else, that we were forbidden to debate on air. The one topic, above all else, that, with all our teenaged wisdom and cunning, we attempted to debate on air most often.

I was no stranger to receiving calls from teachers and administrators after broadcasts regarding my editorializing and sensationalizing and, most often, my inappropriate appearance—I've had tattoos since I was eighteen, one of which was visible on the inside of my left bicep during broadcasts. Oh, and I've had my ears pierced since fifth grade and gauged since I was fifteen. To those teachers and administrators who weren't familiar with my excellent academic performance and thoughtful, straight-laced personality, I was an… undesirable.

So, during the 2004 presidential election, it should have been no surprise that both my co-anchor's and my fervor would reach its crescendo. The first election either of us could participate in. The first moment our voices could be heard. Our time to take part in a tradition at our nation's very heart; the very reason for our nation's existence.

Sadly, we were two among thousands. Thousands who fit the stereotype of the youth vote perfectly. Apathetic, ignorant, and puppets of their parents. I suppose I, and she, were also puppets to a point. Products of our environment. But more the Scarecrow after he's bestowed a brain rather than before.

And then I wore a John Kerry t-shirt on air. And then I was called to the principal's office while still on air. And I was told that without equal promotional time given to each candidate on air, my t-shirt is in violation of the law. Not the rules, but the law. Me, a teenaged anchor of a close-circuited high school news program, breaking the law because my t-shirt was giving unfair promotional time to a presidential candidate. Uh huh, sure.

That next day, I wore the shirt again. And sitting beside me, my co-anchor wore a George W. Bush t-shirt. Equal time. Equal promotion. We didn't debate or even mention our attire. We read the news, signed off, and, quite pleased with ourselves, walked from the studio to the adjacent classroom where we were forbidden to do that ever again lest we be replaced entirely.

It's only taken me seven years to become disenchanted with politics writ large to the point of that same apathy my classmates showed during the very zenith of my own political interest when I sat behind that news desk donning my support quite literally on my sleeve. 

And I hate it. I hate that I feel more strongly about my apathy than I do about the reason for my apathy. 

And even more so, I hate that the only thing I feel more than apathy is anger. But it's impotent anger. It's useless.

I can't even laugh at shows like The Daily Show or The Colbert Report anymore because the jokes are no longer funny because they're true. They're infuriating because they're so fucking real.

I feel underrepresented, misrepresented, not represented at all. And in a representative democracy, isn't that the fucking point? Especially when they guy I voted for is seated at the top.

But, like most of the elected officials currently in office right now, I don't have any answers. I don't know what to do. Our political system isn't about doing what's right for the people. It isn't about representation. It's a battle of morals. A war of ideals. A church of extremists and fanatics that speak the loudest and say the most and overwhelm the majority. How did the outliers become the mean?

Perhaps I'm naive, but isn't the whole point of our government to compromise? Do we not elect those who we feel will represent us most, send them to speak on our behalf, and trust that they will do their best to compromise in our favor in the pursuit of progress? Differing viewpoints leading to new, different ideas leading to compromised progress for the good of the nation as a whole. Not as a party. Not as a group. Not as one side or the other. Progress for us all, together.

Is not progress the whole point?

Though, I am not unable to see the reasons why political and social progress is at a standstill.

Both parties are so well branded that to step outside their brand in the pursuit of compromise is to betray itself, its constituents, its ideal. Both operate on fear. They're backed against a wall. And that fear turns everything to black and white, fight or flight. So we're left with absolutes. We're left with closed ears and closed minds.

But I'm guilty of the same thing. I recognize that. In the simplest of terms: I think I'm right. When I listen to Rick Perry or Michelle Bachmann or Sarah Palin speak, I know I'm right. Scientifically, logically, objectively, I am right when it comes to their "opinions," their false knowledge about science. It's maddening and infuriating I'm so right. The very idea that they can argue with facts. With scientifically proven facts. The fact that they use the word theory incorrectly when in a scientific context. The fact that they are able to turn logic and proven science into pejoratives, into rallying points for ignorance. 

I know I'm right in dismissing that. In closing my ears. My mind.

But it's the very government that I'm speaking of that provides them the unalienable right to dismiss me. To know that they are right. To close their ears and minds. It's for this same government that I fight.

And so it goes. The unanswerable question. The unpassable impasse.

Suppose I'll just continue to hope—while the other side continues to pray—that those elected, those with power, those who act as our representation will be better than me. Better than them. Better than us. That they'll act on our behalf. That they'll act for us, not because of us or in reaction to us or for fear of us.

That compromise is achievable and necessary and important.

That change is possible.

Yeah, right.