On A Fear of Speaking about Politics

    Speaking to a friend of mine last week, he mentioned that he was afraid to speak of politics or political views, because those around him who disagree with his ideas would not think him merely confused or troubled, but instead criticize him as evil or stupid. He’s either on the right or the left, his coworkers and family are definitely on the opposite side, so he votes but silently, having made up his mind in solitude. Between two people holding alternate views, he does not expect a discussion anymore, but a conflict, each side utterly despising the other, and shouting to silence them. Right left red blue green or colorless, my friend talked about what he missed from the old days: A less radical environment, political disagreements which did not descend into fights or silences, a cutting off of communication, or a hatred of certain parts of the nation. I think many my age would agree with my friend that they are sort of tired of each powerful side, and see in both major parties certain pieces they despise. Yes, much of the country has made up its mind, but an even bigger part I think is silent in kind. I myself have views on foreign issues I dare not speak about, because I just don’t want the damn trouble that comes with having a vocal opinion on Israel, Ukraine, Cuba, Russia, China, Iran. - And that’s just right now, on specific issues. I’m well-read, I vote, I have an opinion, I pay taxes, and thus I am partially responsible and accountable for my country’s actions in those theaters, and yet, should I speak, I feel that I would be entering a conversation and choosing a side. I’m picked up and tossed, like flotsam on the tide. Bruised and battered by wind and wave, scoured clean by the salt air, covered with knicks and barnacles, I soon lose my unique shape, and become just a piece of formless wood, a member of the faceless crowd, afraid to stand up and say something loud, lest a sailor or a devil should pluck me from the water up into the air, and cut a symbol into my flesh, declaring that I am ‘this’, whatever they name me, and nothing else. I am a human being, complex and confused, always learning and moving. I am unpainted and bare. Yet whenever I enter the public view, I decide to wear clothes of a certain color. Red or blue, hat or mask, bent knee or straight flag, each of these is like a crutch for a broken leg. And if I should have an opinion on an issue actually inside the nation, a disagreement between the barely civilized citizens of this place? On capitalism or immigration, on taxes or subsidy, then I am, by having that opinion, apparently threatening someone else. Every tax break, every dime spent, every law passed, every political decision, every public provision, all of them, result in costs and benefits for one group or another. I may think a decision is correct, but there will always be someone who thinks I am wrong. That’s fine, it's the way the world works, but it seems also that the American balancing act around that fact is breaking apart again. I am as guilty as the next person in holding the opinion that so many of the arguments I hear from the side opposite me are made in bad faith. I see lying faces who ignore facts and listen only to one side, holding firmly to the opinion that any information that does not support their action is fake news. Unwilling to become confused, they block their ears and close their eyes, and like a kid having a tantrum, they react with rage if you attempt to say there is evil being done here. Monkey, monkey, and monkey, they think that if they ignore issues they will go away, or at least not bother them today. Simple answers, quick solutions, someone to blame, it’s the same, always the same. So, for someone like me who writes and screams, it is safer to be silent. I vote, I donate, I am active, I participate, but just like my friend who I mentioned before, mostly I turn off the lights and lock the door. Most folk? They want to work, build wealth, have health, hold hope, and believe things are becoming better. They have lives, families, and duties which complete their days, and maybe a few hours at night to relax or live. They watch or read news, they want to know what’s happening, and maybe they happen to discuss a current event or two, but mostly what they do is just muddle on through. You vote for the party you think is least evil, or at least more competent, or at least not the group which is currently screwing things up. We don't think, we barely feel, we barely care about some stranger far away or money being spent in numbers too large for our brains. Millions, billions, trillions, we’re always hearing about debt, yet we continue to spend. Homelessness is a problem again, the middle east, russia, the proper bathrooms, so many people just don't care, and the ones who do are either angry or scared. Like my friend, folk buckle down and just follow a crowd, accepting whatever party seems good enough for now. 

My friend chose a side, voted for a gal or a guy, acknowledged that choice had problems, but felt stuck. He’s multi-colored, he’s complex, he’s a human being pulled right and left or up and down in different ways, a mere speck in the ocean who by the tide and moon is swayed: An American in every way. - That is me too, a person who votes but does not speak. A person who accepts passable because this country apparently can’t achieve good. Nobody I’ve voted for on a national level seems perfect, awesome, or honest, and the sinister influence of party shadows their every move. Money and favors exchanged move the world, as enemy and ally fight, slowly dragging us deeper into endless night. Not only are people afraid to speak of politics, they also do not trust politicians or bureaucrats. Secrecy, dishonesty, and waste invade systems, as each person seeks to cover their own behind. It's always someone else’s fault, or it is necessary that I break the rules and go this far in order to save you or protect you. The silencing and radicalization of political discourse or viewpoint balance benefits those whose power is already entrenched. MY friend is afraid to speak, and with that fear the chains grow ever closer round his throat. To make a disturbance, to speak, is to commit some sort of emotional violence on someone else, or to accept emotional violence inflicted upon ourselves. And if we dare pry our lips open still? Then too quickly the discussion descends to the lowest level, and we feel that it would have been better not to speak at all, for there is no agreement to be found. All we do is travel round and round in a spiral traveling ever downwards, away from the sun and into the cave. 

Yet so what? So what, I say. I’m wrong, but I’ll be wrong anyways, no matter what I say. Perhaps speaking like this will expose me to the howling wind and the acid rain for no result at all. Friends won’t call, co-workers will scream, Thanksgiving meal made an ordeal, and all my video comments, if there even are any at all, turn out to be insults. On half the ideas I put forth I’ll likely change my mind, but so what? This is a way to unwind. Silence, or keeping our thoughts inside for too long, turns them poisonous. Humans are storytelling animals, we are political creatures, we form groups and tribes, we wish to belong and feel safe. On some subjects, sports, work, video games, college, my friend feels free to speak. He launches into his opinions on those within minutes of meeting me again, yet the politics took awhile. They burst forth once the dam broke for an hour straight, but before he began, I could see him hesitate. Shoulders hunched as if he was expecting to be physically attacked, a stuttering tongue, a sidelong glance to see who was listening, a whispered name of who he voted for, all the body language in the world said he was afraid. Afraid to express an opinion, afraid to criticize somebody, afraid to be himself in a political way in a public realm. He trusted me not to overreact, and we talked amicably for a while, but as we did, I was thinking: Am I, in the same way, also afraid? 

Years ago, I said to myself that I would never again suffer myself to live in fear. I follow this road which leads away from the shadows, slowly, like a turtle does. So I don’t stand in the square, I immediately don’t tweet every errant thought, I don’t post about right or wrong, I don’t sing patriotic or protest songs. Instead, I sit and think, read books, review histories, listen to articles, do some of my own research, and recall some of my own past. What have I seen, who have I talked to, what ought arguments I to believe, and why? I make mistakes, I simplify complexities, and eventually I begin to hold my ground. Here then are the reasons to make these sounds:

I’m dumb, ignorant, a loser in many ways: I mean, just look at the garage where I’m sleeping. Yet there are benefits to that situation as well: Unlike my friend, I have very little to lose. I can always retreat to my room. I’ve made so many mistakes already that I expect to be ignorant or confused before I get things right or hold the proper view. At some point in my life I decided not to publicly speak on political ideas, but then I found that I had political views anyway. It turns out that, for me, it’s a topic that fires the blood, so I’m letting it out here in a flood. These videos are amateur and cringeworthy, badly recorded, full of issues, but more important than all of that, they are real. These are my words and my thoughts which I dare to speak. I’m a citizen and a voter, and I am going to act on these views anyway even if I’m not speaking about them. That’s what my friend does, that’s what so many people do, and if I’m silent too, then what have I to lose? Only my self-respect. Other people are a mirror, and the conquering hesitant fear I see in his eyes is not what I want to see in mine. Thus, so as to avoid self-disgust, I’m going to speak my mind.