A Letter From the Past
Today is the day after the election, but that’s
not when I wrote this. My deadline was last Friday, and I wrote this last
Wednesday, exactly one week before you read this. So for all of you who
now know who the president is (I hope), let me give you a little glimpse
back in time.
In my time the headline on MSN.com is about the Red Sox, who (I can only
assume) did not choke, and have won the world series for the first time
in 86 years, officially breaking the curse. This is very exciting, is
it not? If they haven’t yet won, that’s pathetic.
The New York Times’ front page, on the other hand, is discussing
400 tons of conventional explosives that have disappeared in Iraq. They
are also discussing, prominently, the individual candidates’ views
on this debacle. In all likeliness, you have forgotten about this, and
so have I.
Last night, (or more than a week ago for y’all in the future), I
dreamt of politics. This is not the first time, nor is it all that unusual.
In my dream a Hummer ran over a bald eagle. After it drove away I bent
down to pick up the flattened bird, and it turned into a political yard
sign.
The symbolism of my dreams is generally not this clear.
I have had other political dreams, and I recently discovered people I
know have them as well. I broached the subject with a friend at a bar
and she promptly told me of a dream in which Donald Rumsfeld was her lover.
She awoke cold and sweating, as if it had been a nightmare. When I asked
her what it meant, her only interpretation was to say that he's screwing
everyone.
My current internet addiction, electoral-vote.com, tells me that the election
is far to close to call, but according to the most recent polls (of which
there were 23 yesterday alone) give Bush an extremely slight advantage
in the electoral college.
Electoral-vote.com is now, this being November 3rd, entirely obsolete
and useless, and I will not visit it for another 4 years.
Electoral-vote.com is telling me that whoever won Florida won the election,
and I am pleased to say that both the me in the past, and the me in the
future, have cast our vote in Florida, having maintained residency since
moving out west. Both of us are happy that our vote has been cast and
that we did what we could to steer this country. However, while I am only
a little nervous that my vote might not be counted, the Hank Green of
the future will know (through an online database) whether or not it was
counted, and will thus be either incensed, or apathetic.
As you read this, I am probably quite hung over. I am very likely to drink
heavily on election night, so I can say this with fair certainty. The
reason I am hung-over, celebration or depression, you know, but I do not.
And it’s driving me crazy.
But sober Hank, that is the one writing this, is genuinely worried that
you, my reader on November 3rd, does not know who the president is going
to be. I’m frightened of neo-conservatives, but I am more frightened
of my country in chaos. As much as I hated 2000, Al Gore was right to
concede and relieve the country of its disorder. I do not believe either
side will let a candidate step aside so easily this time. We are too sharply
divided and cling too strongly to our beliefs.
If yesterday went smoothly, I envy you, but remember that just last week
I am shaking for fear of turmoil akin to 2000. But if that turmoil has
come to pass, I have nothing for you but sympathy.
But even if everything has gone smoothly, and the country is pleased with
its electoral process, I hope we’re able to remember what it is
like for me, two days ago. This country is torn and its systems are threatening
to break under the stress. If we can remember the electoral turmoil of
2000 and the stark polarization of 2004, maybe, over the next four years,
this country can begin to heal itself by eliminating the negative factors
that cause undue stress to our already overworked political system. That
America would have a future. The future of America two days ago, however,
seems rather bleak.
For a full year I wrote a weekly column for a daily paper in Boulder CO. I wrote about being young, poor and green, and the column was widely loved throughout the city. It remains one of the most rewarding things I've ever done.
If you've got some time on your hands...check 'em out.
Colder than the Hinges of Hell
Four More Ounces of Responsibility