Crazy Kale Juice

Sorry to join the election discussion, that I am sure you all would like to stop forever. But I am getting lots of questions from my friends in my foreign country home, as well as, concern and confusion, about words I say, from my family and friends in my home country. I do not mind the questions! But I think better, sometimes, on paper… or on screen; especially when thoughts are tumbling around like Percy at the dog park. (He thinks the dog park is where you shop for new families. So he runs after all dogs and people, trying to collect them so they will come home with us. And we will all live in a small commune where we nap and eat cheese together.) So I needed to sort my thoughts out via a keyboard, and since only friends and family read my blog I thought I could also share my thoughts here. 

When I first moved to New Zealand, I was overwhelmed with how much I did not belong. It was a shock. (I believe the academics call it culture shock.) But I didn’t expect it (which, if one was being pedantic, one could argue is the definition of shock and is therefore redundant – Al. One could also argue that one is trying to make a point - so I will not edit it here - out of protest. Write your own non-redundant, “condensed and more concise" blog.) As I was saying, I was surprised at my unease because I hadn’t moved to a third world country (some of which I had already visited and survived like a pro, well, except for India. I did not do well in India - so much chicken pox and diarrhea…). I was moving to New Zealand where they spoke English (sort of - in a really quiet lots-of-missing-letters-sort-of-way) and drove cars (albeit on the wrong side of the road) and ate with the fork in their left hand, knife in their right, scooping food that seemed familiar but slightly different (so much pumpkin with my potatoes - why was there pie filling with my potatoes and gravy?). It was as if I had stumbled into a parallel universe where things looked relatively similar and everyone assumed I knew the rules. But I had been raised on a different playbook.

In order to belong, I had to challenge the belief that my way of thinking or living was the correct way of living or thinking. That my belief system, my country, and even my politics were just one of many ways to look at things. This was when I first became aware of the term “other” as a way of describing another human. Of course growing up fundamentally Christian the idea of “the other” had permeated my life but I had never seen it until I was “the other”. I was the one with the foreign belief systems. I was the one with the wrong view point. While this was extremely hard to understand as an eighteen year old (who believes that all of her beliefs are fully formed and correct, because duh.) it turned out to be perfect timing to learn this lesson. It also turned out it would feel like a trip to a sadistic dentist for a root canal. Because, while I learned that my culture was not the only correct culture, those around me were unwilling to admit that their culture may not be the utopia they thought it was. (Don’t worry, most of them are not like this - most of them are pretty great actually - just some of them are mean. I just happened to be in a confined space with multiple anomalies. It was like there was a magnetic force field sucking them all to one place. Which is really scary when you think about it - maybe they are just mean because of all the pressure on their heads from the force field! Also: are there other magnetic force fields we should be avoiding? I think further research is needed. I met the cool kiwis later. But I had to learn my lesson on my own with the mean people first.) While I still tend to think I am right (we all do because otherwise we would all be very confused all the time. You have to have a viewpoint. Otherwise people will just keep eating kale - because they don't have a strong belief that the terrible taste should be avoided along with the health benefits. Then people are mad because they had a kale smoothie instead of  protein for breakfast, and that is how society breaks down.) I did learn that the truth has nothing to fear. So, if I disagree with someone, either the truth will reveal itself to them, or to me. So I can chill out and not eat kale for a while but also sit with them while they drink Kale.

Fast forward to this election and I was freaking out (picture Percy at the dog park again except scared instead of happy). As the election results started to come in, I was horrified when Trump won Florida. But as I sat staring at the blue and red map on my computer screen, I realized that I would have been just as worried if Hillary had won Florida. (Not to be confused with Flo-Rida because people are not won.)  But then I took a deep breath and cast my mind back to just two years ago before the circus became a reality and remembered that what had been frustrating me about the American Government was still the problem.

I realized years ago, after living away from the states for a while, that I had not been living in a democracy or a republic. Probably since before I was born, I was living in an oligarchy and those in charge used everything in their power to tell me I lived in a democracy.They painted very elaborate pictures and told me stories and used the media to tell me what to be mad about and what to be happy about and I chose the media that best fit with my current set of beliefs.

I realized that this whole election was another big show. Another in an extensive script to make us all outraged and yell about a war criminal competing against a misogynistic, possibly crazy, man. Both of whom are part of the super-rich oligarchic system and, in the end, no matter who won, the people still have none of the power. (I get that there are other issues but, geez people, this is a blog and you probably stopped reading three paragraphs ago. So I am really only writing for myself and I don’t need to write all the issues for me but I do need the page to process my churning thoughts. So don’t yell at me.)

Therefore I write this dull and dry, barely funny, piece as a way to get some thoughts down (as writers are allowed and prone to do) and to encourage everyone to see things from “the other’s” point of view.

One group of people thought they were voting against the oligarchy - that they were going to bring a republic back. They were voting to vote to show the establishment that they still had a voice and they felt it was not being heard. And it was heard.

The other group thought they were voting for someone who would champion the rights of those who do not have the same rights as everyone else.

Both were valid hopes but what I fear is, both sides were voting for the wrong people to see those things accomplished. Both sides had no real way of knowing that what the candidate promised was real. They didn't know who was lying about the lies and if bigoted words were taken out of context or if context even mattered.  (And other things. I get it! This is too simplified! But you are not reading anyway, so stop yelling at me. Wait. Who is yelling at me if you have stopped reading...weird. I definitely hear yelling… maybe it is the voice in my head that says I am not allowed to speak...)

The problem is, there is no way to see the whole picture. It’s hard. It takes hours of time that no one has. We are working, living, and attending endless amounts of soccer games. We have to rely on the media to filter our stories but, in the end, they give us the message we want to hear, or the message they want us to hear. And not just that, we have to remember that we are "the other" to someone else. Our point of view is the right point of view. We know it, with certainty, and so do they. Yes, there is truth. But can we really think, for one second, that multimillion dollar corporate news agencies (and I am talking about every news agency, even yours and mine – the ones we agree with) have any interest in the actual truth. Why would they? Most truth is boring – for example: brushing your teeth everyday decreases tooth decay. And we all already know (and clearly agree) that kale is terrible so they can't keep reporting on that, can they.

So I guess there's no hope and my creative writing teacher has been right all along. All these years I have been stamping my foot with stubborn insistence, championing the happy ending and finally she can say to me “Ah-HA! Told you so! There is only dark brooding realism!” She is nicer than this and would not say “I told you so” to me with such a villainous laugh. But with a name like Dr. Slaughter, can you blame me for taking creative license?

I hope to prove her wrong. I am sure there is a utopia waiting just around the next futuristic, parallel-universe bend. Maybe there can be a new secret election where these millions of people get together and choose two people quietly without telling the crazy people in charge - and the crazy people in charge can keep thinking they are in charge - and really everyone starts looking after each other and meeting each other’s needs and running the country from within. (It could be like the best kept secret - like Bruce Willis’ surprise bleeding shirt in The Sixth Sense.) Meanwhile, the power-money hungry at the top will be thinking that they still have all the power and that the country is fixed but really all the normal people just fixed it all by themselves. They stopped yelling at someone because they were a democrat or a republican or neither and started looking at the problem with the oligarchic system. And they were careful how they spoke to each other - and they asked questions when people said dumb things to make sure they heard right. And if the person did say terrible things they would stop and realize they were being terrible - and then stop being terrible and narcissistic. And they stop killing each other. And they stop lying (except if someone is having a bad hair day or wears a terrible sweater you don’t like - because liking a multicolored sweater might just take some time, and perhaps, looking at it from a different angle, like sideways - and then all the geometrical shapes look awesome. So you could say you like it, and then come to like it, so it is not a lie. Also if someone has the courage to wear a sweater like this:

they really should be told they look awesome because they probably do, so again, you aren’t even lying! I mean, come on, there's a row of baby ducks following a mother duck!) And they did the little things, focusing on the next person they saw that needed help. And then that person was okay enough to help the next person. And there was like a secret utopia! HaHA! In your face Dr. Slaughter; I brought home the happy ending! (I must state for the record, because I am now an English major, and words matter, that utopia means “no place” but still I use the word in its proverbial or metaphorical meaning, which is allowed because, as a Masters student, you can use words like proverbial and add descriptive words like metaphorical with liberal flourish. I also must say, for the record, I would never say “In your face” to my professor - to her face - only through the safety of the secure internet where she will never see it.)

So these are my thoughts, not worth more than a penny so you can have them for free. I had even more thoughts but Al said I had to cut my exhaustive discussion of the term, politically correct. Because, he says, no one wants to read an eight page blog. It’s fine. I’ll just do my PhD on it. And then he will have many more years reading out loud lines that begin with “This research proves…” and “Pedagogically speaking, it seems…” IN YOUR FACE AL! I will say “in your face” to Al’s face, anytime, anyplace, especially after I beat him in any footrace. Except if he broke his leg – that was sad. I do not say “in your face” to sad people with shards of broken bones instead of legs. I am not a monster.

So to my New Zealand peeps, this is what I think happened. Most of America probably disagrees because I am looking at it from a distance and not soaking in it every day like they had to. Thanks for letting me live here and helping me build a life here. Thanks, especially, for the delicious coffee, chocolate and mini-families to substitute for my missing family members. I love you guys.

To my fellow Americans, take care of each other over there. I miss you. I love you and I love my country. Please keep it safe till I can come home again.