For most of my fifty-nine years, I have not been a political person. To me, a politician is a politician is a politician. Like rabbits, if I have seen one I have seen them all. Like baseball, I cannot tell one player from another without consulting a player list. Like a cheating spouse, broken promises sound like all of the other broken promises. To me, politicians are a breed apart: monied, self-important, self-serving, experts of the shell game, masters of windbaggery . . .
. . . and now, very, very dangerous to both the people they supposedly serve and to the world at large. I can no longer be ambivalent because to do so would violate and compromise my own personal morality. Silence implies acquiescence, and I acquiesce with NONE of the lies, invasions, and bloodbaths the politicians have wrought in the name of goodness and rightness and freedom.
Like madmen and Englishmen, I am an ugly American who is mad. Personally, I am a likeable, benign sort of fellow who reads a lot and collects stamps, but I am outraged by the politics of the world's leaders, and by my country's leaders, and by my state of Arizona's leaders.
I am not, however, a hater—if I were, I would be as morally bereft as some of the politicians I disdain. I do not spew filth and snark and obscenities on television or radio, in books, or in the blogosphere. I may be mad, but I am neither insane nor deranged. Rather, I try to approach the daily doses of Orwell and Kafka with some amount of logic and reason. And yes, with my personal opinions, feelings, and heartbreaks as a human being.
I am happy and honored, then, to join an international blog with my friend Kate, and all future columnists, as just an ordinary clod-on-the-street who is attempting to make some sense of the 21st century.
A post from Arizona, US of A