I haven’t been keeping up with the news because politics season has been so polarizing. I’m wrestling to make sense of the world right now and what my place in it is. The struggle can hopefully inspire the formation of an informed opinion but for now, I observe from afar like a wallflower at a party.
Because of the headline “Trump calls Kamala Harris “mentally disabled” I am unable to learn about why trump disagrees with her policies. Because of the headline “Harris calls Trump ‘one of the biggest losers ever’ she resorts to name calling instead of telling me why she’s competent for the position and why she even cares to run. I read on, searching for not only answers but a glimpse of their humanity, and come across entitled “Kamala Harris ‘fierce, fearless’ DNC speech was so good, Trump called Fox to pout” and I can’t trust if they want to share with me real news or cover me in gasoline and light me ablaze with rage. I am left in the unknown, longing for truth to drink, while social media and internet articles read like they are trying to get me drunk with misinformation and anxiety at a party I don’t want to be at.
Because JD Vance is weird and Tim Walz’s son is weird and Donald Trump’s hair isn’t real and Kamala Harris is fake and everyone won’t stop shouting at each other, I remain where I am, observing from a distance and housing a whole bag of chips while testing various dips like I’m a judge on “MasterChef.” Because everyone is so caught up with finding new evidence on why the other side has ascended from hell, they don’t hear my compelling thoughts on why Top the Tater is a refined sour cream that if plated correctly, could make it into a Midwest themed Michelin star restaurant.
Because Walz and Vance have both gotten too drunk and told their friends they loved them, I realize they aren’t pixels or soundbites. Because Trump and Harris have had to take a shit at a stranger’s house and have children who fall into their arms when they see them, I interrogate the floating perceptions around me and discover that the evidence meant to incriminate both has no weight. I gaze into the political party war and watch as people trade articulate speech for buzzwords that people don’t understand and can’t define, yet happily put in their mouth so they can angrily chomp them up and spit their incoherent hatred at the villains of their imagination. Watching people wound each other one by one, I sit down to take a deep breath and see from a new perspective that everyone’s hands gripping personal gavels. Somehow, everyone stumbled into thinking they have the responsibility to be the judge and don’t know that it’s making life hell. What else do you call a place that’s moving away from connection and community? What else do you call a party that you can’t wait to leave?
