Tuesday, August 08, 2006
I'm a Closet Protestor
Way back when, I had the opportunity to briefly (and I am not even sure if this constitutes a real handshake) shake Bill Clinton's hand. This was my first real "political" experience. As he was passing by the mob of supporters, surrounded by secret service (are they secret service if you aren't even President yet?), at a political rally for his first run at the Presidency, he grasped my outstretched, optomistic, full of hope hand. I think I was 19, maybe 20. If I thought longer and harder, I would know exactly how old I was, but it's late and my brain is running like a chipmunk on speed after just watching Syriana.
It is not often that I find time to really think about the global situation, especially the BIG problem, that being our dependence upon foreign oil. I hear the news about what is going on "over there", I hear people complaining about gas prices and the newscasters casually dismissing the REAL reason they are so high. I see the ads for hybrid cars and SUV's becomming more commonplace and I read in the newspaper the stories about families with loved ones serving overseas. All the information is out there for me to devour, but I can't seem to find the time to absorb it all.
And then, a movie like Syriana rocks me to the core. I get all fired up, blasting questions at my husband like "do they really do that kind of thing?" (the "they" being the U.S. CIA, and the "thing" being killing prominent oil people for the good of our own economy) and "does stuff like this REALLY happen?". I know it is a fictional piece, but just like any film of it's type, it is reality-based. These "types" of things do happen and we'd all be a bunch of ostriches sticking our heads in the sand if we denied it.
So then I get thinking about how humiliating our President is and how I want to move to Canada, and then the insomnia sets in. I cannot justify letting another day go by without DOING SOMETHING about this country that provides me with more freedoms and opportunities than I probably deserve, and at the same time, embarrasses the you-know-what out of me.
And so, my feeble attempt to make a little, tiny difference lies in the bumper sticker taped to my parent's garage door. Read it. Thank you.
Posted by carrie