Whenever I try to write about American politics, I get really mad. “Triggered,” in the words of those on the right who spend too much time on various internet platforms. I don’t just limit getting mad to writing either. Conversing about the state of the world, thinking about it, all of these can set me off. This isn’t an apology for any of this, though I’m sure some of my friends don’t enjoy me suggesting repeatedly that I hope the Wu-Tang Clan reenacts their “Torture” sketch word-for-word on Donald Trump, and then quickly treats Joe Biden to the same experience. *Note to the FBI/NSA/CIA agent reading this: I have not actually suggessted this. It’s a joke.* Not going to apologize for that at all. Just looking around should piss off any reasonable person. Cops, people who supposedly live to “protect and serve,” murder black and brown people in the streets, in their homes, just about everywhere. The guy who will probably win the election has been credibly accused of sexual assault, and refuses to ban fracking. The worst part? You don’t even know who I’m talking about. American billionaires have doubled, if not tripled, their wealth during a pandemic where hundreds of thousands of people have died, even more lost their jobs, millions risk of eviction every day, and they cannot even hug their parents. All of that could have been prevented. The Supreme Court, in and of itself a scabrous, undemocratic institution, will soon have a conservative majority, all but ensured of ruling in the most venal and harmful way possible for the next few decades. Mitch McConnell, a man who never met a poor person he didn’t want to fuck over, continues to rule The Senate, a monstrously anti-democratic body, with an iron grip and refuses to enact any but the most harmful of laws. The party that supposedly inhabits “the resistance” to all of this looks to be more concerned with norms than with winning. What I’m saying is, shits fucked.
This is where I’m supposed to say that I still have hope or something like that. I’ve already done that. More than once. I don’t want to deny those pieces either. I will not turn my back on them, repudiating my own writings. Everyday millions of people flight for a better world in one way or another. We have not been robbed of hope yet. But that’s not the point of this piece. The point of this piece is that I’m pissed.
As a straight white guy who grew up in a WASP-adjacent family, I haven’t always been the best at dealing with my own emotions. My general tactic for dealing with anger revolves around pushing it down and pretending like I’m fine. Very healthy. Politics anger comes in a different form than just regular anger, however. Politics anger is a new type of anger for me. I used to love talking politics. Sure, I’d have opinions and was willing to debate them, but I wouldn’t get angry. I wouldn’t get heated in that very particular way where it seems like the person you’re talking to has somehow morphed into both the worst person in the world and the stupidest. That’s new. And that’s what I’m going to talk about.
I used to be very cynical. Generally to the point of nihilism. My worldview ran along the lines of, everything sucked, so what’s the point? A lot of eighteen-year-olds go through this phase at some point, I think. This viewpoint allowed me to approach politics and discussions of politics as more of a game than anything else. Of course, I had my preferred outcomes, but since I had no hope of enacting them, arguing with someone who thought Bush rocked, or that universal healthcare would bankrupt our country, didn’t present a problem for me. Politics didn’t mean life or death for me, and if it did, it wouldn’t stop being that, so who cared?
I didn’t leave my doomer stage until somewhere around twenty-five. Not horribly late, I guess. I joined DSA, and did some – not a lot, don’t want to steal organizer valor – of socialist work. This work, seeing what groups like DSA, and the incredibly smart, talented, and driven organizers who make it up, really shook me out of my funk. I started to view politics not as a game, a mere hobby, but as a means to an end. Something that could, and should, be used for the benefit of all, not just the rich and powerful few. I’ve stepped back from DSA work, but I still support my local chapter when I can, and still hold these two truths dear.
I know this is something that billions of people before me have realized, often quite earlier in their lives. I don’t want to frame this as deep revelation that I and only I have come to. My ego – an object large enough to warp space-time – hasn’t quite reached a large enough size to let me claim this as my own. This and an understanding that no Moses will lead us to the promised land, no Myojin of Cleansing Fire that will destroy everything so that it can be born anew. These two things, both born of many conversations - and witnessing the work of countless stronger, smarter others – probably turned the switch the most in my mind. Watching people canonize someone like Ruth Bader Ginsburg, a person with a remarkable, but incredibly complicated and not always positive legacy, as “The Notorious RBG,” instead of eliciting bored eyerolls, has started to enrage me. Seeing The Onion version of Joe Biden touted as the real thing, or the “slay kweenification” of Nancy Pelosi really gets my goat.
I don’t want this to come off like I’m bragging about getting mad or whatever. Better responses to political discussion than getting so mad you have stop talking exist. It’s also not a great way to get people on your side. Sometimes though, getting mad feels good as hell. A little righteous anger to soothe the spirit. The correct thing for me to do, of course, is channel that anger into organizing. Become a strident crusader for justice. It works. When I went on strike last year for a new contract, anger kept me out on the line in the middle of a cold, windy, and rainy Chicago spring. Walking in a circle, chanting your throat raw, isn’t exactly easy, and being mad keeps you warm. This time however, I want to defend my anger. It’s a normal response. It’s an understandable response. I won’t let it control me, and I sure as hell won’t let it define me, but sometimes I’ll let it wash over me. In any case, join DSA so the world doesn’t drive you crazy.