What Happens to a Vote Deferred?

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You know that feeling in the pit of your stomach when you feel personal failure because people close to you…people you hope you positively influence made a bad decision today that will haunt all of you both disproportionately and indefinitely?  Well ya… I’m feeling that coupled with a deeper understanding of what it looks like when people confuse the definition of feminism with sexism and don’t even know it. I did my part and regardless of the outcome I can tell my daughter genitalia didn’t sway my vote.

As a feminist by definition I viewed both candidates equally as politicians with agendas and when I compared their records, ethics, and platforms…I can tell her I voted for the right guy and fought for him all the way to the convention…I hope I can tell this story to her one day and laugh about how silly it is that I was afraid for her very life…

I hope I can look back and I don’t remember the nightmares I’ve had of her replacing Sandra Bland on that video or her growing up in a world dominated by war and ruled by resource scarcity… I hope that my hope comes peeking through the clouds of media dust storms that bury FBI investigations and passive aggressive racism under girl power puff pieces and celebrity obituaries.

I pray that before it all falls to shit something pulls the pin out of this grenade and we explode into enlightenment propelled by the understanding that although things aren’t perfect it isn’t impossible nor is it unrealistic to demand real progressive change in a country that has always been dragged, kicking, and screaming into the future…

I’m hoping someone reads this and feels regret…deep mournful regret for not taking a chance on the underdog today… but instead of deflecting they take a hard look at WHY they felt OK with self identifying as unworthy of hope… I want them to ask themselves “what happens to a dream deferred”… then I want them to watch a Trump rally and find out.

On Syria And Why Being Poor (Not Privileged) Prompts Me Not To Vote For Hilary

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If I could begin to express the level of despair I felt watching this video…I would… but I don’t think my heart could take it.

When you have connections…real connections, to all parts of the globe you die a little when you witness hurt blasted (or ignored) on TV…It’s impossible to watch people crying and distraught in the street after something like this when you know that could just as easily be your family or friends…but our world is cut off from theirs, isn’t it?

We are soft as an effect of our 1st world comforts and equally as hard as a result of the incessant onslaught of images like these… We think: “that’s so sad” and then promptly change to something uplifting to lighten the mood. It never crosses our mind that Rome fell. Things in our country are not perfect. We aren’t far behind.

Syria used to be a beautiful vacation spot,

plage

hama     ibnwalid.jpg

home to a major seed bank, beautiful historical ruins, and a crucial part of the fertile crescent a.k.a the cradle of all known civilization;

now it (like so many others before it) doesn’t hold a candle to a shadow of it’s former self.

My adopted Uncle was born and raised near the Doctors Without Boarders hospital that was bombed this week. He used to go back frequently to visit family. He was well to do. He had a few homes there.

Nowadays, my Uncle is no longer well to do. He’s a lot grayer all of his homes there are destroyed and he can’t go back anymore or it’s likely he won’t return. I remember when he’d complain about Assad occasionally but the economy was stable then so I don’t recall it being a daily thing.

“It started with the drought” he’d say… (global warming seems to be a reoccurring precursor to a lot of these issues but, I digress) once food prices increased so did overall tensions and the kettle began to boil…

Our mixing pot here is boiling, but we’re too busy calling the kettle black to notice we’re on the tipping point too.

This election is about more than defeating Trump or a woman satisfying her insatiable ego by becoming president. This is it. This is a defining moment for us, our fork in the road where our choices are immediate destruction(Ted Cruz/Trump), cruise control at 65 on our current pathway to destruction (Hilary), or Bernie… who just wants us to spend with our true interests in mind, tax with our true interests in mind, and view the world with an emphatic heart.

I can’t compromise, because I see my future in the eyes of refugees dying on the streets of their own city. I can’t in good faith vote for Hilary knowing her track record of violence and disdain for black and brown people. She has and will continue to propagate the type violence I just witnessed and I can’t be party to that. Being poor not privileged is what propels my decision not to support Hillary because my vote is my voice and I can’t allow any outside pressure to silence me.

Hubris doesn’t allow us to see just how badly our tight rope is fraying as we walk it. We continue our jeering and crusading, nose turned up to those already fallen.

But

as oceans rise, water get scares and dirty, education becomes a privilege as opposed to right, and inflation devalues our already maxed out 50 hour work week; we’ll eventually have to come to grips with the fact that chickens really do come home to roost. Our insensitivity and deeds done aboard won’t be readily forgotten by those who we’ve wronged in the name of “Democracy”.

I’ll leave you with only final thought…

Imagine if you will the frothy head of a beer, toppling over the rim  in excess with mad abandon as if the spout will never run dry, suppressing the bubbling brown body of the beverage which suffocates below the foam… Eventually the bartender cuts flow and either tips the glass or runs across it with a blade cutting the head off and settling the liquid. Who are you in this analogy, the liquid or the foam?