Today is cool and dry, a sharp contrast to the weekend’s heat, humidity, storms, and flooding.
This morning I joined a group of truly lovely people for breakfast. The group is loosely organized around liberal politics and is deeply grounded in the members’ caring about other people and the environment.
The conversation focused on the upcoming democratic debates and the Muller testimony before the House. Underlying these concerns was a profound desire to see the president voted out of office next year.
As the conversation unfurled I realized that due to my family’s frequent instruction to avoid trusting any politician or government, I shared the groups desire to be done with our current despot, but lacked their optimism about life under a Democratic replacement. As the conversation continued I became increasingly aware of a vast gulf between my experience of ongoing colonialism and the others’ sense of shock at the racism and greed of the current government.
Th others felt, it seemed to me, a kind of shock and betrayal at what I perceive as the present exaggeration of the status quo. My everyday experience of colonial danger was, for them, new terrain, territory which could be abandoned with a switch of parties.
Although I have spent most of my life shuttling between cultures and worldviews, I found my growing realization that I live a separate reality from that of the others, and that the gulf between our experiences might just be unbridgeable, profoundly disturbing. More so was the thought that most likely they would not grasp the extent of the difference, even if I tried to voice it.