Despite what this may look like, there's a very clear and very poignant point I want to get across in this post. I'm deeply mired by the colloquial milieu over the last few hours, so please, bear with me. I think I can do it. I'm not even really that drunk anymore, but again, I've been provoked by a conversation I had with what I deem the “normal” folks. Let's begin.
I think we dismiss “class” at our peril. For as often as it is invoked in our modern political arenas, I do not believe we spend time defining it. I've offered a few instances in the (too lazy to link atm, but stay tuned) past. We tend to believe it has much to do with our income. You're automatically in a higher class once you breach a threshold. Jay-Z says, “we don't pay the same taxes,” because his realm of existence is better than yours.
As with everything, I've again noticed a pattern. I know guys, my bad, it's all just boring patterns and shit, but really, I think it can inform and help. Maybe you won't sound stupid or like someone of a lower class one day because you caught this blog. :p
Anyway, first we must bring up the idea that someone isn't “political.” I think this is a horrendously vacuous and insidious lie. It is a lie that is so reflexively employed that people routinely take pride in espousing its virtue. Shame on them.
You see, in my view, we don't have a choice. By being born, for all the shit loaded upon your shoulders, you are by default “political.” You want your food not poisoned? Yeah, politics stepped in and regulated that shit. You want a world not suffocated by a nuclear Holocaust? I'd put money on the idea that you have an opinion on our maintenance and use of such weapons.
What's important to understand, is that for the “normal” folks, they can't be bothered. This sounds simple, but it speaks to so much more that you can only get when you impress upon them.
A woman I talked to tonight said she wasn't “political.” Her exact reasons why were, “I was raped when I was 7, then again when I was 11, my family are drunks, and it's taken me years to find this guy who I for the first time in my life am actually happy with.”
At first glance, her story has nothing to do with some political position she may take. More importantly to realize, she is speaking to the kind of overflow our minds are constantly dealing with in attempting to discern where our attention should lie. Because everyone has a story, right? We're all still in the margin of error coming out of primarily murderous and rapist behaviors that fueled our species to this point, no? One not need be callous in dismissing someone's story or hardship, but if we're going to power on into the future, your personal hardship is not a counterpoint to your responsibility or capacity to engage with a larger picture.
Because that's the important thing. You're not just your hardship or capacity to pursue happiness. You're not the endless stories you can offer me about some trip down video game lane or vacation or conversation you took that stood in stark contrast to your otherwise terrible or tumultuous life. This is an extremely hard, if not impossible sell, in the moment someone is trying to relate these things towards you.
It speaks to the tools I hope to create. We're all in this together and probably speaking about the same language even if you only ever get peaks at it in my drunken diatribes because you're pussy ass niggas who ain't worthy my time. Or at least, that's the story you tell me by faking your lives on facebook and giving me nothing to read. It's hard to burrow down until you find common ground. If it's hard between me and people I might have too quickly jumped into calling friends, get drunk and talk to the your average Steak and Shake employee. I promise you, by virtue of you seeing this, you occupy a class unfamiliar to them, if only because my patience cannot abide otherwise.
Endless deferral is the name of the game with regard to the desperate, broke, and tired. It's not their responsibility to think about who's going to be the next President. All they know is, when time comes to abort their mistake and they can't afford it, times are tough once again. When they used to get that dank weed from the guy who got deported, man, just our luck, gotta go back to the mediocre shit. It's a one to one analogy when you think of the general thesis to Rich Dad, Poor Dad. Poor dad has no other option. 2 thousand or 6 thousand doesn't mean shit to him except as something that's going to be spent in some form of desperation or treat. You're dumb to tell him to invest, just like you're dumb to expect people who've never felt their impact on the system to appreciate the degree of impact from their choices.
It's the sickest thing to recognize that these desperate, had their whole lives fucked with mother fuckers, actually do care. They ask questions. They'd get involved. It's like looking at the “dumb kid” and realizing they just need to be given the time and attention. People only go so far as you're prepared to support them.
I think we just need to spend more time talking to each other. You'll see the same shit I do. You'll see the great divide in perspectives that still seems to resolve around similar points. I know a world's amount of information more than the people I talked to tonight. That doesn't make me special. It's not particularly hard or different than the shit they know. But I come from a place of privilege that allows me to contemplate and play with that information. I have to “bestow” tools that get them involved because I don't have a pocket “I was raped when I was 7” story to use in service to my disenfranchisement.
We're only as good as our worst player. And I keep meeting people who say the stupid ass phrase, “I'm not political.” I think we can do better.
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