This morning I was moving a few things around in a drawer when I came across my college transcripts from about eleven years ago. They made me realize that I’ve changed quite a bit as the years have gone by, especially in terms of how I view our culture with respect to politics.
During my undergrad years, I was, without question, a student of political science. Even before college I found myself reading the newspaper on a daily basis, watching C-SPAN, and reading whatever political magazines I could get my hands on. By the time I was in college, I was taking courses on international relations, constitutional law, modern political theory, and American political parties.
While I knew at the time I was taking them because I wanted to learn how our system worked more than I was interested in being some kind of cog that was going to influence the workings of the machine as a whole (the “I’m going to change the world” attitude), I didn’t think that I’d reach a point where I found myself disinterested in being part of the entire thing—you know, the machine.
Over the last few years I’ve been finding myself slowly drifting from the negativity that has come to define political “discussion” in our culture—and I use the term discussion loosely—in an effort to put more energy in things that are much more enjoyable, if not productive, to do—you know, like photography.
The recent bombing in Oslo, Norway, has sort of helped these feelings of outsiderness along, especially when viewing comments from folks the world over with regard to the incident. When it first occurred, everyone with an Internet connection claimed to know the “real” story behind the entire thing without having to leave the comfort of their computer desks or recliners, if they have laptops. Within minutes the theories were flung across the World Wide Web like heaps of digital cattle dung. The cries were similar: “I bet he’s a liberal!”; “No, I bet he’s a conservative!” Then you had people like me thinking, Does it really matter when the end result is as heinous as it was?
Perhaps for many the politicalization of an incident—any incident; not just this one—becomes the most important aspect of the incident. Who can we blame? At whom can we point the finger? Do you disagree with us? Then you must be a supporter of the other side.
Actually, the last sentence in the previous paragraph is the main reason that I’ve begun to feel anti-political over the last few years. Yes, I fully understand that part of me is probably supposed to feel as though I should be a person to lead the charge with battle-cries of “Everyone can make a difference!” and “Always get involved!” Well, to a degree, this is my form of involvement: questioning how and why we’ve become as radical as we have on both sides of the aisle. Moreover, is this going to have a negative impact on what I consider to be the greatest nation on Earth?
Now, I’ll be the first to say that this is probably nothing new. Such radicalization has existed in America before: the start of the American Revolution, the Civil War, the post-World War II communist threat, the Vietnam War. My point is that I’m wondering if we’re moving back toward another cycle of radicalism and considering my hesitation to become part of it. I’m wondering if I’m really an official part of this cultural belief, in which we pick a side and lead the charge for it no matter what, without question, almost like we’re rally around our favorite sports teams. And, after all, if you’re willing to question, then you’re not “for” the movement. You’re either with them or you’re against them.
I’ve seen similar attitudes expressed on C-SPAN when they allow the public to call in on their phone lines during their morning show, Washington Journal. It seems almost routine to hear both Democrats and Republicans complain because the other is allowed to call in. Democrat callers would claim that C-SPAN is “obviously” a right-wing network because they allow Republicans to call in; Republicans counter by claiming that C-SPAN is “obviously” a left-wing network because Democrats are allowed to call in.
A few years ago I saw an interview with Metallica’s drummer Lars Ulrich, who was asked about his take on American politics. Given that he’s originally from Denmark but spent many years in the U.S., he had the chance to grow up in one culture and become a part of another. He pointed out that he found it hard to grasp the idea that everyone and everything in the U.S.—including political ideas—is supposed to be completely concrete, black-and-white, and either-or. There’s no room for intellectual movement or analysis; there’s no tolerance for philosophical examination. In short, there’s no patience for scrutiny.
I wonder how safe such a situation is, given the importance of the political system. Even if people have no interest in it, it still controls us—all of us—through our laws. Even if we’re more interested in paying attention to MTV instead of C-SPAN, the folks watching MTV are still governed by the legislation passed by the folks being interviewed on C-SPAN. You can’t turn politics off.
But what if it turns you off? Rather, what happens when you start wondering if the extreme views become the majority while the minority is asking, “Shouldn’t we discuss this?” This then goes back to why I said that I’d use the term discussion loosely, with respect to American politics.
It’s becoming more and more difficult to stay interested in such an important institution when the majority of viewpoints are not yours, whether they’re on the far-right or the far-left. And, furthermore, if you don’t adopt the radical views of either extreme, to those folks you suddenly become the enemy—the other side. You’re either with us or you’re against us.
Or are they just the most vocal? Are non-radical viewpoints actually more widespread and simply not being heard? Or are the non-vocal folks the ones who have already grown disinterested in the entire thing and moved on to other things?
I don’t know and I don’t claim to know to definitive answer—yes, even though I can easily call myself an expert simply because I have an opinion and an Internet connection, similar to many others.
What I do know, however, is that we must have skipped this part of the lesson in my college courses.
During my undergrad years, I was, without question, a student of political science. Even before college I found myself reading the newspaper on a daily basis, watching C-SPAN, and reading whatever political magazines I could get my hands on. By the time I was in college, I was taking courses on international relations, constitutional law, modern political theory, and American political parties.
While I knew at the time I was taking them because I wanted to learn how our system worked more than I was interested in being some kind of cog that was going to influence the workings of the machine as a whole (the “I’m going to change the world” attitude), I didn’t think that I’d reach a point where I found myself disinterested in being part of the entire thing—you know, the machine.
Over the last few years I’ve been finding myself slowly drifting from the negativity that has come to define political “discussion” in our culture—and I use the term discussion loosely—in an effort to put more energy in things that are much more enjoyable, if not productive, to do—you know, like photography.
The recent bombing in Oslo, Norway, has sort of helped these feelings of outsiderness along, especially when viewing comments from folks the world over with regard to the incident. When it first occurred, everyone with an Internet connection claimed to know the “real” story behind the entire thing without having to leave the comfort of their computer desks or recliners, if they have laptops. Within minutes the theories were flung across the World Wide Web like heaps of digital cattle dung. The cries were similar: “I bet he’s a liberal!”; “No, I bet he’s a conservative!” Then you had people like me thinking, Does it really matter when the end result is as heinous as it was?
Perhaps for many the politicalization of an incident—any incident; not just this one—becomes the most important aspect of the incident. Who can we blame? At whom can we point the finger? Do you disagree with us? Then you must be a supporter of the other side.
Actually, the last sentence in the previous paragraph is the main reason that I’ve begun to feel anti-political over the last few years. Yes, I fully understand that part of me is probably supposed to feel as though I should be a person to lead the charge with battle-cries of “Everyone can make a difference!” and “Always get involved!” Well, to a degree, this is my form of involvement: questioning how and why we’ve become as radical as we have on both sides of the aisle. Moreover, is this going to have a negative impact on what I consider to be the greatest nation on Earth?
Now, I’ll be the first to say that this is probably nothing new. Such radicalization has existed in America before: the start of the American Revolution, the Civil War, the post-World War II communist threat, the Vietnam War. My point is that I’m wondering if we’re moving back toward another cycle of radicalism and considering my hesitation to become part of it. I’m wondering if I’m really an official part of this cultural belief, in which we pick a side and lead the charge for it no matter what, without question, almost like we’re rally around our favorite sports teams. And, after all, if you’re willing to question, then you’re not “for” the movement. You’re either with them or you’re against them.
I’ve seen similar attitudes expressed on C-SPAN when they allow the public to call in on their phone lines during their morning show, Washington Journal. It seems almost routine to hear both Democrats and Republicans complain because the other is allowed to call in. Democrat callers would claim that C-SPAN is “obviously” a right-wing network because they allow Republicans to call in; Republicans counter by claiming that C-SPAN is “obviously” a left-wing network because Democrats are allowed to call in.
A few years ago I saw an interview with Metallica’s drummer Lars Ulrich, who was asked about his take on American politics. Given that he’s originally from Denmark but spent many years in the U.S., he had the chance to grow up in one culture and become a part of another. He pointed out that he found it hard to grasp the idea that everyone and everything in the U.S.—including political ideas—is supposed to be completely concrete, black-and-white, and either-or. There’s no room for intellectual movement or analysis; there’s no tolerance for philosophical examination. In short, there’s no patience for scrutiny.
I wonder how safe such a situation is, given the importance of the political system. Even if people have no interest in it, it still controls us—all of us—through our laws. Even if we’re more interested in paying attention to MTV instead of C-SPAN, the folks watching MTV are still governed by the legislation passed by the folks being interviewed on C-SPAN. You can’t turn politics off.
But what if it turns you off? Rather, what happens when you start wondering if the extreme views become the majority while the minority is asking, “Shouldn’t we discuss this?” This then goes back to why I said that I’d use the term discussion loosely, with respect to American politics.
It’s becoming more and more difficult to stay interested in such an important institution when the majority of viewpoints are not yours, whether they’re on the far-right or the far-left. And, furthermore, if you don’t adopt the radical views of either extreme, to those folks you suddenly become the enemy—the other side. You’re either with us or you’re against us.
Or are they just the most vocal? Are non-radical viewpoints actually more widespread and simply not being heard? Or are the non-vocal folks the ones who have already grown disinterested in the entire thing and moved on to other things?
I don’t know and I don’t claim to know to definitive answer—yes, even though I can easily call myself an expert simply because I have an opinion and an Internet connection, similar to many others.
What I do know, however, is that we must have skipped this part of the lesson in my college courses.








