I’ve only ever followed politics to a point. After that point (which will be different for everyone) it becomes background noise, two kids fighting for your best friendship just so they can share the chocolates your mum always puts in your lunchbox. I’ve felt guilty feeling this way, because, despite uninspiring options, it’s something I should care more about. Don’t you care about the economy? About your rights? About the country you live in and the people you share it with?
You think other people will take care of that. You assume they will exercise common sense. You think it doesn’t make much difference who you vote for, or which of these loud-mouthed kids is leading.
But you are wrong.
For the first time, in the lead-up to an election, I felt genuinely worried. Months ago, it was, “Are you kidding me? No one is going to take him seriously.” And now here we are.
I’m not American, but because it’s America, we’re all affected. That’s what makes this even more painful that our vote really doesn’t count, we don’t get a say. We can only watch in disbelief as state after state makes their choice.
For the first time, because of an election, I wanted to curl up in a ball in bed and stay there. Like someone who had personally disrespected me and hurt me the day before, I didn’t want to give him my time or energy – he didn’t deserve it – but then I felt that guilt again. It’s because of people who might have voted differently not caring enough, not knowing and understanding enough, not even voting, that these things happen.
Earlier this year, I was in London the day of the Brexit result. Everyone I spoke to was outraged, upset, disappointed. But clearly my ‘everyone’ was not the majority; at least not the majority who actually voted. Soon after, I learnt that in Australia, Pauline Hanson was back in the senate. Pauline ‘White Australia Policy’ Hanson. She was around when I was in high school, when I was just starting to get over wishing I was ‘normal’ and white, getting comfortable with and even proud of being Asian-Australian, feeling like I belonged. Her wanting ‘us’ out hurt. And the fact that she had any public voice at all, no matter how easy she was for the media to mock, she had supporters. ‘My people’ supported her wanting ‘us’ out.
Not to mention it made the changing of our refugee policies, and the opening of our borders to asylum seekers who are not only being held in limbo for years but tortured under our government’s watch, having escaped desperate circumstances only to find themselves in equally desperate circumstances, feeling further away than ever. Never before have I felt so ashamed to be Australian, part of a privileged Western society, as I have in recent years.
In school we learnt about Hitler, and the horrors of wars that happened before our time. I had nightmares about living in cupboards only to have my family and friends killed anyway. We learnt what can happen when the majority of people lose all reason, deciding only to look after ‘their own’, brainwashed into living in fear of the ‘other’. We learnt what can happen when the wrong people are given too much power. In class, we shook our heads and thought, “Thank goodness we live now, when people know better!”
But clearly, more voters than not don’t know better.
I’m taking solace from the fact that my social media feeds are flooded with posts from friends who are just as disgusted, shocked, saddened, and disappointed as I am. That some of those posts are reminders of our need to band together and, now more than ever, speak up and fight for what is right. I’m taking solace from the fact that I don’t associate with
closed-minded idiots people who pass judgement and make decisions based on fear, ignorance, and hatred.
Right now, I feel small, powerless, and afraid. I feel like this kind of behaviour, and other hurtful, unjustified, uneducated and inhumane behaviours and views, have been validated. I feel like the way I feel doesn’t matter. I feel like the child-version of me was right to wish she was ‘normal’ (a.k.a. white), that I can’t go back and tell her, “Hey, you are just as Australian as anyone else. You belong, you are wanted, what makes you different actually adds to the beautiful, diverse, proudly multicultural Australia you are lucky enough to live in.” I can’t tell her how lucky she is to be born into a time of openness, acceptance, peace and freedom. And it looks like I won’t be able to say that to my future children either.
I don’t share this blog much/at all, so if you’re reading this, you probably know me, and we’re friends because we’re both
not bigoted assholes good people who care about other people – and not just those who look like us, behave like us, and have grown up with similar circumstances and privileges. You’ve probably contributed to the social media feed I’ve been taking solace in. So I don’t need to convince you. And what we need now is not more venting and despairing (thank you for reading though), but a plan of action.
- Bury my head and weep for a few days.
- Re-group. Remember that the day before yesterday I was on a mission to live a full life and contribute positively to the world I want to live in. I believed, and still believe, we essentially all want the same things. To be happy. To be free. To feel safe. Even though fear and hatred are the driving forces at the moment, this can, will, and must change.
- Continue on that mission. Continue calling out bigotry, homophobia, sexism, racism. Even – especially – when it’s a ‘joke’. It’s never, ever a joke. It’s never ok.
- Continue to take solace from the fact that the people I know and associate with are intelligent, compassionate people with good hearts, many of whom are actively driving conversations and initiatives towards greater understanding, love, empathy, and acceptance. Read, talk, and remember how many more of us are out there. We are on the same side, and together we can effect change.
- Dont lose hope. Ever.