Sea of glass

When I was in the eighth grade, I remember sitting in Mrs. Glass’s history class, staring down into my textbook and wondering: what will future history textbooks say about the time I was alive? About now? Later that year, I assembled a war zone inside of large pizza box, using sand, GI Joe figurines, scraps of fabric and mesh netting from citrus fruit bags, wire, and bits of wood. It was meant to resemble something that had occurred in the Gulf War, which has already, at this point, been chronicled in history books. But, I’ve never stopped asking myself that question: What about now? What will the history books say about now? And now? And right now?

I haven’t always struggled with what it means to be an American, or with what my country stands for and does, both within its own borders, as well as outside of them. But, I often have. I don’t remember when exactly my criticism of American policy and values started, but I recall that an early fascination with bicycle transport made me bristle with anger at our nation’s obsession with and prioritization of the automobile, especially compared to European cities, where cycling was safer, faster, and even encouraged. I used to theorize that some of our modern architecture was not so ugly simply because of our obsession with making things as cheaply and quickly as possible, but that it was intentional. The vast and blocky beige and gray and sickly blue strip malls were hideous also to thrust Americans into a state of numbness or mild despair; in such a subdued state, we were easier to control. And the fact that we had to drive, alone, from ugly strip mall to ugly strip mall, (instead of walking or sharing transport between buildings that, even if not ornate or beautiful, were not generic and fat blocks of concrete painted the color of puke) meant we were isolated in this uninspiring landscape, connecting less and less with fellow members of our communities. Now, we were not just deadened by our surroundings, but cut off by them, too. I’m getting really far off track here, and I certainly lack the expertise to write about urban planning and yes, some of my early criticisms were indeed a bit simplistic or conspiratorial, but I write this to say, I’m no stranger to considering America’s flaws, ugliness, or whatever you want to call it.

There was even a time when I felt truly ashamed to be American, when I was unsure if I could ever feel glad to be from America again. I was living in Ecuador, and tasked with teaching a class I was wholly unqualified to teach, called “Twenty-first Century Life in Urban and Rural Ecuador.” Luckily, most of my students were American and British exchange students, plopped in the class to learn more about the country they were temporarily living in, so with enough reading, I could easily stay ahead of them. But as I read more and more about Ecuador’s recent history, the more appalled I was at the role my country had played in it—it wasn’t a nice one. The saga of the United Fruit Company and its treatment of Ecuadorians was almost enough to make me vomit, but then there were the mysterious coups and assassinations of presidents and leaders that many suspected the US Government had a role in. And lets not forget about Texaco’s role in poisoning countless Ecuadorians by leaving tar pits uncovered in the Amazon as they dug and searched for oil reserves. As a big, powerful, wealthy country, shouldn’t we lead by example, I wondered? Use our power as a force of good, rather than a means of extortion, or an excuse to be a bully? You would think, you would hope, but, as we know, that isn’t always the case.

As mortified as I was by all that I learned about America while living abroad, I did, eventually, start to miss it. I became homesick for the ugly strip malls—not because I loved them, or had changed my mind about them, but because they signaled home. I wanted to go home, and I knew that in order to do that, I’d have to make some kind of peace with the fact that “home” for me was also a powerful, dysfunctional country with often good intentions, but also some nefarious ones. I reckoned that I could love my country while also being critical of it; I could recognize what we’d done and are doing wrong, while also applauding what we’ve done and are doing right. Patriotism to me has never meant thinking my country is the best (it certainly is not, but then, I don’t think any country is), but it has meant being honest about my country’s past and present, and doing what I can to keep making it better and fairer for everyone. I could recognize, without feeling immense amounts of shame, that my country was one that uses some or most of its money and power to do good, and some of it to (more secretly, or at least less openly) do bad things. And I guess this is where there’s an important distinction to be made: for much of our recent history, the fact that we tended to wield our power for “bad” things more secretly indicated that we at least knew we were doing unsavory things that many or most Americans would be unhappy with, and so we kept them hidden or hushed.

This doesn’t appear to be the case at present. Actually, no, let’s just say it: this is not the case right now. We are not interested, as a nation, in keeping our dark side a secret. I understand that there are many bad things going on in our country and the world right now that I could use as an example, here, but there really is only one thing clanging around loudly in my brain, that I can’t stop thinking about, that, instead of just enraging me, actually broke my heart: The way our president and vice president treated President Zelenskyy on Friday morning, in front of dozens of cameras and mics, in front of the American people, and the entire world.

When I watched the clip of the conversation the first time, I audibly gasped at some of the things Trump and Vance said; I was shocked and mortified. But as the conversation devolved, I found myself feeling like, if I allowed it, I could easily cry. I didn’t cry, but the fact that I could have, that some part of me wanted to, signaled a horrible shift in the temperature and climate of our country. We’re not just behaving badly behind closed doors, we’re inviting in the cameras in to film us doing it. Rightfully, many politicians, pundits, and everyday Americans were horrified by what they saw. But many also felt vindicated, empowered, in full agreement with how President Zelenskyy was treated; that he was, from my perspective, openly and publicly berated, belittled, and bullied. This pushed me into a state of complete and utter disbelief, but then I paused to consider a parallel: has this, perhaps, always been the case? When we were children, some of us watched in shame or fear as someone was bullied on the playground, some of us actively intervened with words or actions to try to stop the bully, and then, some of us laughed, some of us found it funny that the skinny or nerdy or dirty or developmentally disabled kid was being made fun of. I don’t know if this is a perfect translation to what’s going on in our government and society today, but I think it’s important to remember: some people laugh when other people get picked on. Some people think they have a right to highlight others’ “weakness” or “difference”, and make them feel bad about it. There may well be psychological explanations for such behavior, but it doesn’t change the fact that it still happens: on the playground, and in the Oval Office, publicly, on TV.

I spent a lot of time this weekend on right-wing blogs, “news” sites, social media, and message boards, and saw that many people truly believe Trump has some genius strategy that he’s slowly deploying that involves “pretending” to be Russia’s ally (Trump retweeted one such theory). They also believe Ukraine is corrupt beyond recognition and that Zelenskyy is a grifter and a thief and deserved that “smackdown” on TV. Some even think he came into the Oval Office with the intention to “play to American’s emotions” and then “take down” Trump on TV but that Trump and Vance “showed him who was boss”. But I have to ask: who invited all the cameras? Certainly not Zelenskyy. And also: ummm, yes, it makes total sense that a man leading a poor, war-torn nation short on funds and military resources would waltz into the office of the most powerful man in the world to “bully” him into doling out more cash. Like, WTF. When I consider how diametrically opposed such views are with my own, with probably around 50% of Americans’ (at least, I hope), I feel quite afraid, because I’m not sure how such differences can be reconciled. And if you’re asking: why would I ever spend my precious time in these far-right spaces? Because apart from the fact that so many Americans at large believe this stuff, so too do many people in my family believe it, and I want to understand.

~ ~ ~

I used to cry, or want to cry, at a multitude of familiar scenes. Most often, it was something like a parent buying their kid a candy bar at a gas station, or helping their kid slide a quarter into a toy vending machine at a rest stop. There was something unadulterated in these small, mundane expressions of love, and it made me feel tremendously sad. Because within the simplicity of these acts of love, there was also something desperate. Maybe there is always something desperate in how we express love, but that desperation remains cloaked so long as our expressions are beautiful or layered or grandiose. But what is beautiful about a vending machine or the plastic toys it spits out? What is beautiful about a gas station or a candy bar? Nothing, except the love behind or beneath them, that lays there, still and exposed as the quarter slips into the machine, and out pops a neon green ring, captured in a clear ball of plastic.

Correct in my perspective or not, that was how I saw Zelenskyy sitting in the yellow, tall-backed chair speaking with Trump and Vance in the Oval Office. He loves his country, his people, and he was, I think, prepared to sign away 50% of Ukraine’s mineral wealth, indefinitely, for future protection and aid from the US. How is this not, also, desperate? Evidence of a love, or at least a need, laying bear, exposed, out in the open, no grandiosity or complexity to disguise or cloak it? And to think some people saw this desperation and took advantage of it, capitalized on it, to make money, or to make his country’s lack of power or resources even more obvious? Or to make themselves look big? I can find no way to make peace with any of that. We are no longer a country that uses its power mostly for good and sometimes for bad. We are a country that uses its power to get what it wants, to make itself look more “powerful”, to control and humiliate others. There is no good in that mix, no benevolence, and certainly no generosity.

I don’t know how to square with that. Actually, I don’t think I can. But maybe it’s OK that there’s no way to make this situation seem better than it is. It is only after accepting reality that we can do anything to change or improve it. And the reality is that we’re no longer a “good guy”. Some people might say we never were, but I think we at least tried to be. That’s gone, now.

And so: I return to my chair in Mrs. Glass’s history class, in the corner of the building, with long banks of windows on two walls, light filtering in through the tree tops before making its way into our cluttered classroom. I ask the same question: What will the history books say about us? About right now? I feel a little bit sick, when I imagine it. Because I also used to wonder in history class, and still wonder now, about all the people who are not mentioned in the books, but who lived through any awful history described, were stitched into the fabric of a movement or a nation or a time, both willingly and unwillingly. Who were those faceless, nameless Germans who did not want Hitler in power? Who were bereft at their country’s direction? I am beginning to have some idea, now, of what it is like to be one of those people: an anonymous resident of a country that took a wrong turn, who wishes things were not what they are, but is unsure what, if anything, she can do about it. “I do not want to live in a time when my country that is the bad guy,” I said to my boyfriend the other night. But here I am, because we do not get to choose so many of our circumstances. So what am I going to do about it?

Recently, I wrote that I hoped to figure out how to make art that was “helpful.” I have yet to determine how, or if, I can do this. Instead, I’m faced daily with questions about the purpose of my art or writing—what good or use is it, in times like these? Would I be better off (or a better person) if I shunted my creative energies into something more purposeful? More practical? Probably, yes. Except: I can’t. If I don’t regularly write, or make things, about the various ideas stuck in my mind, I become a miserable and embittered person, mad at everything and everyone that gets in the way of my ability to create. Teaching full time already requires a massive redirection of creative energy. Perhaps it’s selfish, but I can’t also redirect all my creativity in my off hours; I need at least one totally unencumbered artistic outlet. But, I digress. I write this to say: I’m still trying. I’m trying to discern how I can make art that does at least a shred of good. I love the world, and want to try to leave this place a little better than I found it when I go. I don’t want to just be here, idle, passive, unaware and unengaged; I want to participate, to do something with the creative gifts I’ve been given that does some good beyond preserving my own sanity. I do hope I find it. For now, I’ll continue to write in here from time to time, and hopefully create a small means of sharing or community between the words I put down and those who read them.

(Apart from that, I’m going to keep calling my representatives, keep living my values instead of just talking about them, keep speaking out [especially when presented with purely false information and narratives], donate to organizations doing good work on the ground, and email the Ukrainian embassy to apologize for my nation’s disgraceful attempts at leadership).

If anyone who reads this has any other ideas of what specific actions we can take to actually make this country great, please send me a message <3

That’s all for now.

XO, Katie