9/11 Reflection: You knew this was coming....

There’s a topic I’d like to discuss here that is really important yet a bit hard for me to explain, so try to bear with me. There’s a subtle yet noticeable difference between Canadian poets commenting on US politics, and US poets commenting on US politics. It’s a difference that I approach uneasily, mainly because said difference is so subtle, and at the same time to be expected. I suppose the uneasiness surrounding my commentary is spawned from the many similarities between Canadian people and American people. Who am I to comment? But when they get on stage, even to no one else, the difference becomes apparent to me, resulting in my skepticism and slight distaste. It’s not that I don’t think they should be able to comment on my country’s politics; on the contrary- US politics involve almost everyone. It’s just that, occasionally, it feels as if the Canadian poets are commenting on Bush politics as if he were their president. And sometimes, they end up coming off slightly ill-informed and impersonal- like the angry liberal who was too angry to even study the facts and vote for herself.

And that’s when you realize- they sound like non-voters because they in fact are non-voters. They can certainly imagine what it’s like to be an American under the current administration, but the truth is, they are not, nor can they truly understand the quiet tension that is building between the two sides of our country. As one poet explained to me, often Canadian poets feel like they can comment because they are the close neighbor and little brother of the US. But is it enough?

I don't think it is enough to be a neighbor or a little brother. The American condition is very specific indeed, and in a way I find myself quitely frustrated and unable to explain my frustration. “You need to live it to understand it.” I want to tell them. It’s so easy to be a third party critic, everything is always black and white when you’re not personally involved. Everything is so simple, so easy. Yes, the majority now believe that our president is an idiot. Yes, the majority are agaisnt the war. But those are perriferal issues. The true questions which are ripping apart the american psyche are much deeper than that: What do we do now? Do we cut and run- looking like big defeated bullies with our tail between our legs like in Vietnam? Do we keep sending more troops, hoping the Iraqi people will step up? Who do we blame? Shouldn’t the troops protest if they don’t want to be there? What about my cousin/brother/sister/neighbor/son/daughter who chose the military to pay for education? What choices do we have? Why is it that a million people can march down Pennsylvania Avenue shouting at the top of their lungs and not be heard? What can we do?

Because it’s not enough anymore to simply be against the war, to think it’s wrong, to think our president is an immoral oil-hungry business man. Those criticisms can be gathered by any 5th grader off of the Daily show. You don’t know what it’s like to feel simultaneous shame and pride of your country. Sure, I hate the politics, but it’s my home, and for the most part, it’s been good to me. Mention the war on terror and half of us will spit, and half of us will stand tall, but mention 9/11 and we will all cringe. Things aren’t so clean cut, but the cut runs deep. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like you have to hide your nationality when traveling abroad. To have to deny your very homeland because of an offensive and absurd misconception that all americans are rich/lazy/stupid/republican/pro-war/christian etc. You can imagine, sure, but you have never experienced it on your own.

Furthermore, I’m tired of the whole “I’m not a typical American” charade because I don’t believe it at all. I don’t believe that I’m an atypical American college student. At Hamilton people might’ve not been actively political, but if you ever gave them the chance, if you ever just sat them down and asked, almost everyone had something to say, some informed piece of information, conservative or liberal. Because it’s gotten to the point where you cannot live a normal life apathetically. Some would like to write off my generation as apathetic because we are not active like the hippies of our parents’. But we are not our parents. We are living in a different world, a world where information flys off the internet and tvs and radios and cell phones and blackberries and smacks us on the face.

I guess the idea of personally commenting on another country's politics just seems strange to me. Sure, the US intervenes with everyone else's politics, but that's our government. I'm talking about people. You don't hear many American poets get up on stage and criticize the politics of President Calderon (the Mexican president). Oh but his politics don't effect everyone, you may say. Fine. When Tony Blair was in office, American poets hardly wrote about him either. Writing about American politics is kind of like picking on the weakling kid in class- it's a cheap shot. What would be more interesting to hear, I think, would be an opinion on Calderon, or (gasp), maybe on one's own government.

I want to say this to the Canadians who look at me for a reaction every time American politics is discussed on stage. I want to get up on stage and explain, make excuses, anything. I'm unimpressed, and to be honest a bit freaked out about putting all this up here on my blog. I truly respect the opinions of others, and so this frustration I often feel leaves me uneasy and worried. I know it's important for me to explain myself, to explain my quiet distaste so that I may perhaps fix some of the misconceptions, but at the same time, I find myself wondering whether or not it is my place to step in and criticize or comment. But when it comes down to it, after all the rambling, here's my honest opinion: I think it's fine to slam about how awful American politics are. But it should be done from one's own perspective- with an understanding of third-party foriegn perspective.

I remember exactly where I was on this day, not so long ago. I remember the phones at my boarding school cutting out because so many people had family who worked in the government. I remember worrying about my own family in New York City. I remember the memorial service and lowering the flag to half mast. I remember driving to Manhattan a mere 3 months later, where the cars on the highway were at a standstill, where people were crying and taking pictures of the skyline, gaping open like a mouth missing two front teeth. I remember the exact moment when I realized life would never ever be the same for Americans, that we had entered a new stage of fear and distrust, and that the end is no where to be seen. And when I remember these things, my body tenses, my mind reels, and I realize that we are writing history as we remember it. As we speak it. And words are words no matter what country a person is from- we are in danger of oversimplifying history. Our words are powerful, we need to be careful of what we say.