What I’m going through—what we’re all going through in the States—isn’t new. These feelings and ideas held by all sides have been felt and thought by many others who came before us. I suspect that it’s an ancient condition. It’s Cain and Abel. It’s primate. Our mouths have evolved, and our feelings have not. Even this isn’t a new idea. 

By Johnathon Lee

Where is peace? 

The night still feels cool as the moon makes its way West. A killdeer calls across the nearby field as a gentle breeze sings about the grasses and weeds. 

Indoors, my mornings ((and sometimes my afternoons) are still filled with cups of coffee. I still reach for a cereal bar, trying to get into an approximation of health. I don’t know how, but I’m almost 40 for some reason. That’s what the calendar says, anyway. Time stopped making sense some time ago. I still pace and dream, I laugh with friends and tell my loved ones that I love them. There’s music, movies and cozy nights. 

But it’s all wrong, somehow. Social media tells me so. 

There are enraged people between the comedy sketches and cat videos that the algorithm feeds me. If I didn’t understand them, I’d think that they were in need of immediate medical attention. 

War. Assault. Corruption. Lies. Greed… danger. How can that be when the killdeer still calls? How can It be that my father and I are political enemies while still loving each other through it? 

Well, it helps that we don’t talk about it often. Unfortunately, politics has crept into everything, so it’s hard to avoid it.

Politics is Ancient Greek. Aristotle defined it as, “Affairs of the State.” Are people’s genders and ethnicities really state affairs? No, they become state affairs when people are oppressed, attacked and harassed because of their identities. They become state affairs when a population wants to erase, deport, segregate, restrict or punish others just for being others, for not fitting into the herd. 

The right made identity into a state affair when they decided that everyone shouldn’t have equal rights, a decision they’ve been making since 1776. 

“You stupid fucking idiot,” I want to say to him—my dad—my fists clenched as we sit at the local Chinese Buffet. What an odd place for him to celebrate the kidnapping, illegal imprisonment and deportation of countless people who just wanted to provide for their families in a country that used to care about things like that. 

He and I used to talk politics like we were talking science, TV, or philosophy.

It was dialogue and debate, two things that I truly adore. Then he got meaner. His subtle dislike of anyone different from himself gradually matured into a Utopian political ideology. He stopped trying to be decent, and started ignoring his shame. 

Life didn’t go the way he wanted it to (when does it?). Like me, he held a lot of promise when he was in his 20’s. Then, well, one thing after the other (none of them his fault) crashed him down to Earth. He hates that he couldn’t be who he wanted to be, and he blamed himself for it. 

Instead of seeking therapy, a new social circle or hobby, he sought entertainment and alcohol. Flipping through the news and social media, he fell into the rabbit hole and self-isolated. He found someone else to blame: everyone but himself. This made him feel better, and it gave him a new community of free speechers willing to tell it like it is. People who, after being called assholes for years, decided to own the label. 

He became obsessed with Trump and the Deep State Liberal-Marxist-Martian-Marzipan conspiracy. He found an outlet for all those years of frustration. 

I humored him at first. I mean, he’s my dad. Now, well, it’s different. Now, I’m one second away from slamming my hand on the table and screeching like a dictator myself. “You will not speak this way again! You will be decent, or you will be made decent!”

That’s not me. It can’t be me. I love my dad; I love people. What’s wrong with me?

The singing breeze struggles to bring me back home, to take me away from the bad RealityTV series that we’ve all been sucked into. I just wanted peace. I wanted to connect. 

What I’m going through—what we’re all going through in the States—isn’t new. These feelings and ideas held by all sides have been felt and thought by many others who came before us. I suspect that it’s an ancient condition. It’s Cain and Abel. It’s primate. Our mouths have evolved, and our feelings have not. Even this isn’t a new idea. 

Yet history doesn’t offer certainty. It can teach us about ourselves and offer green, yellow and red flags, but sometimes the improbable happens. That much is certain. 

The anger passes, and I see my dad again. The faulted and loving man who raised me and who supports me. Who took me to concerts and theme parks. Who fixed my toys and encouraged my music. 

Fuck. 

I will not go to war. But I will be a pain in the ass. Because I love. Though I love my father, love is also bigger than that. It includes everyone who needs it. The pummeled, belittled, banished and brutalized. 

This isn’t about identity. It’s about letting people listen to their own singing breeze; letting them live in peace. 

 

Photo: Pixabay

Editor: Dana Gornall

 

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