On Politics: The Making of an Idealistic Hypocrite
Published May 1, 2007
By Tommy Wheeler
I find politics annoying. I don’t hate our government; I just distance myself from it. To hate something means you took time and thought about it, to not even acknowledge something is the ultimate snub.
I recently overheard a male student talking on his cell-phone with his father – there was formality and apprehension in his voice. “I support livable wages, but what’s the point of hunger striking to protest it,” he said. Presumably the “moderate” viewpoint impressed his less-than idealistic elder.
I began digesting his comment as I approached the hunger striker’s camp outside Waterman.
As a reformed idealist and a proponent of post-modern apathy – in which “I am liberal, but I think it’s ironic to embrace the American mainstream” – I would typically agree with the sentiment that protesting is ineffective.
Yet as I got closer to the tent, my heart warmed and I thought, “Well, that guy talking to his dad claims to support livable wages, but what the fuck is he doing about it?” Moreover, “What the fuck am I doing?”
There was a time in my life, about three years ago, when I listened to Dead Prez and wore army jackets and followed politics closely. I once tried to organize a free speech protest on one of the UVM campus greens on April 20th. Free speech was the ethos behind my rebellion and was supposed to present an alternative to what UVM bureaucrats deem the hedonistic support of Marijuana legalization.
The date of April 20th strikes a fear within the bones of UVM bureaucrats, as if the mere mentioning of the phrase “420” is synonymous with the word “apocalypse.”
There were three large fields on campus at the time that would have provided ample space for my free speech protest. I applied for a permit for all three, just in case one of them was being used, and went to talk with a bureaucrat in Student Life.
The bureaucrat looked at his Microsoft Excel spreadsheet with times slots on it and told me that all three of the greens were booked for “a student life event” from 10 am to 6 pm.
April 20th came and all three fields were empty. No tents, or music, or balloons or free ice cream. Where was this “student life event?” This was not a space issue or a safety concern, but rather a form of censorship. Thus, I was demoralized and turned apathetic.
At the start of Tent City earlier this year, I walked through the green and saw four dejected students standing in a circle with tents and placards. “We are getting kicked off of the green because they’re afraid that the tents will do harm to the grass,” one of them somberly said.
Last week, when 12 students went on hunger strike the administration was adamant in their concern for student safety. Even going as far as to send out a mass email citing a nameless “student leader” who said, “I don’t even view this as a livable wage issue; I view this as a student safety issue.”
I guess the grass excuse is out and the safety excuse is the new form of disguised censorship.
In the end, I might be like the guy on the cell phone talking to his parents. I support a livable wage, but I’m not going to set up a tent or forgo food. Perhaps I’m jaded from the impenetrable entanglement that is bureaucracy.
Instead, I’m sitting in my house writing an essay on the merits of protesting, which is often times the unfortunate outcome of academia – we spend our days discussing life instead of getting up from our computer screens and living life.
I’m not denouncing the pursuit of higher education; I’m just denouncing the bullshit. I’m sick of eloquently worded mass e-mails. I’m sick of listening to transparent excuses from bureaucrats in comfy swivel chairs. Wash some dishes. Change the trash. Hammer some nails in your fuckin’ student center. Come home tired and maybe then you won’t have the energy for bureaucratic games. Maybe then, you’ll say it like it is.
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