Sorry imaginary readers. I've been busy. Busy as hell, as a matter of fact. You see dears, not only have a gotten two (two!!) college-y job-ish things loosely related to those trees I love so much, I have also taken up with Occupy Seattle. For those of you who have been living under a rock, or (like most of you) don't exist, Occupy Seattle is a social movement standing in solidarity with Occupy Wall Street and standing up for the long-ignored basic human rights of the people of this country. The people of this country are finally, FINALLY, fed up with the way they are being treated. Minimum wage stagnation in the face of steep rises in the cost of living. Skyrocketing profit margins for corporate executives. Corporate cash funneled directly into the campaign purses of the richest and whitest, pricing out worthy candidates. In Washington, a state budget proposal that slashes programs for food assistance, Medicaid, fucking elementary SCHOOL BUSES yet refuses to look at eliminating corporate tax breaks. People have finally tired of living in a system where human beings pay four times the taxes, dollar for dollar, than corporations. Where the CEOs of financial powerhouses make risky investment decisions that should, in a true capitalist economy, bankrupt them, and our government bails them out. And then those CEOs use this money to further their own extravagant lifestyles. Etc.
I sort of accidentally joined this movement. I was watching it in a mildly dispassionate fashion from my couch because I had pretty much given up on this country. My plan was to learn about forest ecosystems and how to develop economically without destroying them and then peace out to some country that still had forests to save. This country, my country, was beyond my help, I thought. But as I watched I saw something extraordinary: Passion. The opposite of the traditional American apathy. People standing up to their government and saying: This is wrong, the way you are treating your citizens is wrong. And we will not take it any more. It was beautiful. It gave me hope. And I wanted to be a part of it.
...
I feel I should confess something here, dear imaginary friends. I started this post a few days ago and then got distracted by some shiny internet thing and never finished it. That is not all. Today, I bought two denim jackets.
Yes, two. denim jackets. two of basically the same jacket.
And as I sat down to finish this post, I couldn't help but feel like an asshole. Because here I was a few days prior being all "oh I love Occupy and everything it stands for" and what was I doing today, while my protesting brethren were out marching and climbing bridges and (possibly) getting pepper sprayed? I was buying two of the same jacket. To be fair, I am sick and shouldn't be out in the cold, I was on my way home from school, it was Goodwill, they are different washes and one has pockets while the other has more room for layers...blah blah blah excuses excuses. All I can see right now when I look at the reflection in my wine glass (oh I am also drinking wine, in my nice warm apartment) is a fraud. Why am I here, instead of there? How can I love them so very much and yet stay so separate from them?
I think part of the reason is because I originally jumped on this trolley as a livestream reporter. I was objective, I did not have a voice in the movement. But I cannot claim that anymore. I have a voice in this movement. This past weekend I traveled to Portland to stand with their occupation as it faced eviction. I stared into the eyes of a police officer in full riot gear, tear gas launcher in hand...and I only wavered a little bit. I was scared. I thought of my laptop, held high over my head so that the viewers at home could get a better view, and I thought: if it falls, so be it. I will get another one. Of course I haven't the spare thousand dollars to actually purchase another one but that is neither here nor there. My point is: where is that girl today?
Out buying two of basically the same denim jacket, that's where. Why? Why is it so difficult to throw my entire heart and soul into this movement?
Portland took a hell of a lot out of me. I was exhausted, physically and emotionally. I was sore and covered in mud. I slept for an entire day after and came down with a vicious cold. And on Monday I had to go to school and then work and then to a meeting with lawyers for my mother's divorce and then to work some more. And then the week of work/school/homework/family started up again, and I have kept away from Occupy because if I went back then I would get exactly zero of those things done.
I don't know exactly where I am going with this. I started off trying to explain how this movement has given me hope for what I thought were a hopeless people, and ended up trying to rationalize my guilt for not being there enough. Or something. aaaaaaaaanyway, I suppose I will conclude with this: I love this movement and everyone in it. But I also love denim jackets.
