Politics away from the dinner-table

      The two topics you're not supposed to discuss at the dinner-table are religion and politics. Well, I've been interested in the former since the middle of tenth grade, and comfortable discussing it after the middle of six years of post-secondary study on the subject, after traversing the spectrum from theological conservative to liberal. And the latter? Well, we'll get to that.

      A bit o' life contributed to what I'd call an inevitable change in my opinions in such matters. First, my distaste for authority. Second, a belief in social and cultural influence. The origins of both lie in my upbringing. My mother was laissez-faire, my step-dad was an unclear parental-guardian figure, and my father strongly encouraged me to think for myself, argue, reason, and who to this day maintains incredible dissonance with pretty much every social, political, military and religious institution on the planet. Contrary to most children, then, the education system never successfully taught me to do what I was told.

      Add to this the reality of my cultural diversity. My grandfather grew up on a Navajo reservation in Arizona, my grandmother moved from Arkansas to Fresno during the Great Depression, and my mother's parents a pair of middle-class Englishwomen and Scotsman who became life-long missionaries to China, Mongolia, and Taiwan.

      It was a foregone conclusion that ultimately I would give up the claim of my youth that the Bible was an absolute authority, that morality was absolute, and to subscribe to the murky waters of ideological relativity. The fact that I'm now analyzing my own ideological development in terms of personal experience only confirms the persistence of this sordid tale. And so it goes to this very day.

       For a long time I was content to restrict my philosophical interest to the spiritual realm. However, since moving to the United States I've had to give up my precious apathy in matters political. Growing up in Canada, receiving a socialist education and enduring a traumatic religious transformation has resulted in my rejecting the moralizing sympathies of the Republican cause. As for their cry for smaller government, I cannot see the point. At this stage in economic history it simply means we trade a federal puppet for fifty state puppets, and all the while corporate powers are holding all the strings. Washington's great fall to the evil of money – currently enshrined in electioneering and lobbying – is troubling indeed, and the terrible polarization of a broken two-party system refutes any hope for deep and lasting policy changes to defeat this corruption. A minority in Oklahoma, I silently count myself a Democrat and try not to engage many of my colleagues in serious political discussion.

      My best friend in high school, Jay, always joked that a benevolent dictatorship was the most reliable and efficient way to run a country, and I sympathize with the thought. Unity without all the red tape and time-consuming procedure. An emperor to run the galaxy a la Palpatine. If Hitler had been for vinyl flooring instead of genocide, would fascism have such a bad name? In every strategy game I play, you don't win through democratic process. You win by being in control and making all the right decisions to grow your civilization economically, militarily, and culturally. And in nearly every one of those games, you are practically forced to adopt a militaristic ethic toward neighboring nations. Otherwise, the game is boring. Maybe real-life dictators experience similar internal naggings for conquest and... peace, of a sort.

      Sometime ago I ran across some youtube videos on anti-statism which, after years of living in Oklahoma, was a breath of fresh air. I'd heard about it in high school but the word "anarchy" was filled with frightening associations and I never seriously considered it as a political option. After listening to several long-winded but well-reasoned arguments and counterarguments, however, it gained my respect. Just like totalitarianism is the final form of political control (Democratic Party), anarchy is the final form of political freedom (Republican Party). And while neither will ever have a prayer of significantly impacting American politics, considering these extremes was helpful in trying to make sense of why the bulk of Americans are able to respond so emotionally and vehemently against one political party or the other. In a two-party system, the easiest way to discredit "the other" is to exaggerate its distinctive features – much like Nazis illustrated Jews with long noses in anti-Semitic propaganda. In reality, President Obama and Governor Romney are chiefly centrist, regardless of public perception, and whether one is in office or the other is in office will make very little difference to my life, socially or economically.

      Nevertheless, exhausted as I was from political nitpickery so popular in my new home, I repeatedly promised myself, my friends and my family that I will leave the United States as soon as possible. It's the simplest way to voice my real and well-earned distaste for American politics. For a country to come so far and yet be disabled by pointless bickering and in-fighting is so maddening, how could anyone look at it straight in the eye without wanting to flee?

      Desperation forced me to consider absurd options, like a benevolent dictator, the end of the state entirely, and... a third party. I've always thought that minority governments are relatively effective. The balance of power dictates that they compromise in order to rule, and this greatly slows the push toward the corruption and abuse of that power. However, in the current political climate the rise of a third party and the transition of American politics toward a Canadian or European likeness seems as absurd as the voluntary self-annihilation of the government, or the ascension of a true totalitarian to the White House.

      Like the unending Israeli-Palestinian conflict, it feels as if there is no end in sight. We were driven here by unyielding historical forces, and those same forces are keeping us from discovering a solution. On the other hand, the best part of history is its unpredictability. Ten years from now I might be lamenting an entirely different set of seemingly insurmountable challenges, having forgotten the progress from yesteryear and taking for granted our new-found freedoms. Pie in the sky? Probably. But in the end it's optimism that keeps away defeatism and keeps me thinking and engaging a system that does change, albeit slowly and spasmodically.

      Here I am, on the cusp of a new chapter in my life, one I've been pining for all year, and it's still hard to believe it's finally on its last approach and descent. Perhaps America, too, is on the verge of something new. After all, aren't we overdue? Like the movie I saw last night – Cabin in the Woods – can we finally step down from our position as ruler of the cosmos, and give someone else a turn? The world badly needs a fresh hand at the wheel.