DISCLAIMER: This article ran on October 26th, 2010. The tuesday before the election, where Meister would eventually lose to Republican incumbent, Dave Heineman.
*******************
Mike Meister can’t really remember what he did in the past 100 days.
Photo illustration by Courtesy Photo. Following Mark Lakers being ousted as the Democratic candidate to challenge Republican incumbent Dave Heineman for governor, Meister was selected at the state Democratic Convention. He has spent the last 100 days campaigning for governor.
Since then, it’s been nothing but open roads and campaign events for the Scottsbluff, Neb., native. A schedule so demanding that separating the days is hard for Meister.
Meister was thrown into the race by his party, after Lakers dropped out of the election due to questions regarding campaign finance reports.
Because of this, Meister was left with only 100 days to run a complete campaign, the kind that politicians normally spend years strategizing for.
Meister is viewed as the massive under-dog in this election, but don’t tell that to him, because as he says, anything can happen on election day.
Dailyer: If come Nov. 3 you’re not the next governor of Nebraska, will you have regretted running?
Meister: No. I’ve had a ball, I mean, it’s been an absolute riot. (I) met a lot of great people, learned a lot of great stuff, in fact you never know, I may look back and forget what we did wrong and do it all again in four years.
Dailyer: So how has the whole ‘100 day campaign’ been going for you?
Meister: Absolutely exhausting, it’s absolutely exhausting. I mean, we get to the point at the end of the week, and it’s like ‘what did we do Tuesday? Oh wait a minute, that was last week.’
But it has been absolutely exhilarating. The one thing I’ve figured out is that you cannot raise enough money in a hundred days to get on television.
Dailyer: How many days off have you had?
Meister: In the hundred days we’ve probably had three days off total.
Dailyer: And the rest of it is all just campaigning?
Meister: Yeah, a couple days in the office here and there, but even when you’re in the office, you’re still making phone calls for money and doing interviews by phone. You’re never completely off the campaign trail.
Dailyer: Has there been a debate?
Meister: No.
Dailyer: Has there been any progress in putting one together last minute, or is it just not going to happen?
Meister: I don’t think it’s going to happen. The idea initially pushed to us by Jack and John (from radio station KLIN) was a debate at Southeast High. Warner Cable would come in and video tape it and provide it on a statewide feed basis on the radio.
And the Heineman administration said that they wouldn’t do that. They said that they’d only do an in studio debate without any kind of state feed or anything else. They called us, like we were all excited, and I said ‘No we’re not doing that.’ And they said ‘Well, what do you mean you’re not doing that?’ And it’s just like, you know, a waste of our time.
You know, if I go into your show with your audience, it’s just not my demographic. It’s not really a moderate audience either. It’s just a bunch of people that are already going to vote for Dave Heineman.
Dailyer: Since this is a student run paper, what do you think is the most important issue facing the campus?
Meister: Co-eds (laughs). But probably this next round of budget cuts, or whatever is going to happen. We’ve been focusing on generating revenues, and if you get revenues, you don’t have to worry about cuts. Dave says everything is a cost, and seeing everything as a cost is looking for cuts.
And you know, the university is cut to the bone already. I don’t think they could find any more cuts. And my fear is they’re gonna say we don’t really care, you’re cutting anyway. And you’re gonna see professors laid off, and the quality of education at the university is going to suffer because of it.
Dailyer: What do you want to do with the budget?
Meister: Biggest thing I want to do with the budget is do a top to bottom scrub of state government. Every single agency, and the university would be on the block as well. Basically, justify your existence. Now there are agencies out there that are going to be able to do that, like the university.
Dailyer: You’re from Scottsbluff, that’s pretty close to Colorado, and what a lot of people are talking about since there’s a lot of budget deficits going on is the legalization of marijuana and medical marijuana. Do you have an opinion either way?
Meister: Man, you really don’t want me to get elected do you? (Laughs.) Well, what we’ve put on the website is we need to have a discussion about medicinal marijuana.
Dailyer: If you had to make a spread for the election coming up, what would you put it at?
Meister: Right now I’d put it at 60-40. I’m behind. We’re in the last stretch, and I made the analogy a few weeks ago that I’m the guy that’s in the pretty silks that your girlfriend looks at the track and says, ‘Oh I’m betting on that one.’ You know, but I’d probably say I’m at 60-40 right now.
Dailyer: So what’s it been like running a campaign that people labeled as unwinnable going in to it?
Meister Part of that is a challenge. You got to look at it and say ‘now we got a plan and we can get this done.’ And the hardest part I’ve had is getting Democrats to believe us. I have a lot of moderate republican support, particularly in the third congressional district.
Part of that is I understand those issues out there. I’m not a crazy left-wing democrat, you know, I’m a Jefferson Democrat. But Democrats are so downtrodden and so ‘Oh. Woe is me. We can’t win. Thank you for doing this.’ It’s like, look, we can win.
Dailyer: What is your position (on gay marriage)?
Meister: If gay people want to be as miserable as the rest of us and get married, that’s fine. You know, the thing is it’s not a marriage issue, it’s a property issue. It’s about adopting children, and being able to see loved ones in the hospital.
There are so many things that people are not considering, because all they say is ‘Oh, they can’t get married, because that’ll impact my marriage.’ But no, it doesn’t. It really doesn’t. It has nothing to do with your marriage, because your marriage is your marriage.
Having gone through a 22 year marriage that’s falling apart right now, I can tell ya, it has nothing to do with that. I can’t tell you that if gay people were allowed to get married that it would have saved my marriage or destroyed my marriage, because that’s just silly.
It’s about property rights. And it’s about people. And it’s about making sure that they have the same legal rights that everybody else has.
But (progressive groups) keep asking me about this question, and it’s like okay, you understand that law (banning gay marriage) was passed in 2000 with 73 percent. And it’s like ‘yeah okay, I’ll grab that third rail, thank you very much.’ It’s just you know, let me get elected, and then we’ll start having that conversation. And we’ll bring people to that conversation correctly.
Dailyer: Has it been something that you talk about on the campaign?
Meister: No, we just ignore it. Well the political answer is, you know, the constitution was amended in 2000 to ban gay marriage. And while Proposition 8 was thrown out in California, our constitution is not dependent upon that ruling.
And until somebody challenges that law, my personal opinion doesn’t really matter, because there is nothing I can do about it. Because I can’t introduce legislation. I can’t do anything, so it doesn’t really matter. That’s the political answer, and it’s an answer that people have got to read between the lines, and know where I’m at on it.
But if I all the sudden said ‘Yep, I’m for gay marriage,’ well I would have effectively sealed the fate, never should have gotten involved, we’re done, stick a fork in us.
It’s just one of the certain issues that are immediate death, and unless you can make people understand that getting elected is the more important part of the equation, and all the things that we can get done for you after we’re elected, that’s great. But if I talk about it before we get elected, we won’t get elected and you’ll get the worst thing you’ve got now.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Monday, December 21, 2009
A case for No-Shave November
The beard is a cultural phenomenon. Never has anything been claimed by so many different sub-cultures—athletes claim it with the playoff beard, hipsters claim it for douche-bag’s sake, porn stars take it for it’s general appeal, I guess. The beard is a polarizing figure, women love it, women hate it, but it is bigger than looks. It’s a statement.
Enter November—the month known best for it’s ever-American qualities: Over-eating, football, and frivolous shopping. Despite November’s monumental contributions to the American spirit, it is still willing to offer the American people something more, something different, something great—no shave November.
The premise of no shave November is as simple as it sounds—you don’t shave for the entirety of November. Though this sounds simple, and somewhat stupid, I promise you it is not. This is one of the most culturally relevant holidays in existence today, mostly because it hasn’t caught enough fire to be ripped to shreds by capitalism—it’s pure.
But this isn’t a column condemning capitalism—I like capitalism—it is a column intended to bring light to one of the least heralded holidays of the year. Because really, the ultimate purpose of a holiday is to (a) bring light to a prominent issue (b) bring together mass groups of people to rally around a common cause. And no shave November succeeds in both regards.
(A) Being that it highlights the issue that is facial hair. The majority of NSN’s participants are college students, and for many of these young men, November is their chance to finally learn how poorly they grow facial hair. In society today growing a beard in high school is somewhat frowned up. People see these kids as creepy, and childish. Enter college, the one place where you can do whatever you want and label it as something greater than it is, an experiment. This is the time to learn, the time for people to finally know if they can actually grow decent facial hair.
(B) Being that if you participate in NSN you are suddenly apart of a community. The sudden hordes of destitute facial hair appearing on college campuses around America all have something in common—the individuals behind the shabby beards can rally around the fact that they can or cannot grow facial hair. It’s a uniting culture. People, who would never have had a common ground otherwise, are suddenly relatable.
It’s beautiful, really—when something so simple as a non-action can help to create a community. It can surely be put off and dismissed as something childish, and stupid, but why would you want to? It falls into the same category as sporting events and most forms of entertainment. People rally around these things, and come together to form bonds that go for deeper than whatever it was that got them there.
There will always be naysayers no matter what the cause, but they should almost always be ignored—unless the naysayers are making light of negative issues regarding the original issue.
But no shave November has zero negative issues. It is not violent, it does not hinder intellectual discussion, nor does it belittle anyone. It is a holiday in the purest sense of the word. And honestly, that almost brings a tear to my eye.
Enter November—the month known best for it’s ever-American qualities: Over-eating, football, and frivolous shopping. Despite November’s monumental contributions to the American spirit, it is still willing to offer the American people something more, something different, something great—no shave November.
The premise of no shave November is as simple as it sounds—you don’t shave for the entirety of November. Though this sounds simple, and somewhat stupid, I promise you it is not. This is one of the most culturally relevant holidays in existence today, mostly because it hasn’t caught enough fire to be ripped to shreds by capitalism—it’s pure.
But this isn’t a column condemning capitalism—I like capitalism—it is a column intended to bring light to one of the least heralded holidays of the year. Because really, the ultimate purpose of a holiday is to (a) bring light to a prominent issue (b) bring together mass groups of people to rally around a common cause. And no shave November succeeds in both regards.
(A) Being that it highlights the issue that is facial hair. The majority of NSN’s participants are college students, and for many of these young men, November is their chance to finally learn how poorly they grow facial hair. In society today growing a beard in high school is somewhat frowned up. People see these kids as creepy, and childish. Enter college, the one place where you can do whatever you want and label it as something greater than it is, an experiment. This is the time to learn, the time for people to finally know if they can actually grow decent facial hair.
(B) Being that if you participate in NSN you are suddenly apart of a community. The sudden hordes of destitute facial hair appearing on college campuses around America all have something in common—the individuals behind the shabby beards can rally around the fact that they can or cannot grow facial hair. It’s a uniting culture. People, who would never have had a common ground otherwise, are suddenly relatable.
It’s beautiful, really—when something so simple as a non-action can help to create a community. It can surely be put off and dismissed as something childish, and stupid, but why would you want to? It falls into the same category as sporting events and most forms of entertainment. People rally around these things, and come together to form bonds that go for deeper than whatever it was that got them there.
There will always be naysayers no matter what the cause, but they should almost always be ignored—unless the naysayers are making light of negative issues regarding the original issue.
But no shave November has zero negative issues. It is not violent, it does not hinder intellectual discussion, nor does it belittle anyone. It is a holiday in the purest sense of the word. And honestly, that almost brings a tear to my eye.
Nostalgia moves through the present
Miserably, I sit in the waiting terminal of the Mason City bus depot. I’ve been sitting here idly for the past five hours. See—just yesterday I was heading back down to Lincoln Nebraska, from my fall break spent home in Minneapolis Minnesota.
It was my first time going home since I began my freshman year of college. The experience itself was bizarre. Not so much because anything strange happened during, but because of all the feelings brought upon by my post-high school-arrival.
This all began after I finally decided to make fall break my first visit back home. I drove up with my bff Ed to meet up with my other bff Ben who goes to school at the University of Minnesota-Twin Cities. We arrived in Minneapolis a little after midnight, and rather than going home for the night we decided to have some fun with Ben and some other people, it was a Friday night after all.
So after drunkenly discussing husker football with some random guys from Ben’s frat I made the long awaited drive home—I wasn’t driving…my friend Ian was…drunk driving is BAD.
So the drive seemed rather short, as most things do after four in the morning. However, I didn’t let it stifle me from taking in all the old landmarks that used to own my life.
Coming home is one of the strangest experiences I can struggle to define, especially coming back after a significant change in your life—College. It’s comforting in a way. Momentarily having everything back to the way it used to be. High school. You’ve changed, but everything is exactly the same, but different. Cheapened almost. It’s impossible to describe.
Just being there strikes up a sense of hollowness. I find this stems from the fact that we as human beings tend to romanticize about the past. Which is great at the time, however, when presented with all the things you held so dearly the sense of magnificence suddenly goes away. It’s depressing, somewhat. But really what else is there? There are two constant stages in life: the past, and the present. The past makes it easier to accept the present, and the present always greatens the past.
Fortunately, Ian and I made it to my house just in time to pass out in my basement—something not terribly unfamiliar.
Waking up home is a trip. Suddenly everything is exactly the same. You don’t feel like you’ve ever left. It’s more scary than comforting, really.
Anyway, my weekend continued. I tried my best to hit up all of the traditional places—favorite book store, favorite restaurant, etc—and still try and divulge in the comforts of being in a house. I was also lucky enough to tune into ABC and watch the Huskers get destroyed by Texas Tech—awesome.
The weekend came and went, and I was looking forward to getting back to campus. Tuesday morning Ed and Jordan—a friend from UNL who was joining us for the drive down to campus—came to my house to pick me up. I had survived home, something so tame I almost had to wear a seatbelt.
Driving home was going fine until we hit my least favorite state—Iowa. I have always hated Iowa; it has never done me good, or right, whatever. Unless you consider the 2008 caucus, I do appreciate Iowa for that.
We had just passed through Manly Forest City—no joke, this is a town in Iowa—when the engine of Ed’s poor Chevy Blazer made a wretched sound and suddenly the car was smoking like crazy and we had to pull over. Ed’s car had fallen victim to Iowa; coincidentally his car broke down less than five miles from where Buddy Holly tragically descended from the sky—Clear Lake Iowa.
After pulling over along highway thirty-five, we noticed that seemingly every fluid was quickly draining from the engine. Luckily the kind folk of triple A sent someone over to tow us within twenty minutes. Which then lead to us waiting in the lobby of a Chevrolet dealership. No more than fifteen minutes after we arrived, a mechanic had entered with a piece of the engine in his hand. The engine was totaled, and as luck would have it so was the car. So suddenly stranded in the place where music died the three of us proceeded to investigate every single possible way to get to Lincoln. And honestly, there aren’t all that many ways to get to Lincoln.
After a couple hours of frantic phone calls we found the only way for us to get home—the bus. Which didn’t sound terrible until we found out that the next bus to Lincoln didn’t leave until four in the afternoon the next day. So slowly accepting our fate, the three of us decided it was time we got some food and found a hotel to stay the night. Fortunately we found a Perkin’s right down the street that was conveniently located directly next to a cheap motel.
As we slowly killed time at Perkin’s our waitress came to take our order, and as what can only be labeled as a good omen our waitress’ name was Whisky. And oh did she look the part. Painted on eyebrows, pigtails, and the body of an offensive lineman, though she handled our food with care. She was a great waitress, really.
And if Clear Lake hadn’t provided us with enough material, our motel room topped it off. The sheets from the bed contained eyeliner, hair, and my favorite, blood—the perfect recipe for a good night. And it was. Many an obscure character crawled through that hotel. Who’s lobby made it painfully easy to see that the number one business in Clear Lake Iowa was getting people out of Clear Lake Iowa.
It’s a comical trend found in Iowa. Seemingly everything is designed in hopes that people won’t be there long. Which, clumsily serves as a metaphor for the past/present. Iowa is the apex of time and human emotion, really.
Though Iowa has it’s permanent residents—as do most places—it’s purpose is to help guide people elsewhere—Minnesota, Nebraska…anywhere—and it does a good job in that regard. We all have our Iowa, regardless of where your passing place is; it exists, and always will.
And much like my homecoming, my accidental stay in Iowa consisted of feelings of remorse, fondness, and an undying urge to move on. Because really, who enjoys sitting idle? The people who enjoy sitting idle are those who live in Iowa, not necessarily the state, but the mindset—happy with the present, fearing the future.
And luckily by the grace of Iowa we were able to catch our bus the next day. Which brings me back to sitting in the Mason City bus depot—sitting idly as I wait for my Iowa to end, and fortunately it did.
I hope it’s a long time until I have to face my next Iowa.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
College application Essay
Alex J. Wunrow
September 12, 2008
Pre-face: a creative writing sample that I used during the College application process.
"I have recurring nightmares—that I was loved for who I am. What more can I, nor any other man for that matter, fear more than a woman loving him for the true fiend that inhabits us all. Maybe I am just scared by the way she glances at me from across the room, causing riots deep within, rummaging up emotions I never imagined existed. Is it the way our lack of embrace makes me yearn for the agony of loss just so I may experience the pure ecstasy while it had lasted? Does her complete disdain for me evoke the passion that most couples desire long beyond their lifetimes?
“Why doesn't she see me? I hate her!...and how she can glide through a room without drawing any attention to herself, yet have the eyes of every person there. Can she speak? I cannot once recall hearing her talk. Or is it possible that she transcends communication, and is able to obtain everything simply through her presence? Perhaps she isn't real, and I have just been torturing myself with the suggestion that she is there. How can something that isn't even there stir my emotions in such a way? She has forgotten who I am. She must have—with the way she faintly appears, always seeming to be just beyond reach. Why does she always seem to tease me with the idea of being loved? How can I allow it? Could it be possible that our time has already run out, long before it even began?
“It has.”
September 12, 2008
Pre-face: a creative writing sample that I used during the College application process.
"I have recurring nightmares—that I was loved for who I am. What more can I, nor any other man for that matter, fear more than a woman loving him for the true fiend that inhabits us all. Maybe I am just scared by the way she glances at me from across the room, causing riots deep within, rummaging up emotions I never imagined existed. Is it the way our lack of embrace makes me yearn for the agony of loss just so I may experience the pure ecstasy while it had lasted? Does her complete disdain for me evoke the passion that most couples desire long beyond their lifetimes?
“Why doesn't she see me? I hate her!...and how she can glide through a room without drawing any attention to herself, yet have the eyes of every person there. Can she speak? I cannot once recall hearing her talk. Or is it possible that she transcends communication, and is able to obtain everything simply through her presence? Perhaps she isn't real, and I have just been torturing myself with the suggestion that she is there. How can something that isn't even there stir my emotions in such a way? She has forgotten who I am. She must have—with the way she faintly appears, always seeming to be just beyond reach. Why does she always seem to tease me with the idea of being loved? How can I allow it? Could it be possible that our time has already run out, long before it even began?
“It has.”
The Mole Essay
Alex J. Wunrow
May 28, 2009
On Race
I look in the mirror, and I see a white boy (mostly because I look very white). Even though I’m a mutt—half white, and half Mexican—and I honestly couldn’t tell you how little a difference it has made in my life. While growing up in Southern California I ran into my fair share of diversity—Blacks, Whites, Mexicans, Asians, Indians, WOPS—it took me twelve years to notice that my best friend from my childhood was Mexican. Some would say that means I’m an idiot, however, I believe it’s more so the fact that I don’t give a damn about race. Growing up I never really paid attention to it, but it was impossible not to notice race when with my Grandmother. My Mother’s side of the family—the Montoyas—is very Hispanic, and growing up I was aware of that. It may have been the fact that every time I would visit my grandmother she always made chips, salsa, rice, beans, fajitas, and offered me cigarettes with a side of whiskey. Or it may have been that she had a painting of The Last Supper hanging over her kitchen door, accompanied by her novellas humming in the background. Whatever it was, I could tell. When I was with my Mom’s side of the family I was Mexican, and when I was with my Dad’s side of the family I was White—it’s just the way it is.
On the schoolyard, kids would jokingly state that I “must be good at hopping fences,” while at the same time they would jokingly state that the black kids “must be good at basketball.” These things were funny, because in most cases they were actually true. The best basketball players were always Black, and the best fence-hoppers were always Mexican. Coincidentally the most blatantly racist kids tended to be white. They got away with it because it was seen as humor, and everyone would laugh together, hiding the minor frustration that the jokes had inflicted. Why people go about things in such a back-handed way is vexing. Differences seem to give people the right to insult each other just as long as it is ended with a somewhat noticeable “I’m kiddinggggggggg[sic].”
People are different. But don’t tell that to anyone, because you are likely to be dismissed and belittled as a racist. When in reality, it is really the people who take offense to the subtle differences, that create them, because, differences are simply made from the different opportunities that we provide each other. A Mexican with two day-worker parents in all likeliness is either going to become a day-worker or move on to acquire another bottom end job. Thus, creating more angst, frustration, jealously, and hate against others who are so different, simply from being born into a better situation.
People are generally born the same, with a few advantages or disadvantages mixed in between, however, society does not see race this way. It—society—sees race as the ultimate discrepancy. The thing that makes us different, the thing that makes coexisting impossible. And why should it be possible? The lowest race on the spectrum is currently a tie between the low-income Blacks, and the no-income Mexicans. Both have been put into their respective situations by a combination of poor opportunity, and repression. Both are stuck inside of communities where progress is impossible, and getting out is even more so. And rather than channeling all their anger, and frustration with the system, and fighting the government for better opportunities, they take it out on each other, only lowering public opinion of them, thus forcing the government to turn a blind eye and say that it is a hopeless situation—the ghetto is broke.
Without the opportunity to better each other the ghetto will always exist. Accompanied by all the frustration and hate that comes along with it. Why is there a ghetto? Why must people always be struggling? Well the answer is simple. There is always going to be a bottom. The only thing that can change is how low the bottom is. People can either be roaming the streets begging for scraps, or our government can attempt to make a decent education possible for everyone—as opposed to teaching the middle class how to stay in the middle, and the rich how to be richer—and reach out, and take the time to realize that people are different, but not by much. People are so afraid to acknowledge the things that make us different from one another. So much so that people seem to forget that at our core, we are human beings. That’s it. That’s all. People see the subtle differences and give them too much bearing. Rather than seeing each other as different individuals, we sit blindly and ignore it, only making things awkward, which then rises to create tension and strife. What at first is a miniscule difference suddenly has become something worth hating each other over.
During my freshman year of high school, there was an organized walk-out in protest of a new proposition that would go to great lengths to send all illegal immigrants back to Mexico. The proposition would split up families, taking parents away from their children—the children having been born in the states, thus making them legal citizens—and destroying California’s farming industry. The proposition was just on its face, but unjust in its application. This caused a stir within the school, as there were kids who would lose their parents because of the proposition. Which lead to the peaceful protest; I had arrived at school that day to see a crowd of 500 Mexicans all crowded around one girl standing on a picnic bench. She had called them there by doing nothing more than simply standing up and asking for them to listen, and they did. She led them out of school, walking to city hall. Bravery can be found everywhere, regardless of race. What was witnessed that day was not a collection of Mexicans fighting to stay in the country that they so cherished, but a collective group of human beings standing up, and stating that they too need be heard. It raised the question: would you do the same in that given situation? Honestly? Probably. I feel that everyone would have done the same, which goes back to everyone being pretty much the same. When the circumstances are dire, everyone reverts back to human. Standing up and stating your case isn’t selfish. Acknowledging the subtle differences that make us who we are isn’t racist. Speaking your mind isn’t idiotic. And if it is than damn it I’m an idiotic, selfish, racist. There isn’t any shame in it. It isn’t worth being awkward and uptight about. Because the awkward tension that ignorance creates is what drives people to hating each other. It is ignoring the small differences that creates the monumental divide that seemingly separates us all.
May 28, 2009
On Race
I look in the mirror, and I see a white boy (mostly because I look very white). Even though I’m a mutt—half white, and half Mexican—and I honestly couldn’t tell you how little a difference it has made in my life. While growing up in Southern California I ran into my fair share of diversity—Blacks, Whites, Mexicans, Asians, Indians, WOPS—it took me twelve years to notice that my best friend from my childhood was Mexican. Some would say that means I’m an idiot, however, I believe it’s more so the fact that I don’t give a damn about race. Growing up I never really paid attention to it, but it was impossible not to notice race when with my Grandmother. My Mother’s side of the family—the Montoyas—is very Hispanic, and growing up I was aware of that. It may have been the fact that every time I would visit my grandmother she always made chips, salsa, rice, beans, fajitas, and offered me cigarettes with a side of whiskey. Or it may have been that she had a painting of The Last Supper hanging over her kitchen door, accompanied by her novellas humming in the background. Whatever it was, I could tell. When I was with my Mom’s side of the family I was Mexican, and when I was with my Dad’s side of the family I was White—it’s just the way it is.
On the schoolyard, kids would jokingly state that I “must be good at hopping fences,” while at the same time they would jokingly state that the black kids “must be good at basketball.” These things were funny, because in most cases they were actually true. The best basketball players were always Black, and the best fence-hoppers were always Mexican. Coincidentally the most blatantly racist kids tended to be white. They got away with it because it was seen as humor, and everyone would laugh together, hiding the minor frustration that the jokes had inflicted. Why people go about things in such a back-handed way is vexing. Differences seem to give people the right to insult each other just as long as it is ended with a somewhat noticeable “I’m kiddinggggggggg[sic].”
People are different. But don’t tell that to anyone, because you are likely to be dismissed and belittled as a racist. When in reality, it is really the people who take offense to the subtle differences, that create them, because, differences are simply made from the different opportunities that we provide each other. A Mexican with two day-worker parents in all likeliness is either going to become a day-worker or move on to acquire another bottom end job. Thus, creating more angst, frustration, jealously, and hate against others who are so different, simply from being born into a better situation.
People are generally born the same, with a few advantages or disadvantages mixed in between, however, society does not see race this way. It—society—sees race as the ultimate discrepancy. The thing that makes us different, the thing that makes coexisting impossible. And why should it be possible? The lowest race on the spectrum is currently a tie between the low-income Blacks, and the no-income Mexicans. Both have been put into their respective situations by a combination of poor opportunity, and repression. Both are stuck inside of communities where progress is impossible, and getting out is even more so. And rather than channeling all their anger, and frustration with the system, and fighting the government for better opportunities, they take it out on each other, only lowering public opinion of them, thus forcing the government to turn a blind eye and say that it is a hopeless situation—the ghetto is broke.
Without the opportunity to better each other the ghetto will always exist. Accompanied by all the frustration and hate that comes along with it. Why is there a ghetto? Why must people always be struggling? Well the answer is simple. There is always going to be a bottom. The only thing that can change is how low the bottom is. People can either be roaming the streets begging for scraps, or our government can attempt to make a decent education possible for everyone—as opposed to teaching the middle class how to stay in the middle, and the rich how to be richer—and reach out, and take the time to realize that people are different, but not by much. People are so afraid to acknowledge the things that make us different from one another. So much so that people seem to forget that at our core, we are human beings. That’s it. That’s all. People see the subtle differences and give them too much bearing. Rather than seeing each other as different individuals, we sit blindly and ignore it, only making things awkward, which then rises to create tension and strife. What at first is a miniscule difference suddenly has become something worth hating each other over.
During my freshman year of high school, there was an organized walk-out in protest of a new proposition that would go to great lengths to send all illegal immigrants back to Mexico. The proposition would split up families, taking parents away from their children—the children having been born in the states, thus making them legal citizens—and destroying California’s farming industry. The proposition was just on its face, but unjust in its application. This caused a stir within the school, as there were kids who would lose their parents because of the proposition. Which lead to the peaceful protest; I had arrived at school that day to see a crowd of 500 Mexicans all crowded around one girl standing on a picnic bench. She had called them there by doing nothing more than simply standing up and asking for them to listen, and they did. She led them out of school, walking to city hall. Bravery can be found everywhere, regardless of race. What was witnessed that day was not a collection of Mexicans fighting to stay in the country that they so cherished, but a collective group of human beings standing up, and stating that they too need be heard. It raised the question: would you do the same in that given situation? Honestly? Probably. I feel that everyone would have done the same, which goes back to everyone being pretty much the same. When the circumstances are dire, everyone reverts back to human. Standing up and stating your case isn’t selfish. Acknowledging the subtle differences that make us who we are isn’t racist. Speaking your mind isn’t idiotic. And if it is than damn it I’m an idiotic, selfish, racist. There isn’t any shame in it. It isn’t worth being awkward and uptight about. Because the awkward tension that ignorance creates is what drives people to hating each other. It is ignoring the small differences that creates the monumental divide that seemingly separates us all.
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