I had a teacher that once said he wouldn't be surprised if I ended up in the state legislature. He said it to the entire class, in fact. It wasn't a private comment to me, or to my parents. It was a public statement of belief. I sometimes wonder about that.
Egotism is a proper and fitting character flaw for most politicians. You could, in most cases, call it a prerequisite. Narcissism fits the paradigm well. So does being a panderer, in general. Taken together, I never thought that politics was a career path with which I wanted to be identified if it involved these characteristics. Then I turned thirty-five.
The realization hit me last year that the President of the United States is an office that's open to citizens who are of that age.
Do I want to be President? No. Certainly not. So why consider it?
For the very reasons that I mention not wanting to be identified as a politician. Anyone who actually wants the job is an asshole of some kind. A friend asked me about which side I'd take if I were to make a legitimate bid. Would I be for Big Government, or for Big Business. In his view, those are the only two sides to take. Historically, he as precedence. Republican or Democratic seem to be the only two viable parties in American politics.
But why are those our only choices?
Right wingers also tend to be capitalists, and I support free market economies and capitalism. They work. But as part of that identity, I'd have to rub shoulders with Conservative Christians who think you can "counsel" the gay out of someone, or in some way believe that legislative authority can be imposed on a vagina. Impossibly large conglomerates of international wealth are the backbone of our economy and must be coddled indefinitely, and equally ridiculous notions of magnanimous oligarchy are the brand they pimp.
Yeah. I'm definitely not one of those.
On the flip side of that, the Left has a driving need to save you from yourself. You can't be trusted to make your own decisions, buy your own health insurance, or even determine whether or not you need it. The retirement and stability of each generation is built upon the earnings and labor of their progeny. As a citizen, you are entitled to a share of the proceeds from those in the community, and must surrender a portion of your earnings to support others. Your liberties are inconvenient and dangerous to you, and it's really better for all involved if you leave those decisions to the government.
Molon labe, bitches. Molon labe.
The problem with two-party politics (because let's face it, Libertarians, Greens, and Independents have no real shot) is that to get what you want, you have to stomach what you can tolerate. At what point did this become a good idea?
For the next seventeen months we will be inundated with advertisements, smear campaigns, promises, rhetoric, debates, lies, and scandals until the polls finally open and we cast votes for the Crap Sandwich or the Douche Bag. We know it will be one of them. May as well throw in with the one you find to be the lesser evil.
Back to my original question of why consider running for President. I did agree, after all, that I don't want the job. But more than that, I don't want the people I describe above to have it either. No one who actually thinks that they are the best candidate has the humility, moral fortitude, or capacity for critical thought to do it.
Can I do the job? I bet you five dollars that I can't. At least not any better than the last guy. What I do believe that I can do is show the American people that their government can be returned to them. I can show them that they are not beholden to rich people backed by big companies or rich people who hate big companies (you have to admit that the only candidates you're going see are wealthy ones with exploratory committees, both Republican and Democrat).
I'm just a working class guy, with a moderate credit score, a lot of questions about God, and a working respect for people not like me. I can't make any promises except one: I will question everything and ask honestly, 'Is this the best we can do?'
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Monday, June 1, 2015
St. Ann - My Home and what is left of it...
I had an opportunity to fly back to my hometown of St. Louis this past April after a six-year stint in Phoenix, AZ. I was only going to be in town for a full day, at best, since I'd be helping my sister-in-law make the move back to my adopted Arizona. I'll be honest, it's hard to put into words what I saw and felt in a 24-hour snapshot of the 'Lou'.
I've tried to keep my finger on the pulse of home since I've been gone, with varying degrees of success. Social media has afforded me access to groups that are populated by current residents of my municipality, St. Ann. Within those groups, I've been able to keep abreast of developments at the old Northwest Plaza site, some local politics, and the social clamor the followed Ferguson. But one really has to see a thing to understand it.
I flew in to Lambert with an unusual sense of trepidation, which I admit was predicated on recent revelations about Cold Water Creek. Disembarking in what I will always call the East Terminal, even the airport struck me as visibly outdated and poorly kept compared to some of the places I've visited in the past year. This turned out to be the first in a long list of observations that pervaded my time at home, and contributed to an overwhelming and undeniable theme.
Vacancy.
It's an unfortunate reality of economic depression. Businesses close, jobs dry up, and the people who are left behind often stop having the sense of pride that goes along with the bright, shiny, and profitable. Tax revenues go down and city budgets become the next victim of creative budgeting. The roads fall into disrepair, common areas become overgrown, and even power lines look cobbled together and questionably safe. The entire face of the community starts to show signs of neglect. It's the pallor that falls over a town when the money has gone away. Businesses are empty. Homes are empty. Churches are empty. Lots where memories were forged are empty.
My dad once took me to an hardware store, and as we walked out, he told me that the business was going under. I asked how he knew. "The life has gone out of it," he said. "The shelves are half-empty, the store is in disarray, and there are hardly any customers."
He was right. Within six months, that store was shuttered. I felt similarly about St. Ann.
Later, on the night of my arrival from Phoenix, I sat in a restaurant with my wife and friends, pensively eating my toasted ravs. I didn't have much to say, not that much of it would have been good. Up until this point, I'd been to the East Terminal, a moving truck rental facility in Earth City, and my childhood home. In every single place, there was just more vacancy.
The news in St. Ann hasn't been good lately. I mentioned Cold Water Creek earlier. That was particularly hard to swallow. I had friends that grew up down on that end of town, and from the reports I've read, they are friends I likely won't see at future High School Reunions. I was luckier to have grown up a few miles farther south, but I still wonder what I will face in the years to come.
St. Ann municipal courts are also under fire for laws that disfavor the poor. Well, given the economic state of the city, there are more of those to go around. One local resident pragmatically suggested that people 'stop breaking the law'. It's hard to deny the causality of that, but it's also realistic to say that law enforcement reaches a tipping point where fines become a hole from which the declining median income provides no escape.
There was also a pipeline for removing toxic leachate from the Bridgeton landfill that was supposedly going in with little public disclosure. That story seems to have died with very little reporting being done. And what can be done? Two dozen people showed up to a public meeting in which company representatives were questioned. Two dozen, out of nearly thirteen-thousand, that showed up to ask what could be done.
Still more vacancy. Vacancy of public involvement. Vacancy of legislative disclosure. Vacancy of legislative action. Vacancy of vested interest.
All I can really do from Phoenix is to cry 'shenanigans' and watch as my home town is slowly swallowed by apathy and band-aid solutions. But maybe that's the legacy of St. Louis county. The frog is slowly being brought to a boil. There really is no denying it.
So I challenge you to see St. Ann through the eyes of a returning son. Go stand on any street corner of the Rock Road corridor between Wismer Road and Lindbergh Boulevard. Ask yourself honestly how much time you want to spend there. Ask yourself how long you'd expect any visitor to stay. What would they stay for? Empty businesses, potholed streets, litter and weeds?
Me either.
There are some who may criticize my treatment of this issue as unnecessarily harsh. There are a number who still have pride in the city and think it's a great place to live. They are the ones who show up at city council meetings, write to their Aldermen, and organize interest groups. But more like them are needed if there is any chance of rescuing St. Ann from the black hole of vacancy.
I've tried to keep my finger on the pulse of home since I've been gone, with varying degrees of success. Social media has afforded me access to groups that are populated by current residents of my municipality, St. Ann. Within those groups, I've been able to keep abreast of developments at the old Northwest Plaza site, some local politics, and the social clamor the followed Ferguson. But one really has to see a thing to understand it.
I flew in to Lambert with an unusual sense of trepidation, which I admit was predicated on recent revelations about Cold Water Creek. Disembarking in what I will always call the East Terminal, even the airport struck me as visibly outdated and poorly kept compared to some of the places I've visited in the past year. This turned out to be the first in a long list of observations that pervaded my time at home, and contributed to an overwhelming and undeniable theme.
Vacancy.
It's an unfortunate reality of economic depression. Businesses close, jobs dry up, and the people who are left behind often stop having the sense of pride that goes along with the bright, shiny, and profitable. Tax revenues go down and city budgets become the next victim of creative budgeting. The roads fall into disrepair, common areas become overgrown, and even power lines look cobbled together and questionably safe. The entire face of the community starts to show signs of neglect. It's the pallor that falls over a town when the money has gone away. Businesses are empty. Homes are empty. Churches are empty. Lots where memories were forged are empty.
My dad once took me to an hardware store, and as we walked out, he told me that the business was going under. I asked how he knew. "The life has gone out of it," he said. "The shelves are half-empty, the store is in disarray, and there are hardly any customers."
He was right. Within six months, that store was shuttered. I felt similarly about St. Ann.
Later, on the night of my arrival from Phoenix, I sat in a restaurant with my wife and friends, pensively eating my toasted ravs. I didn't have much to say, not that much of it would have been good. Up until this point, I'd been to the East Terminal, a moving truck rental facility in Earth City, and my childhood home. In every single place, there was just more vacancy.
The news in St. Ann hasn't been good lately. I mentioned Cold Water Creek earlier. That was particularly hard to swallow. I had friends that grew up down on that end of town, and from the reports I've read, they are friends I likely won't see at future High School Reunions. I was luckier to have grown up a few miles farther south, but I still wonder what I will face in the years to come.
St. Ann municipal courts are also under fire for laws that disfavor the poor. Well, given the economic state of the city, there are more of those to go around. One local resident pragmatically suggested that people 'stop breaking the law'. It's hard to deny the causality of that, but it's also realistic to say that law enforcement reaches a tipping point where fines become a hole from which the declining median income provides no escape.
There was also a pipeline for removing toxic leachate from the Bridgeton landfill that was supposedly going in with little public disclosure. That story seems to have died with very little reporting being done. And what can be done? Two dozen people showed up to a public meeting in which company representatives were questioned. Two dozen, out of nearly thirteen-thousand, that showed up to ask what could be done.
Still more vacancy. Vacancy of public involvement. Vacancy of legislative disclosure. Vacancy of legislative action. Vacancy of vested interest.
All I can really do from Phoenix is to cry 'shenanigans' and watch as my home town is slowly swallowed by apathy and band-aid solutions. But maybe that's the legacy of St. Louis county. The frog is slowly being brought to a boil. There really is no denying it.
So I challenge you to see St. Ann through the eyes of a returning son. Go stand on any street corner of the Rock Road corridor between Wismer Road and Lindbergh Boulevard. Ask yourself honestly how much time you want to spend there. Ask yourself how long you'd expect any visitor to stay. What would they stay for? Empty businesses, potholed streets, litter and weeds?
Me either.
There are some who may criticize my treatment of this issue as unnecessarily harsh. There are a number who still have pride in the city and think it's a great place to live. They are the ones who show up at city council meetings, write to their Aldermen, and organize interest groups. But more like them are needed if there is any chance of rescuing St. Ann from the black hole of vacancy.
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