I’m forced to look at political discourse daily thanks to the beautiful nature of the internet, and with the January 6 hearings kicking off and the like, I’ve been seeing a lot of it lately. But it’s all the same old story. The key to making bold points on the internet, form what I’ve seen, is to come off as someone who can see through every dirty window and every veil of fog when it comes to how the world works. I am right and you are wrong; you are fallible, I am not. But people seem to forget that no one is truly immune to propaganda. The world tells you that arguing on the internet about how awesome your political devotion is over everybody else’s, will help change society’s most deeply rooted flaws. It’s not going to.
Having your voice out there in the world is important; it all depends on how you use it. I wish that people collectively could strive towards turning their ideas into some sort of worldly force, one as creative as it is subversive and as diverse in its contributors as it is unified. The world doesn’t want that. There are plenty of much more productive ways to use your emotions than trying to come off as superior than others on the internet. That’s what the world wants you to succumb to.
While left-leaning people who surely do want to make positive change were bickering over crap that doesn’t matter, a group of brainwashed assholes were able to mobilize an attempt at a military coup on the concept of democracy and the truth (not that they hadn’t almost entirely chipped away at it already and are still doing so). That was over a year ago, and with chuds continuing to reign supreme in and outside of politics and perfectly capable people still yelling into voids, nothing has changed.
“Anger can be power; don’tcha know that you can use it?” asked the Clash. Do we have to keep saying that to the people where and when it really matters?
Last weekend was my second excursion to Fugaziland, otherwise known as Washington, D.C. Instead of engaging in punk rock rambunctiousness like last time, I had a much more formal mission: my first Model UN conference, the North American Invitational Model United Nations. I had always been interested in Model UN, but I never embarked on it until the beginning of the current school year. I’m very glad I did. Never would I have thought I would have an experience like I did at this past conference before I started college.
I wasn’t used to being around people my age who weren’t the same people I saw every day at school, and it was a little strange how everyone looked so familiar yet so unfamiliar. But I got used to my surroundings quickly. I joined the crowd of gussied up teenagers checking their notes and crossing their fingers, and I fit right in. Transplanted from my usual surroundings into a swanky Hilton hotel, I found myself representing Hong Kong in the C40 Cities Climate Leadership Group, working with other high schoolers to tackle the problem of urban greenhouse gas emissions. It was a lot less nerve-racking than it sounds, especially considering that the real world implications of those decisions weren’t actually weighing on us. It was a fascinating and enriching time hearing the stances of everyone else’s assigned city, which resulted in some heated debate despite the general consensus that climate change equals bad, and working out alliances and plans. Many sixty-second speeches were given and many notes were passed.
Our committee meetings were spread across four days with plenty of time to explore the hotel and the surrounding city (within the radius designated by our advisors) in between. On Friday my school’s delegation took the metro to see the Capitol building (from a distance) and the Washington Monument (which I got to lean against). It was slightly surreal being where a homegrown coup against democracy had been attempted, even if it was from afar. When you spend so much of your life picking up on worldly events from afar it’s interesting to find yourself at Ground Zero, even after everything seems to have settled. I felt similarly watching the news about Russian escalation in Ukraine on the flatscreen in my hotel floor’s lobby while waiting for the extremely congested elevators. So many monumental changes happening while everything else in life seems to remain just as it was…I read a good Tumblr post about this phenomenon the other day—diary entries from the past casually mentioning the beginnings of large-scale wars and man’s landing on the moon beside daily routines and boy gossip. There’s more than two sides to every story, I guess.
At least, the metro looked gorgeous.
But at the conference I didn’t feel like I was just sitting idly by while everything happened around me all at once. I had a role to fulfill and duties to undertake, and I engaged in them successfully. On top of that, socializing was easy considering that almost everyone else was a stranger. I met people from New Jersey, California, Mexico, and Puerto Rico to name a few, and everyone was friendly and open. No matter where we came from or what our committees were, we were all united by the same purpose: to solve some problems and flex some mental muscles. That uniting factor really opened up my horizons much more than being trapped in a high school I never made where everyone else has been BFFs since their elementary years. And in the end, through these alliances and plenty of teamwork, it did really feel as if we had gotten something done when our draft resolutions passed. We had shown our ability to take responsibility and work together. It was a truly liberating experience in every sense, and I almost wished it didn’t have to end.
The day after I got home, it was abnormally nice out, nice enough to take a walk through the neighborhood in a three-quarter sleeve cardigan and my favorite leather-y jeans. If only the weather had been so agreeable down in D.C. It was brisk the entire time we were there, and the winds almost bowled me over as I stalked the street down from the hotel for Thai food that Saturday. I didn’t actually think my group would be leaving the hotel throughout the weekend, so I didn’t pack a coat or gloves. I made do by layering the three blazers I’d brought along. I think it’s going to be a hip winter fashion trend next year for those who follow the philosophy that “beauty is pain.”
The attire of champions.
But upon returning home, I got to crack open my bedroom window (in February!) and let the fresh air float in without freezing to death. There’s something about the spring air that stirs something inside of me, that end of seasonal dormancy. It makes me feel as if things are happening as opposed to having to wait for the world to unthaw. I know things are happening for me, no matter how frustrating life may be at times. In the next few months, my concept of normalcy will be changing, and it will resemble the freedom I experienced last weekend more than what I’m going through now. I couldn’t be more jittery—in the best way possible, that is.
A year ago today, I did not go to school. Due to our COVID-enforced hybrid schedule, Wednesdays were at-home days where no virtual classes took place.
In our living room, my mother had the news on in anticipation for the televised electoral vote count from the previous year’s election. I was interested to see how the event would play out, as I was well aware that protestors would be at the Capitol insisting that the loss of the previous president to the people’s vote was unjust. I was expecting to laugh at a gaggle of delusional, pathetic fools as one of this country’s final remaining tenets of democracy did its thing.
What I actually ended up seeing was a direct, effective, borderline killer threat to democracy itself.
I was practically glued to my television screen as rioters with their profane chants and absurd displays of red, white, and blue clumped into a boisterous mass eventually powerful enough to seep into the Capitol with very little restraint. I got to see a makeshift militia of brainwashed, blood lusted, homegrown terrorists, ordered by their chosen leader to protect their country by trampling on its foundations, stumble around those supposedly sacred halls of American institution, power-drunk and disgraceful. What did the popular vote matter when these once-marginalized, now-organized morons didn’t get their favorite flavor of Popsicle?
I knew right away that things would never truly be the same again.
The storm was ultimately unsuccessful at actually overthrowing the government. But it threw the doors wide open for those who cannot stand to think that we are all human. It beamed from the rooftops: fight for your belief in lies! Fight for inequality! You can do it! And these signals have worked, based on how many concerned parents have been putting up hands at school board meetings or opting for homeschool because their districts dare to teach children basic truth, or how many people are passing around cups of bleach flavored Kool-Aids about everything under the sun.
A lot of people love to cry “never again” at every big, culture-shattering event before excusing events of similar magnitude that do not negatively effect them or their favorite political pundit. But it’s true: deluding yourself has never been so cool.
Maybe it’s time we stop living in fear of the truth. Maybe.
