I was born and raised on base. When we’d go to the movies, it was a massive culture shock going to civilian theatres when we didn’t have to rise for the national anthem. Or that life went on everywhere else at 5pm when folks didn’t peel off to the side of the road or standing in place when retreat was called. I lived on base through 9/11. My father took his time lacing his boots about to retire, and then I watched him move double time grabbing his outer shirt and bolt out the door. I didn’t know what was happening. Seattle was broadcasting water plane races. I thought it was a clip from an accident as they drop in the water before they go. The months to follow were intense. I remember moving back to the base of my birth. Years and a war later, my father cheered in the car as we pulled up to the BX parking lot when the radio announced we got Saddan Hussein. I shared in his joy. I had faith in our country. I wanted to serve too. Health concerns had other plans.
My maternal grandfather served. He’d take my sister and me on base to go bowling during the summers. We’d sit with him in VA hospitals for his appointments. They would take forever, but they weren’t ever less than kind. He’d tell me and my cousins about adventures in Okanawa. In Turkey. But he’d always go quiet when he’d mention Vietnam with this dazed glaze until my Grandma cut the tension with a joke or some homemade fudge. She served from the sidelines, but she served nonetheless. She volunteered and fought for veterans rights at the DAV until her final days. She helped hundreds of veterans keep their benefits. Advocating for them to find jobs, healthcare, and jumped through the hoops aiding veterans in their applications for disability. My aunt served. My uncle too. My mom went through ROTC, but ultimately didn’t join, even when she wanted to. She still became a public servant. She and my stepdad work in local government. My stepdad laces up his boots and runs out that door when we have storms, deploying his team to ensure our community has clean, safe roads. He goes to public council to listen to the concerns of his constituents. I can’t go around town with my mom without bumping into someone in the community recognizing her with a friendly hello. They truly care about the city and the people in it. Even when it’s ugly. Even when it’s hard.
I used to have such hope that we were moving forward. I used to believe in the good. In the light of our people. That we were a free country with free elections, and a freedom of choice. To love. That had slowly eroded many years ago. I was once told that I’d become more conservative as I got older. Recognizing patterns, watching countless atrocities by our government, it couldn’t be any less true. I’ve become more radicalized for the people, not the profit of oligarchs.
On the precipice of staring down the barrel of a second presidency where even before he takes office, the rights of millions of queer Americans have been taken and many more will be taken, the free voice of millions of Americans have been stripped overnight, the jobs of millions, small businesses, passive and active income gone overnight. It’s all due to a billionaire having a tantrum that he doesn’t own the platform folks are using, nor can he keep up. And so, he’s playing into our government’s inherent xenophobia to get it banned. Free governments don’t ban platforms of free speech. Free governments don’t ban books. Day two, the incoming regime planned Gestapo raids coming under the name of ice.
Even so, the people get up and do our civic duty. We lobby. We protest. We vote. We inform and teach. We give compassion and kindness. We stand up when something is wrong. We contact our representatives to uphold the will of the people. Those same representatives in our highest offices do not care. It’s profit over people. It was true when Martin Niemöller once said, “First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.”
I grew up primed to believe in this nation. I grew up in a family with a long history of public service. To give unto others. To listen. To love and understand. To be comfortable with being uncomfortable and learn from inherent biases and grow. To teach others of their own. I grew up to believe that we were to uphold the constitution from all enemies, foreign or domestic. We have been witnessing what happens when the domestic holds the highest public office. I don’t have much faith anymore. I haven’t for a long, long while. It’s that funny feeling gnawing at the pit of the stomach. I don’t think that it’s gonna go away any time soon.
