None of the above
I read an article on the Los Angeles Times’ website and came across an interesting term: Politically homeless.
Categorizing people, bunching and separating them with terms like “conservative” and “liberal,” is what politics is all about. Gerrymandering unites islands of common thinking voters, segregating them from those who check boxes for another party. At election time, blue and red plastic signs sprout in front lawns all across the nation, and everything is labeled “Democrat” or “Republican.” I’m neither, so I’ve often wondered how I’m categorized politically.
Independent? Yes.
I’m not registered with any party, though I think I have been (I may have registered as a Green when I turned 18, but I can’t remember). In “Democrat” and “Republican” terms, being independent makes me a “swing voter” or “undecided,” which means I’m “up for grabs.” My voting pattern can’t be predicted with any certainty, unlike “certain” or “lock” votes — “narrow mindedness” in my terms.
Apathetic? Sure, why not.
When I covered local government meetings as a reporter I often wondered, “How does anything get accomplished?” The most knowledgeable and competent people in the room weren’t those sitting at the big table up front, in big, comfy, leather chairs you could use as a bed. Members of the audience, I always thought, seemed better qualified for elected office. After all, they have their arms shoulder deep in the life we live. The names on ballots always seem to be for rich, white, business owners, who aren’t interested in getting their arms shoulder deep in anything unless it’s green and has Ben Franklin’s portrait printed on it. So why should I vote for them?
Skeptical? Cynical? Damn straight!
Politicians are professional liars. They go to college to learn how to lie, learn how past politicians manipulated the public and collected the most votes. They surround themselves with experts and analysts, coaches and make-up artists. They’re just actors, really, masquerading as knowledgeable and caring leaders. They’re the scum of the Earth, yet they always trick us into picking sides, throwing our support behind the liar we agree with most.
Politically homeless? Bingo!
The term strikes a chord inside me. It always feels like I have to belong to some party, identify with one of the common political terms. I know what my opinions are, but I stand outside the conventional political spectrum (after all, when you step “left” or “right” you’re moving sideways, not forward). In a post from last November I labeled myself a “liberal independent.” Well, I’m stripping that label from myself in favor of “politically homeless.”
When people ask if I’m a “Democrat” or “Republican” I respond with, “Neither.” They look at me like I’m crazy, like I just escaped from a mental institution. Their eyes give me a quick once-over before they step back.
“Oh,” they say. “You’re one of those people.”
Whatever that means.
Categorizing people, bunching and separating them with terms like “conservative” and “liberal,” is what politics is all about. Gerrymandering unites islands of common thinking voters, segregating them from those who check boxes for another party. At election time, blue and red plastic signs sprout in front lawns all across the nation, and everything is labeled “Democrat” or “Republican.” I’m neither, so I’ve often wondered how I’m categorized politically.
Independent? Yes.
I’m not registered with any party, though I think I have been (I may have registered as a Green when I turned 18, but I can’t remember). In “Democrat” and “Republican” terms, being independent makes me a “swing voter” or “undecided,” which means I’m “up for grabs.” My voting pattern can’t be predicted with any certainty, unlike “certain” or “lock” votes — “narrow mindedness” in my terms.
Apathetic? Sure, why not.
When I covered local government meetings as a reporter I often wondered, “How does anything get accomplished?” The most knowledgeable and competent people in the room weren’t those sitting at the big table up front, in big, comfy, leather chairs you could use as a bed. Members of the audience, I always thought, seemed better qualified for elected office. After all, they have their arms shoulder deep in the life we live. The names on ballots always seem to be for rich, white, business owners, who aren’t interested in getting their arms shoulder deep in anything unless it’s green and has Ben Franklin’s portrait printed on it. So why should I vote for them?
Skeptical? Cynical? Damn straight!
Politicians are professional liars. They go to college to learn how to lie, learn how past politicians manipulated the public and collected the most votes. They surround themselves with experts and analysts, coaches and make-up artists. They’re just actors, really, masquerading as knowledgeable and caring leaders. They’re the scum of the Earth, yet they always trick us into picking sides, throwing our support behind the liar we agree with most.
Politically homeless? Bingo!
The term strikes a chord inside me. It always feels like I have to belong to some party, identify with one of the common political terms. I know what my opinions are, but I stand outside the conventional political spectrum (after all, when you step “left” or “right” you’re moving sideways, not forward). In a post from last November I labeled myself a “liberal independent.” Well, I’m stripping that label from myself in favor of “politically homeless.”
When people ask if I’m a “Democrat” or “Republican” I respond with, “Neither.” They look at me like I’m crazy, like I just escaped from a mental institution. Their eyes give me a quick once-over before they step back.
“Oh,” they say. “You’re one of those people.”
Whatever that means.
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