Common Sense

I think I know who you are. After September 11th you thought our country had changed for the better. But the months that followed proved otherwise. We began to divide ourselves and the partisan bickering that was absent from blood lines and church service started all over again. You sometimes argue with friends about politics, not because you are a political activist, but because you think the issues are actually important. You have strong beliefs, but you also have an open mind and a warm heart. You try to do the right thing every day. You work hard, you always try to do your best and you play by the rules. You have credit cards, but you can make the payments. You have a home, but with a loan you can afford. Maybe you bought a flat screen television that wasn’t exactly a necessity, but you’ve never been reckless. You don’t have much in savings and your retirement plans have lost a significant amount of money. You may go to church, but most weekends, you don’t really want to—you’d rather sleep in or play with your kids. Besides, it bothers you that people cut each other off in the parking lot right after the service. You have children and, like all families, you also have your share of problems—but you’re making it. You constantly hope that your kids don’t notice you’re bluffing as a parent most of the time.

You don’t feel like there’s enough time in the day anymore to just be a family. Everyone is always going in six different directions. You know material things don’t matter, but you wonder why it makes you feel like a bad parent if your kids don’t have certain shoes, the newest video games, or aren’t signed-up for five different sports teams. You didn’t have anywhere near the kind of stuff that today’s kids have and yet you look back on your childhood with a sense of nostalgia and pride. If your family was poor, you didn’t know it. You turn on the television at the end of a long, tiring day and watch as faceless analysts in left/right boxes argue about things done by bankers that, in retrospect, seem implausible. You’re worried about what’s happening to our economy, but you’re more worried about what it means for your family—and you’re not sure what to do. You don’t hate people who are different than you, but you stopped expressing opinions on sensitive issues a long time ago because you don’t want to be called a racist, bigot or homophobe if you stand by your values and principles. You believe in treating people justly and honestly but there is a difference between right and wrong. You go to bed exhausted almost every night, knowing you have to get up the next day and do it all over again. You thought that the politicians you supported and defended cared about the issues you do. Then you began to realize that you were wrong—they only care about themselves and their careers. You feel used and betrayed. You don’t think it’s right that while you worked hard, lived prudently, and spent wisely, those who did the opposite are now being bailed out at your expense. You realize now that self-serving politicians and bankers built our financial system on a house of cards that, despite the cheery promises and rosy forecasts, is now collapsing. Now our government, the instigator of our problems, is telling everyone that they have to start sacrificing. Don’t they understand that I already have been, you think. You weren’t the one spending too much or living on money you didn’t have. You made decisions rooted in logic while others made decisions rooted in greed—yet now everyone must pay equally? Yet, despite all of that, you’re still willing to sacrifice more because you want America to succeed. But you demand a plan that’s based on common sense and that actually has a chance to work. You’ve called your congressman a few times in the past, but they don’t listen. Now you just scream at the television. It’s about as effective as the phone calls. The light from the television flickers on the darkened room walls - people at tea parties across the nation fill the screen. You don’t know how to feel. You want to do something, but that isn’t you. You’re not an activist. You don’t make signs or chant: USA! USA! USA! So, you turn-off your light and go to sleep. Every night it seems you are faced with a choice: do you unplug or do you speak out? Both of those options make you uncomfortable so you do neither…and your frustration continues to grow.