I am debating how personal to make this editorial even as I begin to type. I feel so vulnerable, as it is somewhat daunting to consider risking further exposure. It's been a long, exhausting and emotionally draining election cycle, which has, essentially, drawn to a close. Without any fanfare, the dawn of Nov. 3, 2004, came quietly, almost unnoticed, as though Nov. 2 had not truly passed the day before. All that seems to be left is the same that was here before: fear.
If we in America do not fear terrorism, then we fear gays, it seems. If we do not fear immigrants, then we fear increased taxes. Fear has arguably been the only glue holding this country together, and understandably the election as well: If we did not fear Bush, then we feared Kerry. And these fears have not changed since Election Day, because the campaigning that went on offered no relief, only encouragement for our raging phobias. Therefore, in this tradition, I offer up my own fears.
I fear that my patriotism will be taken away from me, and I will no longer belong, or at least feel like I belong, to my country. I fear the evolution of my country into a place I cannot even recognize, with values I cannot embrace.
I fear that my love for openness, transparency, progress and the free exchange of ideas, often manifested in concerned criticism, will be misconstrued as treasonous dissent or terrorism.
I fear the dissolution of international institutions, the collapse of international-relations paradigms, and the future motives and maneuvers of foreign policy.
I fear that I will be unable to find a job I want, on a career path I desire, in the next four years.
I fear the obstruction of my future education, my ability to repay that education, and most of all, the bleak future of education awaiting my (hopefully) future children.
I fear for the health of humans, animals, plants and the planet as a whole - a planet we consistently disrespect without foresight or remorse.
I fear the deaf ears of my government because I fear it caters to its base without considering the so-called "minority," whose citizenship may still be first-class, but whose interests are definitely second-place.
I fear the gradual bartering of liberties for securities until the rights I cherish most (some as yet unrealized) vanish altogether.
And most of all, worst of all, I fear the continued anesthetization of the American public.
These are my fears. And I have chosen to share them for three purposes: first, to purge myself of the politics of fear that have plagued my mind and media consumption since 9/11; second, to fill this article with something both personal and true, without any pretense of attempting objectivity so immediately after the election; and third, to illustrate that we are still really only ONE America. We all fear the same things in some way, to some extent, and for one reason or another. And we would all like to see a strong, safe and, most importantly, free America. No person of sound body or sound mind can say in honesty that he or she does not want freedom, liberty, equality, opportunity or security. We do not want to be murdered, robbed or raped, and we do not want these things for our children or our children's children either. No. The only real dispute is how to trade the fear in to get what we want.
President Roosevelt preached to America that the only thing we need fear is fear itself. This simple mantra rings particularly true in an uncertain world. We can no longer succumb to the paralysis of our fears, but must actively pursue their resolution, no matter what the costs. I, for one, am tired of feeling vulnerable, marginalized and like a slave to my fears or the fears of others. As I stood up before, I am ready to stand up again, and I shall keep on standing as long as it is necessary. Some wise unknown once said that it is better to have died on your feet than lived on your knees. For any who feel fear or vulnerability in the present state of affairs, all I can say is that I feel them, too. But let us continue to stand. Together.
