Politics matter
It seemed a long time ago when a hopeful but dashing African-American Harvard grad who had roots in Indonesia and siblings from Asia vied to become the 44th president of the United States.
On January 20, the long road from the inner cities of Chicago has reached its destination: 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. The election of Barack Hussein Obama has reinvigorated more than just casual interest in what seemed to be a moldy and disgraced institution.
Politics has become a joke. A big one. Just see how it has inspired satirical genius such as The Daily Show with Jon Stewart and The Colbert Report. Politicians have become the latter day Shylocks, eyed with suspicion, regarded with a cloudy mixture of disgust and dark humor. With President Obama’s ascension to power, if it seems we’re in a time when every nightmare is possible, then it’s also conceivable that every dream is possible, too. The much-talked-about inauguration — which, for me, personally, was a bit underwhelming — did not diminish the fact that it was a moment in history that the world shared together.
As our own elections rapidly approach in 2010, we, too, will face the challenges. We, too, will make the changes.
We live in strange times. The day I walked to school and saw the World Twin Towers collapsing before my own eyes, I knew the cataclysmic impact of that day would forever have a residual hold over our everyday lives. Phrases like “racial profiling,” “code orange” and their ilk have found a way into our everyday lexicon.
Politics has been with me from the day I was born. Growing up, I had a notion that everyone was a politician, simply because everyone around me was: an uncle who held office in Senate, a family friend who was mayor in a small town in Guimaras, my aunt’s husband who was governor and my grandfather who held several posts during his long career in politics. The governesses and drivers also spoke of political matters at length.
They spoke of people, ideas and solutions. It was only later when I would hear the words “strategy” and, in darker moments, the ominous word “backfire.” When my parents decided to become politicians themselves, my life changed. We no longer had time to go to the carnival to buy cotton candy on lazy weekends. I hardly saw my mother and my father, who was famous for wearing beautiful and daring designer clothes, shuffled into work in somber suits with colorful ties peeking out ever so slightly to give people a hint that he was still there.
My mother for almost a decade ran on only four hours of sleep a night. I would see her back heaving with exhaustion as she recited plans for the following day to her staff. She would meet with her constituents at any time of the evening, regardless of her physical condition. She dreamed of bridges, schools and a worldwide trade agreement on mangoes. Her tireless efforts gave the sleepy island something to dream about. Suddenly, university was a reality and not just a gamble for the island youth.
One Christmas I went along with her to give out Christmas gifts in Guimaras — a seemingly everyday thing my mother did. That year she did something that the province had never seen before. She wove Christmas lights around the municipal hall and decorated a tree for everyone to share. It was the first time the people of Guimaras had seen Christmas lights. My mother, seemingly rejuvenated despite not sleeping for almost a week (Christmas was the most taxing time for her), told me while stroking my arm, “This is what it’s all about.”
When she retired from politics, my mother didn’t know what to do with herself. After sleeping a decade’s worth of slumber, I once stumbled into her brushing the grout of the tiles in our kitchen in the middle of the night. She missed her stolen days. When she entered Congress she was faced with the politics of politics; whereas, being governor, she had a more hands-on experience in creating a different day for Guimarasnons. In Congress, she faced many different faces of politicians, which she would later try to evenly describe as very “Ancient Roman” (I would later describe them as “MacBeth-ish”): a mix of redoubtable and shady characters. She has since then retreated back to charity work, which led her into politics in the first place.
Over the holidays, I saw the Gus Van Sant film Milk. It’s about the first openly gay elected official in the United States, Harvey Milk. He ran with no money, no machinery, no expertly drawn strategy — just a strong belief in a cause and a will for change. It showed that politics can still make a difference. One person who uses the system to push one belief or right can ultimately change the world around him.
The mirth of the world has now moved on to scrutiny. Obama will inherit the worst version of America the modern world has seen. It brings me back to what my grandfather said: “Nothing stirs the world like inspiration.”
This is not about Obama anymore. It’s about our time in 2010. As we have all seen with the miraculous change of hands in the American government, politics is more than just about pageantry and black propaganda. Although I’m a Pacquiao fan, I felt a certain comfort when he lost the elections to Darlene Antonino, who was an accomplished woman who served her district well. The Filipino voter finally gets it. Heroes come in many shapes and forms.
In the end, as my naïve notion as a child bleeds its way into adulthood, we are all politicians. We need to care about what’s happening. Apathy is worse than hate. Let 2010 be our moment, and hopefully it will inspire more than just a hot gown.
