My bachelor’s degree, for what it is worth, is in political
science. I chose that major not because
I wanted to study government structure and organization but because I wanted to
learn more about the nature of power.
At the time I was a single mom with two young children who
felt pretty powerless. The feminist
movement was dawning on me, which meant life, as I had understood it, was
crumbling and refreshing notions of equality, empowerment, independence and
responsibility were fomenting in my psyche.
I was confused and dazzled by it all.
I marched in Houston with Betty Friedan; I attended consciousness-raising
groups; I rebelled against the patriarchal religion of my childhood. Woman power made sense to me. Just as today, gay power, Chicano power, and
empowering the disabled all make sense to me.
Surprisingly, I personally feel some of the same internal
rumblings today that I felt 40 years ago.
I once again feel powerless and left out, left behind, invisible. The growing inequality between the wealthy
elites and the rest of us is making less and less sense to me. The increasing power of corporations over
regular folks is disturbing and nonsensical to me.
I find myself wanting to drop out, which for a political
junkie like myself is somewhat startling.
I grow weary of the Washington catfights and power struggles, the junior
high mentality that has hijacked our government.
The notion that a corporation is a person, with the same
rights and protections of individual citizens, boggles the mind. The notion that a wealthy investment banker
should not pay more taxes than his administrative assistant is ludicrous. What seems patently obvious to me, however,
is anathema to half of the well meaning, just as frightened as I am,
Americans.
It doesn’t matter what I think. The corporations and investment bankers hold
a more powerful position in our culture than do I. They have influence that I do not have. They have access that I cannot afford.
Perhaps I will attend Occupy Austin on Oct 6 or, perhaps
not. I find myself vacillating between
dropping out and rising up. When I
imagine dropping out I feel shame; when I ponder rising up I feel weary. Marching with Betty Friedan was a heady, life
altering experience. Not sure I still
have it in me.
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