On Home, Location, and Permanence

So today I registered to vote in Virginia.

Shocking, I know.  Because it's not like I care about Virginia politics.  (That was sarcasm.)

What that really got me thinking about, though, ties into a concept from class yesterday.  Historically, we think of location as permanent, and a home as a sense of permanence.  This came up as we were talking about how census data and the people who research it conceive of location -- in a way that doesn't account for frequent movement, especially in areas for poor or migrant families.

And today, registering to vote in a state that I do not think of as "home" although I also no longer live in the town I think of as "home" (as in it is not my current permanent or temporary residence), made me think a bit more about permanence.

I moved around a decent bit growing up.  Not like the army brats in movies who move to entirely new cities every six months and never get their roots -- I never had a problem establishing a sense of home in a general sense.  But changing circumstances led to a lot of literal moving: between one parent or the other, the amount of time I spent living in the same room in the same home was pretty limited after I was about six.

Now that I've once again gotten some sense of settled, here in Richmond, I'm already preparing for the likelihood of being somewhere else for graduate school, and my sense of permanence and stability is once again pretty shaken.

Most of the moves I have made in my life have been the result of conscious choices -- new relationships/marriages, going away to school, etc.  Yet they still impact my ability to think of a plot of land or building or physical location as a stable point that I can call "home."  I can only imagine what it must be like when even the sense of home that surrounds a group of people or family has gotten taken away, and the need to move is prompted not by choices but by circumstance.  With how much we consider home and location a part of our identity (my family, the fact that I'm a "Yankee" going to school in the South), it must be hard to craft a sense of identity when you're pushed away from a feeling of home.

Locally grown,
Rachel Leigh

On Politics, History, Racism, and SCOTUS

I can't.

I honestly just can't.  I have lost any and all ability to can today, ladies and gentlemen.  And only part of that comes from the fact that I am wading through a dataset that seems intent on destroying me.

The Voting Rights Act was passed in 1965 as a crucial response to the prevalence of Jim Crow Laws throughout the American South.  Jim Crow Laws were, in case you are unaware, a series of laws throughout states and municipalities which, through enforcement of "poll taxes" or "literacy tests" (I use scarequotes here for a reason -- the actual results of these tests or costs of these poll taxes varied greatly depending on the color of your skin), restricted the access of African Americans to the polls, in spite of the Fifteenth Amendment which guaranteed them that right to vote. (Seriously, though.  Track down a copy of the Alabama Literacy Test and tell me if, when someone slapped that down in front of you because they didn't like the way you looked, you would be able to pass and vote. (Though are you really surprised these laws were in effect less than 100 years after many of these same people thought that people were property?))

In 1965, Congress voted to pass measures which restricted the rights of states to impose discriminatory voting regulations which kept a significant portion of the population from being able to go out to the polls.  An essential piece of the legislation included a stipulation that areas with histories of these kinds of regulations, as well as repeatedly low voter turnout and registration numbers (because that doesn't look suspicious at all), would have to get federal approval before making changes to their voting regulations and voting procedures.

Well, today the Supreme Court overturned that stipulation. In a time where voter ID laws have come under intense criticism for their potentially racist limitations on the ability of minorities to vote, a restriction that has prevented actual legally-binding discrimination and a breach of the US Constitution for more than forty years has been overturned by the body responsible for protecting the Constitution.

Do I think the implications of this are as heavily racist as they would have been in the '60s -- no, at least not on the surface.  But I do think it's democratically-questionable.  Note: many of the areas which have been subject to this clause in the past, including Shelby County, AL, which was involved in specifically this Supreme Court case, are predominantly Republican.  Minority votes are, by-and-large, opposed to the Republican party.  Do I think there's going to be a massively racial backlash?  Probably not, because it's typically a bad PR move.  But do I think there's potential for party politics that will, ultimately, have racial consequences to prevent a large amount of the opposition constituency from turning out to the polls?  Absolutely.

Congratulations, SCOTUS.  I can't.

Furiously yours,
Rachel Leigh

P.S., Let's hope they do better on Prop 8/DOMA than they did with this one.  Love is love, my friends.

On Election Day and the Political Climate

"When we start to imagine those who disagree with us as 'crazy' or 'evil' or 'traitorous,' it becomes difficult to compromise with them and difficult to listen to them; at times it can be even difficult to stay friends with them.  And hurling insults instead of having conversations about policy leads to a social order where no one can talk without screaming, and that, more than either candidate's tax plan, is dangerous."  --John Green

I'm just going to leave that there.  And also remind you that Tuesday is Election Day stateside.  Now, being across the freaking ocean means that I actually voted like a month ago, but that doesn't change the fact that all of my American darlings should take the half hour of inconvenience and go vote.  (Unless, of course, you are perfectly willing to not complain about ANYTHING your government does or does not do for the next four years: if that's really the way you feel, then your apathy makes me sad, but at least you won't not-vote and then be unhappy with the results.)

You have this one chance every four years (well, two years if you count Congressional elections, but still) - the chance to have a profound impact on the way the government is run for the next four years.  And I personally feel like you have a responsibility to act on that chance.  If you don't, and the country goes in a direction you dislike, it's kind of your own fault and you have no right to complain.

That being said, in any election, tensions run high, especially the closer to Election Day that you get.  It's just that the rhetoric and attitudes behind this election have gotten so divisive that it's honestly worrisome.  Right now both major-party candidates remain neck-and-neck in the polls, which means that with the zero-sum political system and the isolating attitudes that surround it, come Wednesday morning, there is a good chance that nearly half the population will feel completely disenfranchised by the results.  And that's not good.

Our political system derives its legitimacy from the idea that no matter who you vote for, your interests will still be taken into consideration and, if they're not, you have the chance to change things four years down the road.  And I think the attitudes that people have developed towards the opposing parties have undermined this basic faith.  Illegitimate governments lead to revolution, so if this happens, I sincerely hope that people's apathy and laziness outweighs their sense of outrage, because otherwise we're looking at four years of serious political turmoil.

Please keep in mind that regardless of who you vote for on Tuesday, you should vote, and remember that the people who don't vote the same way aren't any less human than you are.

Nervously yours,
Rachel Leigh

On Election Season and Why I'm Glad I Have an Absentee Ballot

Darling readers, as much as it pains me to be out of the country during the first presidential election I can vote in (shout out to the Bucks County Board of Elections and my awesome mother for making sure I still get my absentee ballot!), I do have to say I'm not lamenting missing out on the irritating onslaught of campaign ads.

Don't get me wrong, between the daily emails, the political Facebook posts, and the fact that for some reason the Danes do actually seem to care about the outcome of the American presidential election, I'm still bombarded with campaign slogans and election information (and the occasional request to canvas or come to a rally, but sorry guys, it's hard to do that from Copenhagen -- best of luck though!).  But it's refreshing to get a break from every ad I see on YouTube or TV, or hear on the radio, being a political ad.

But the thing is, I didn't miss it entirely.  Because what they neglect to tell you is that campaign season in the States starts long before the primaries.  In fact, especially for House elections, it's reasonable to say that campaign season never stops.  Even before the campaign ads start airing, the media is full of policy critiques and comments from one side on the actions of the other.

What this means is that our politicians can rarely enter into that lull where they can actually govern as opposed to dancing around like trained monkeys trying to win your approval.  The second-term presidencies are really the only chances politicians get to actually do their jobs without worrying about the ramifications at the polls -- after all, they don't GET another shot.

What I've noticed here, though, is that while campaigning can get a little tough (especially in the UK because politics in the UK are so absurd they're actually funny), once an election has passed and a government has taken over, they're given the chance to DO THEIR JOBS, with the understanding that they may have to pay the price in the next election cycle, but that it won't really be an issue until then.

An outside perspective on American politics is actually kind of refreshing, really.

Absently yours,
Rachel Leigh