I visited my dad in Las Vegas for Thanksgiving. Most of our conversations revolve around football and politics, and a Thanksgiving with three football games only three weeks after the mid-term elections was a somewhat perfect platform for father-son bonding.
Good or bad, I’ve inherited Dad’s cynicism. Dad got a history degree before studying law in Washington and briefly working with the White House in the Carter Administration. He looks at America’s politics and sighs with the resignation of a historian—and he occasionally falls into the cantankerousness of a recent retiree. I sigh also, but with the disillusionment of a college student reading too much political philosophy, and maybe too much Noam Chomsky too.
Good or bad, I’ve inherited Dad’s cynicism. Dad got a history degree before studying law in Washington and briefly working with the White House in the Carter Administration. He looks at America’s politics and sighs with the resignation of a historian—and he occasionally falls into the cantankerousness of a recent retiree. I sigh also, but with the disillusionment of a college student reading too much political philosophy, and maybe too much Noam Chomsky too.
The two of us sat comfortably in his living room—custom-made bamboo blinds and pillow-soft, cream-colored leather chairs. “Do you know what really did it for me, when I knew it was all bullshit?” Dad asked me. Like most parents, Dad has a tendency to re-tell stories, unaware I’ve been hearing them since childhood. So I courteously feigned suspense: “What?” But actually I hadn’t heard this one before.
Dad told me about a sub-committee hearing where some Congressmen asked to have “real everyday women” (read: poor people) come to Washington to speak to Congress. Five women from all over the country landed in DC. They looked nice, presumably new dresses and pantsuits to look respectable. They took photos on the steps of the Capitol with their Congressmen and shook hands. They were put up in a nice hotel for the night.
The next morning they went to Congress to share their stories of struggle and survival in middle America. For official purposes there apparently has to be a Congressman to hear the testimony of Congress’ witnesses. And that’s what there was—one Congressman in an empty chamber with five women in their Sunday best. And my dad too.
“How small and meaningless do you think they felt? The looks on their faces when they realized it was all bullshit. No one gave a shit about them or what they had to say.”
I thought that was a fitting story about our government for Thanksgiving. After all, the myth behind that is just a bunch of bullshit too.
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