America 101 — Finding my Voice

Coming Home and Learning How to America, Again

It is no surprise to anyone that knows me for more than about 3 minutes that I am 100% and unapologetically liberal and vote Democrat. I was a registered Republican — while living in NYC in 1997/1999 — for about 7 minutes when I believed that the party was more centrist in nature and a Republican local government made sense. Those days have long since passed.

For the record, I have been registered to vote and have voted in every single election (local and national) since I turned 18 in 1988 including all of my years living abroad. I believe in the power and privilege of voting and hope someday that we expand elections to be held over a 3-day weekend giving every single citizen the ability to find time between jobs, public transportation schedules, and child care to enable them to submit a ballot.

I have to admit that one of the reasons I liked living overseas was the ability to disengage from the partisan click bait and nauseating rhetoric from BOTH sides that ultimately meant that very little changed or improved. When you live 10,000 miles away from home, the day-to-day realities are much less tangible and it was a nice distance. Some might call that running away from the issues or not being honest about the problems and that’s fine. I called it self-care.

The 2016 election (and I am not going to delve in policy, etc. here) was a shock to my system and I grew strength from the knowledge that I would not have to live in the daily toxic soup that was American politics. I focused a bit more on my “local” politics and kept my distance because, honestly, the reality of the 2016 election was a bit too much to bear. In 2015 and after 2016, in every single airport, airplane, hotel, shopping mall and office I was in, I was confronted with questions about the election — it was all just a bit too much.

In exchange for being able to live overseas and keep my distance from the putrid situation in America, I chose to surrender my rights to actively protest and/or participate in demonstration in Kenya and Singapore. I held a government issued work permit, and in ALL countries, they are particularly complicated documents to secure and their withdrawal is determined solely by the government. I knew that if I was arrested/detained and linked to demonstrating any number of issues in Kenya, my work permit would likely be immediately revoked and I would be deported. The result would likely be the same for Singapore (although I never saw a single protest in Singapore).

So in exchange for distance from my own country’s political swamp, I agreed to keep quiet about my host-country’s myriad issues. I know others that didn’t shy away from the issues in Kenya and that was their choice. We all navigate this stuff differently in our daily expat lives.

The accord that I made was not easy to accept particularly when living in a country like Kenya where there are active protests about so many critical issues — poverty, police brutality, climate change, etc.

It might even seem cowardice to some reading this that I would “hide” from issues in America living overseas and remain silent about local issues in my host country and maybe you’re right. I have to reconcile those decisions, and so many others, as time moves forward.

But now I’m back in America in the middle of a pandemic and during an era of protest against brutality.

I meditated and prayed in my little flat yesterday for 8.46 minutes and I was forced to confront how tortuously long 8.46 minutes is and how much time passed by for George Floyd who, undoubtedly, understood that he was dying a slow, agonizing death. Stand still for 8.46 minutes and tell me that you’re not moved to tears.

I went to downtown LA yesterday and joined protestors marching along the streets to our final stop in front of City Hall. I took a knee and prayed for Floyd’s family and for America and stood with an incredibly diverse crowd representing all skin colors, all races, religions, sexual identities and who all believe that, yes, Black Lives Matter. The crowd were peaceful, passing out masks, hand sanitizers, bottled water, and masks all for free. They were collecting garbage and leading a voter registration effort. I was equal parts proud of their spirit and grateful that I could be part of it for a while. It felt good to shout and exercise that part of myself that was dormant for so many years.

My voice returned and it is strong and clear.

One of the biggest gifts about being back in America is that I am home and I hold the right to peacefully protest and to express my first amendment right. And yes, of course, I am grateful for the sacrifice that makes it all possible. I’m not foolish.

But I’m also humbled by the sacrifice of every single person out on the streets right now who are pushing back against systemic racism and violence for what I can only hope is the final time before we transform. I hope that Millennials, Gen Z, Gen Alpha will manage to accomplish what my generation, and those before mine, did not.

Today I challenge you to stand still in silence for 8.46 minutes and consider that it could have been you. It could have been a family member slowly dying on the street for 8.46 minutes. And then, when you’re ready, find your voice. It might not be protest. It might be a donation, an op-ed in a local newspaper, a song, poem, or a conversation in the house. Your voice is your own to navigate.

We do not have to agree on politics to agree on human dignity. #BLM #findyourvoice