The Melon’s current discussion topic gives me a chance to write about Wendell Berry, an author I’ve loved for a while. Berry is a prolific non-fiction, short story, novel, and poetry writer, so I’m never sure how to discuss his various themes, but since The Melon wants different perspectives on the family, I’ll discuss Berry’s views, most with which I agree.

Of all the structures in society, the nuclear family is the one to which Berry thinks people owe the most responsibility. By default, average American adults must interact with at least a handful of structures: the government, their workplace, their local community, and their family (to name a few). An individual’s responsibilities to these groups inevitably, at some point, come into conflict with each another. “Fidelity” is the story in which Berry most clearly describes his view on the family as the paramount structure in society. In this story, Danny’s father, an old man named Burley, is in the hospital, in a coma. The hospital staff says he may still be cured, but Danny knows that Burley is old and dying and would want to die on his own land near his family. So Danny steals Burley from the hospital, takes him home, is with him when he dies, then buries him. The state puts a detective on the case who wants to find evidence of the “kidnapping,” so he can prosecute the family for acting against the hospital’s wishes. But Burley’s family and a few of his close friends confront the detective, and their comments make him question the legitimacy of his investigation. These two examples show the two different perspectives:

“And you, [Detective Bode], are here now to tell us that a person who is sick and unconscious, or even a person who is conscious and well, is ultimately a property of the organizations and the state. Aren’t you?”

“It wasn’t authorized. He asked nobody’s permission. He told nobody. He signed no papers. It was a crime. You can’t let people just walk around an do what they want to like that. He didn’t even pay the bill.”

“Some of us think people belong to each other and to God.”

In that scene, Berry poses a dilemma: To whom does an individual ultimately belong? To the government or to the people who love him? The characters who speak for Berry argue the later, although Bode does have a point that a family shouldn’t be able to get away with just anything, just because they’re family.

And later:

“A fellow would need [the hospital’s] permission to get in. If he needs their permission to get out, he’s in jail. Would you grant a proprietary right, or even a guardianship, to a hospital that you would not grant to a man’s own son? I would oppose that, whatever the law said.”

“Well, anyway,” Detective Bode said, “all I know is that the law has been broken, and I am here to serve the law.”

“But, my dear boy, you don’t eat or drink the law, or sit in its shade or warm yourself by it, or wear it, or have your being in it. The law exists only to serve.”

“Serve what?”

“Why, all the many things that are above it. Love.”

Every time I read this passage (I wish I could quote the whole thing), I have an aha moment. The law should not simply legislate indifferently, it should serve. The state deals indirectly, not directly, with eating and drinking and warming and clothing. The government, an abstract entity, should give deference to individuals. (More on that later.) This principle, as most principles, looks different in different situations, but I would rather the state be in allegiance to the family than the family be in allegiance to the state. (As a student of Russia, the Soviet structure comes to mind as a system in which the family had to make allegiance to the state their priority.)

Berry is not an anarchist; he is a tax-paying, voting citizen, active and vocal in his community and the nation, especially in matters of farming and food production (He’s had a large influence on the writer Michael Pollan). But he knows that the other societal structures exist only to serve the family, whereas many live, maybe unconsciously, that the family is secondary to their obligations to other groups in society.

Berry thinks government can hinder or break apart the family; he also thinks higher education can potentially have the same negative impact. When a young person leaves for college, she often breaks apart from her family and community, often never to return. Berry thinks colleges have become isolated centers of learning instead of entities which prepare locals to interact with their community, the initial impetus of many colleges.

In Berry’s novel, Hannah Coulter, an elderly Hannah laments that her two sons and a daughter are spread out across the country, and she attributes their location to her insistence that they pursue higher education. She then compares her and her husband’s attitude toward education to her neighbor family’s attitude:

A curious but often cited economic phenomenon is that among populations with high degrees of home ownership there is concurrently too often a high degree of unemployment and subsequent poverty.  This may seem paradoxical to many Americans who generally view home ownership not only as the ultimate fulfillment of the American dream but also as the bedrock of any sound financial portfolio; but when one considers that, generally speaking, a home ties its owner to his/her neighborhood, it becomes increasingly clear why high degrees of home-ownership often correspond with high degrees of unemployment.

When economic growth slows or declines in a particular region, homeowners are less able to seek employment elsewhere, and must therefore weather the economic changes whilst hoping for the best.  While it is true that outsourcing and the digital economy have already expanded the economic opportunities of both homeowners and renters alike, future developments are unlikely to overturn this historic economic trend.

We must then consider a second related phenomenon: the overwhelming majority of homeowners are families (including heterosexual/homosexual couples and single-parent households).  Historically familial formation was the only way minorities and women could ever even be considered as candidates for home-ownership – and even today it remains difficult for young female professionals to receive home loans without raising questions about whether their father or fiance needs to also sign the relevant paperwork.  Academics may deride this trend, but given the current financial crisis soberer economists would be more likely to consider the hard data.  Home-ownership is ultimately a question of whether the person seeking title to a home can generate the needed income to hold on to it.

This fact reveals yet another nasty truth – though the majority of middle-class western couples have generally married for love since the mid 19th Century – marriage and family itself remains fundamentally a contractual business arrangement.   Though we don’t like to say so openly and many of us may not even be conscious of this fact, it is our truth nonetheless as recent battles like Prop 8 in California can attest.  To make matters worse – (for single homeowners and unmarried couples alike) – the government actively promotes the practice of treating families like corporations by giving tax breaks to married couples and especially married couples with children (who, not surprisingly, are also the greatest consumers of our public resources – namely via the public school system).  In this, the government’s policies are no different than awarding tax breaks to the corporations which consume the greatest measure of what our society has to offer; and effectively send the message to citizens that the institution of marriage and family itself is somehow immobile and inflexible.   The truth, however, is anything but.

Initially families were probably formed less along blood lines in any literal sense but rather among individuals with a common set of beliefs and priorities and more urgently for common defense.  Home-ownership was probably the least of our ancestors’ concerns as they were most likely nomadic and cared more about about their territory than their tipi.  Eventually, most of our ancestors embraced the agricultural revolution and became sedentary beings.  It was then that we developed the concept of inheritance and consequently notions of marriage which, overtime, evolved into the institution we have today.  The primary reason for this was because without marriage, every child thought to be born to a particular father (or mother – in a few notable cultures) was entitled to either a share or, in primogenitor societies, all of the inheritance.  It was therefore necessary to exclude certain members of society who, though genetically family members, were not contractually so and as a result we have notions of out of wedlock conception today which are irrationally antiquated.  In many respects divorce is also a legacy of the contractual base which is the institution of marriage and the messy expensive process it entails suggests that perhaps it too is in some ways antiquated (or, at the very least, in serious need of reform).  Eventually notions of family and business became so entwined that children and wives effectively became the property of husbands, leading to polygamy in some societies and slavery in others.  Luckily, familial reform took shape and a more equitable balance of power-sharing and, dare I say, government regulation via child services and various legal mechanism, resulted in the more humane institution in place today.  But these facts should never be used to argue that the system we have in place today is by any means complete.

Being social creatures, humans will always need a social structure resembling that of family.  But for us to design an entire society around that social institution without leaving it room to evolve is a dangerous idea with potentially devastating economic ramifications (some of which we may already be witnessing in, for example, the current housing crisis).

The great question our generation will have to answer is whether family is the basis of society or whether it is, in fact, the other way around.

Before I tackle a discussion of human families, I’d like to take some time and examine what goes on in primate societies. Yes, people can’t realistically be compared to animals because of our specialized economies, spirituality, mobility, blah blah blah, but stick with me here.

Chimpanzees, genetically our closest relatives along with bonobos (we share about 98% of our genes with both of them), live in large communities made up primarily of females and their offspring, with a smaller number of males who are often related. The females co-exist within matrilines – that is, groups of closely related females – of which there are several within any given community. There are semi-separate hierarchical rankings for males and females. Both may use physical dominance and bullying to get their way, whether that is to gain access to some tasty fruit, have control over the behavior of another chimpanzee, or to get preferred sleeping spots. However, females also have the legacy of their mothers to draw upon. The matrilines are not equal, but rather each female has both her individual status and the status of her lineage. High-status matrilines have distinct advantages. A female need not constantly reinforce her place in the hierarchy with violence (though she may have to remind others of their places) with every interaction. Rather, simply being the daughter or niece of the highest ranking female allows her to take what she likes from other females, and sometimes from males as well. She will also have more and healthier offspring than her low-status counterparts, and her daughters will hold her position in society when she is old and feeling a little creaky. The daughters of low-status females, however, will be forced to disperse, to find another chimpanzee society that will take them out of charity. These daughters don’t have much chance of increasing their status; after the first few weeks of intensive grooming and shows of dominance, she will still probably end up at the bottom of the pile.

A chimpanzee female’s relatives are her best allies. She can count on her aunts, cousins, sisters, nieces, daughters, and granddaughters, and of course her mother and grandmother, to support her in any conflicts she may get in. Moreover, these relatives are the most likely ones to help her feed her own babies, to groom her, and to babysit. Of course female chimpanzees make friends outside of their families, but these friendships are just not as good. If given a choice between helping a sister and helping a friend, a chimpanzee will always help her sister, and the friend knows it. However, she may not help her cousin or her aunt quite so readily – sometimes they just don’t get along. A chimpanzee is stuck with her relatives and their bad habits and their abrasive personalities. The relatives may grudgingly intercede if, say, a male is harassing her especially harshly, but they may not stick their necks out as much as she would like. Still, a female without family is a female alone, and unless there’s a revolution (more on that later) she is doomed to the situation of the lower class -  eating the scraps of the high-class, blessed with fewer and sicker children and at the mercy of whichever males take an interest in her.

There is one exception to the relative rule, in which female solidarity outweighs all status considerations – when males attack infants. Any nearby female is apt to come to the rescue. Usually a stranger is responsible, since males within the society mate with all females anyway, and the females would drive out a murdering male. Infanticide by males is a fear that all females share and will probably have to endure, and that like no other thing unites them as a sex. All females are always subordinate to all males.

Primate sexual behavior is really complex and fascinating, but the basic idea for all primates that kill infants is this: males have limited opportunities to reproduce and ensure his offspring’s survival, since females may not be ovulating when he is in power. Being in power, in the chimpanzee sense, is being in the same space as foreign females. Males have the opportunity to mate with all the females they live with, so only strange females are at risk of infanticide attacks. Since females nurse for several years, the best way to get one to ovulate (and be impregnated) sooner is to kill her baby and then be around to mate with her when she ovulates again. But this is a touchy business, requiring time for her to begin ovulating, firstly, and secondly it requires control of her sexual partners. If a male can kill a female’s infant and then ensure a relative monopoly over her sexual experiences, then he is likely to “win.” But if she can wander away and mate with other males when he’s not looking, then he has a greater chance of “losing.” And since females feed themselves and spend time away from other individuals while they do this, male chimps cannot be said to really control female reproductive choices. They can only influence those choices.

Males, speaking of which, are not so tyrannical as the above descriptions make them seem, though their constant threat against females is something to meticulously guard against. They make alliances with other males in hunting and in war, and status during those crucial times depends upon skill. Males establish their hierarchy almost exclusively through force – out and out fights, bullying, and so forth. As such, their status is unstable, especially when compared to species like gorillas, whose alpha males rarely leave power (that is, his harem) before death.

But of course males need not rely solely on that. Like females, they make friends with other males, especially their brothers, and will support each other in acts of defense and aggression. And they also make friends with females. If a male catches the fancy of a high-status female, she may bring him up in the world, if she can escape attacks from high-status males who wonder what she sees in that shrimp. (Answer: he’s probably really good at grooming, babysitting, and being aggressive on her behalf.) If the terms of the friendship are not fulfilled, however, resentment can poison the relationship and–voila!–a male sees himself without the support of a female and all her relatives. But if he’s the kind of chimpanzee who makes friends, he probably won’t mess it up. A male who makes friends of both sexes gains his status by goodwill and not by might, for his status is a proxy of his friends’. Still, these friendships are fragile, and chimpanzees tend not to maintain strong relationships over the long term with non-relatives.

Males, though, have little ability to change the social order of a group; they are always at risk of usurpation by younger males, raids by neighbors, and they remain unable to dictate terms to females (primarily because they cannot control female food supply, and therefore her behavior). Yet this depends upon local culture as well. Chimpanzees on the savannas of eastern Africa are more brutal, prone to war, infanticide, and male dominance of females than the chimpanzees of the Tai forest in the Ivory Coast. Tai chimps are more egalitarian and cooperative, use more and more complicated tools, and are more advanced – that is, more human – than their relatives on the savanna. Which messes up the idea that we humans evolved when we exited the forest for the grasslands.

Bonobos are fabulously different. Adolescent bonobo females are the ones who plunge into the great unknown. As chimps must do, they must prove themselves worthy of inclusion in a group of strangers. The young females must demonstrate cooperative personal traits, a willingness to please others, and generally show that they will be valuable assets to the community. In short, they must make friends. And they do this by giving everybody orgasms.

Bonobos remain one of the world’s most promiscuous species. They use all kinds of sex (oral, anal, gay, straight, orgiastic, masturbatory, exhibitionist, sex with minors, frottage, etc.) to maintain social bonds within the group. Most other species use other strategies. Cottontop tamarins, whose adolescent females disperse like bonobo females, primarily show their mettle by meticulous babysitting. Chimpanzees groom and pet each other to show affection to friends. But the destiny of the bonobo society is not determined by a core group of matrilines competing for privilege. Rather each individual group is held together by bonds of mutual affection and obligation. Any individual who proves herself (or himself) to be unpleasant or unwilling to contribute to the group will be kicked out. Chimpanzees may hate their relatives and get more enmity from the relationship than good, but this is never true with bonobos.

A young female bonobo, during her petition to join a community, will focus her initial attention on the females. When her position is more established she will turn more to the males, though sex with her female friends remains a large part of her life. For example, if a group is sitting around a watering hole and a young female wants a drink, she will have sex with every individual around it before slaking her thirst. Sex is also used as an alternative to other aggressive behaviors in stressful or new situations or in socially awkward situations (say, in the case of young bonobos learning new social skills).

What is remarkable about bonobo society, though, is its utter pacifism. Bonobos have a level of egalitarianism that the chimpanzees of the Tai forest do not come close to matching. Rather than having semi-separate social groups based on sex, high status bonobo males will often be the children of high status females, and they will interact closely with their mothers long after adulthood. Chimpanzees go to (cannibalistic, raping, baby-killing) war with neighboring chimps; bonobos peaceably mingle. There has never been a reported case in the wild or captivity of male bonobos killing infants. Females still are the primary caretakers of their children, but they are much more willing than chimpanzee mothers to let bonobo males take over for a little while. Females take precedence at feeding sites, which is unusual for nonmonogamous species. (Monogamous males such as gibbons will often cede the right to eat first, which makes more sense since the health of a female mate is directly tied to the male’s reproductive success.) There has never been a reported case of bonobo rape, and should a male press his suit too harshly every other female (and even nearby males) will attack him.

Let us regard bonobos and chimpanzees not as different species, but as two different kinds of cultures. What would “family” mean for each of these cultures?

Since the world is harsh and other primates only looking out for their own, families are the individuals in one’s group who look out for each other. They protect each other from harm, trade favors, and enjoy spending time near each other. Chimpanzee families are clear: for females, families are female relatives and possibly friends. For males, families are brothers and other males close in status. Families exist as smaller, semi-supportive units within a larger culture that contains hostile social elements. Families protect against those elements.

But for bonobos the question is almost nonsensical. Yes, bonobos within a group prefer some individuals over others, and they may particularly prefer blood relations. There are quarrels and disagreements within the culture. But bonobos will defend any member of their group, will trade favors with anyone, and like pretty much anybody. “Family,” then, is a superfluous concept in bonobo culture.

I do not mean to imply that everybody should be more like bonobos or that chimpanzee culture is a bad one. And, as I mentioned before, human cultures cannot and should not be compared to primate cultures. We differ too much. But it is interesting to note that bonobo culture, which is supportive (for whatever reason), does not need the family structure to support individuals. Chimpanzees must protect themselves not only from the world itself, but from others around them. It so happened that semi-segregated societies based on sex worked for chimpanzee survival, even if it didn’t work out as well for chimpanzee egalitarianism. Thus, hierarchical chimps need the family institution.

Finally and for no particular reason, here are some chimpanzee siblings.

When you take a new job, and your boss introduces you to the company with a phrase like “We try to promote a family-like atmosphere here at Halliburton,” what is your initial thought?  For you, how is a family member acquired through marriage different from a member joined through birth?  To what degree do you communicate with your extended family?  Have you ever been to a family reunion?  Does a single-family household constitute a “family”?  Is an unwed couple cohabitating together whilst sharing the same cell-phone minutes through Verizon’s “family plan” a family?  Is a married gay couple with an adopted daughter a family? Can a group of friends living together call themselves a family?  The Cosbys were a family, but what about the cast of Friends?

The root of the word family is “familia” which implies “household” – thereby suggesting that a family requires a singular roof.  In ancient times this meant that anyone living under said roof was – legally if not literally – part of the family.  These included paid laborers, servants and slaves.  Such concepts of “family” persevered through the ages and across oceans.  Even after the American Revolution, great minds like Thomas Jefferson often referred to their slaves as their “children.” (Though in Jefferson’s case, this was sometimes literally true.)  One can only wonder if there remain any today who consider the family gardner, maid, nanny, chef etc. part of the family.

What about pets?  Are they family possessions or ultimately members in there own right?  What is the role of children in the making and sustaining of a family?  What about last names, the institution of marriage and the process of divorce?

Finally, are families good things, are they necessary, are they economically beneficial or destructive and will the concept of “family” be strengthened or dissolved by technological advances in this century?

These are only some of the many questions our writers will see to answer in our newest series, “Focus on the Family.”

My political and moral compass is, truth be told, somewhat cliche. Though I regularly attend a Quaker meeting, I consider myself to be the religious equivalent of an independent voter. Yet my moral compass and views about the world clearly have a strong basis in Christianity. Often times when people hear the words “Christian values,” they think of the issues traditionally associated with fundamentalists like abortion and same-sex marriage. However, there’s another set of values that is, I would argue, a better match to the lessons of the Bible: the Social Gospel. The Social Gospel movement focuses on Jesus’ teachings and actions helping the poor and the needy. It’s primary goals are ending poverty and hunger while providing services such as healthcare, daycare, and education for the lower class. To apply a label that some may be more familiar with, the Social Gospel is about social justice. The Social Gospel was alive and strong a few decades ago with notable leaders like Martin Luther King eloquently explaining its virtues. Since then, though, it has mostly been on the decline, but the last few years have seen the beginnings of a resurgence.

I don’t want to imply that my dad didn’t have a huge influence on the person I am today, but I think my mother and her side of the family, especially her mother, had the biggest impact on my values. My mom’s family are very active members of the United Methodist Church in Oklahoma. Her family has a long tradition of standing up for social justice and instilling those values in their children. One of the stories still told is how my great grandfather was the only white man in his small, pre-Depression Oklahoma town who refused to join the KKK. My grandmother spent her life working in her community to end poverty, hunger, and homelessness. She also worked with inmates at the local prison, helping to rehabilitate them and start them on the path to successfully rejoin society. These are just a few of the stories and people that made a big impression on me growing up.

As I mentioned, I don’t consider myself a Christian and I don’t believe that Jesus was any more the son of God than any other human being is. So my beliefs do not come from religious conviction; rather they come from the values instilled in me from a young age about how important it is for our society to be fair and just. Again, these beliefs clearly come from a religious source, but for me it is simply evident that we are all worse off when people our brothers and sisters don’t have enough money for food and are forced to live on the streets. It’s equally clear that we should all be ashamed when someone dies from a preventable illness because they didn’t have health insurance. Simply put, we are our brother’s keeper. We all have a responsibility to help everyone else, especially those in need. We must love each other unconditionally and as we wish to be loved, lending a helping hand to our fellow human beings when they fall.

The other part of my values is that belief is not enough and that action is required. This is tradition that is strong in the Social Gospel movement and is seen in many religions, including Quakers. Just believing that we should live in a just and equal society is not sufficient. Talking with others and sharing your convictions is a good start, but even that is not enough. Indeed, it is necessary to go out into your community and live your principles, helping to feed the hungry, find homes for the homeless, and eradicate poverty. There are many ways to do this, everything from volunteering in a soup kitchen to working to elect people who share these beliefs.

Not surprisingly, both my parents and most of my family on both sides are Democrats. I definitely identify myself as a Democrat, but I would say that the best categorization of my views is to say that I’m a progressive. I usually vote straight-party Democrats, but not because I blindly believe they are always correct, in fact I think they’re often wrong. However, historically and currently they are the party that most closely matches my progressive principles. They believe in worker’s rights and a more even distribution of wealth. They believe in providing social programs that help the needy by providing them with food and shelter. They believe that good health is a basic human right and that everyone should have access to a great education. That’s why they’ve won this progressive’s heart and mind and why I volunteer for them on a regular basis. I believe they will be the ones to accomplish the things I’ve laid out above and I believe that it is incumbent upon me and everyone else to work for the change they want to see in the world.

Thanks to all the Melonites who submitted pieces about personal political histories.  Another successful contributor series in the bag.

Here’s the recap:

My Progressive Principles by Walker Lindley

Permanent Link to Nurtured into Independence: An American Woman on Family and Politics by Glynnis Kirchmeier

So Whose Fault is it? by Chris Van Vechten

Conspiracy by Jen Drake

Learning Politics by Brandon Leuken

Politics: My Father and Myself by Matt Stevens

My family has a strong history of being involved in politics. My late grandfather was a journalist and wrote a series of newspaper articles with an obvious political agenda, like the need for conservation. For several years my grandmother worked for the Democratic Party at the North Dakota legislature, and since starting her own small business has drafted bills affecting her company and convinced legislators to pass them. I remember listening, wide-eyed and admiring, to her revel in a particularly sweet victory. She had swung a close vote in the House to her favor by going to the restaurant where the majority party (Republicans) met after-hours and forced them to talk to her about her bill before they could use the restrooms. It was particularly sweet because in passing her bill, she had thwarted a political nemesis as well. I remember talking to my father during the Dole/Clinton election and urging him to vote for Clinton, probably because my mother had off and on expressed disdain for Republicans. He listened to me, but refused to tell me who he voted for on principle, which was my first introduction to the importance of voter confidentiality. (I remember thinking, “What, he won’t tell me? I can’t do anything illegal with that information – I’m eight.”) When I was a bit older my mother would take me to political movies and rallies, like a gun-control rally at the Capitol.

Until I sat down to write this, I did not realize how much politics was a part of my childhood. I am sure my parents, especially my mother, had talks with me about politics, though I cannot remember particular conversations that created my liberal bias. Certainly I am liberal because my mother is. I think my father felt that political choices should be discussed as my sister and I grew older. It always seemed natural to think “liberal” things throughout my growing up, so my mother’s influence was probably conveyed to me not through any one conversation, but through many small comments.

My mother has a somewhat traditional take on politics: she is defined by a Democratic lean, though it is possible that a Republican could sway her if the conservatives made a strong case. As far as I can tell, she has a respect for other, non-Democratic liberals (much less so for conservatives, whom she rightly regards as supporting policies opposite to her values), but she doesn’t seem to be swayed into voting for third parties. She tends to trust that an idea in the Democratic platform will be sound, while Republicans have to prove that their ideas are better. My mother taught me that, above all, politics matters because the government acts out the social values of its members. She is the reason I tend to heavily weigh social issues over economic ones.

My father is a moderate now, but to define his political stance in the past is difficult, as he is somewhat of a moving target. Based upon the comments that both my parents made about him in the past, he was certainly more conservative when he was younger, and less thoughtful than he is now. As I have grown up and become more of his intellectual equal, he has delighted in talking to me about political issues. It seems that our conversations were/are partly a way to teach me about persuasive argument and critical thinking, and partly a way to supplement his ideas with my unique perspective. These conversations were crucial to the development of my thoughts on political debate: I see opposition for opposition’s sake as exhausting and counter-productive. My father taught me to seek understanding and respectful discourse even on passionate issues – which is partly why I am so taken aback when people show a willingness to close their ears and assume the worst about their opponents.

My stepmother and I have never discussed politics. Perhaps this is because throughout my childhood she had to walk the line between parental authority and domestic harmony, and because she knew that to argue with my mother’s opinions via me was a bad plan. My father reports that she is conservative, particularly Republican, but I do not know what that means for her.

Despite all this, I still see myself as a rather independent political being. I cannot explain my political opinions at all in the context of my parents. Take my feminism: like my liberalism, I cannot remember a time before I thought about gender roles and the fact that women clearly seemed to have a disadvantage. I am without a doubt the most radical member of my family on women’s rights, nearly entirely due to my own initiative. Certainly my mother has had feminist values most of her life; part of the reason my parents divorced was a fundamental disagreement about the gender roles and functions each of them played in the household. (This is not to imply that my father does not support a woman’s right to work and so forth, but I think that he is one of those folks who did not realize the extent of the limitations on women until he watched his daughters grow.) But I have since moved far beyond both my parents in the level of exploration and critical consideration of feminist thought.

Another characteristic of mine that seems to be fully self-formed is my commitment to civic engagement. My parents may have planted to seeds of it – voting is good, helping others is good – but I do not recall them discussing, say, the value of volunteering with me before I started doing it. One of the earliest things I did was to volunteer at a nursing home once a week, playing BINGO with the residents. While my parents lavished praise on me and made it clear how much they admired me for doing so, I don’t recall them suggesting that I start it. The impression that my ideas about how to be a good citizen are mine alone is reinforced by looking at my sister, who volunteers, but not at the level that I do. Based on her behavior, she seems to see community involvement as less inherently fun and worthwhile than I do. However, I cannot say what her opinions are on civic engagement, since that’s not something we often talk about.

So how much am I politically like my parents?

The best way to answer that is not by parsing out all the differences and similarities on issues (which I chalk up to personal style more than anything) but in the general ways I think. I have a bias toward liberals, like my mother, but before I vote I carefully consider how well each candidate represents me, as my moderate father would. Like my mother, I think certain issues like education reform and healthcare are incredibly important. But like my father, I think that considering what the role of government should be according to the Constitution is important as well. I think I’ve taken that a step farther, though, by also deeply caring about transparency; rather than the government watchdogs that declare everything is all right if taxes are low and government small, what is most important to me is the quality of the government, not the extent of its activities. Still, that we could agree on the same methods but have different policy stances indicates that there is a large degree of my own personality behind my political choices. And that independence, too, seems like something my parents have given me.

WHY I VOTE.

Voting.  We’re taught to view it as our civic duty, one of only three remaining “sacrifices” this country actually asks of its citizens (the first of the other two being to pay your taxes, which – I’m ashamed to say – a sizable percentage of this country cheats, and the second being to register for the selective service upon reaching age 18 – a sacrifice from which an entire sex is exempt.) So given how little modern American actually asks of us, it’s not surprising that the majority of us view voting as something like a chore.  In many ways I’m no different.  From age five onward, I was reminded every November that voting is just one of those things responsible people do; like saving 10% of every paycheck or never having sex without a condom.

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Ross Perot, the 68^th richest man in America, was duking it out with Clinton and Bush on TV in 1992, and ten year old me sat close to the TV monitor, watching carefully. Six hours away in St. Louis, the debate unfolded, with Perot airing a long dirty list of domestic gripes: the deficit, the economy, jobs, trade, and education reform.

My parents audibly gasped when it became Perot’s time to answer the Moderator’s question: “How do you respond to the President on the question of experience? He says that is what distinguishes him from the other two of you.” Perot responded:

Well, they’ve got a point. I don’t have any experience in running up a $4 trillion debt. (Laughter) I don’t have any experience in gridlock government where nobody takes responsibility for anything and everybody blames everybody else. I don’t have any experience in creating the worst public school system in the industrialized world, but I do have a lot of experience in getting things done. So, if we’re at a point in history where we want to stop talking about it and do it, I’ve got a lot of experience in figuring out how to solve problems, making the solutions work, and then moving on to the next one. I’ve got a lot of experience in not taking 10 years to solve a 10-minute problem. So, if it’s time for action, I think I have experience that counts. If there’s more time for gridlock and talk and finger pointing, I’m the wrong man (YouTube of the debate)

Perot’s answer, in my opinion, won him the debate. Sitting there with my parents, I felt proud to be an American. When it came time to vote, my parents drove the three miles to town to cast their votes: my Dad was a die-hard business Republican. My mom, an independent, was forced to register as a Republican in order to vote in our county. They both voted for Perot.

My Dad recently told me there are two divisions of Republicans: the crazy Religious Right, and then the Business Republicans. While he is a devoted and devout Christian, he refuses to vote on single moral issues, such as gays and lesbians or abortion. My family’s roots spawn from a church that started in 1800s America.  It has since then grown into a mega force for religious liberty throughout the nation, pushing that while they may disagree on religious grounds with many groups, they stand for freedom and equality (mainly because they are afraid of having their own freedoms taken away in a similar fashion.) So, most Seventh-Day Adventists are Business Republicans, not Religious Republicans.

Business Republicans stand for small businesses, throwing out invasive big government, tearing down regulations, fiscal responsibility, and instituting free trade and free market institutions. My Dad, however, was highly against Clinton’s NAFTA, and his utter dislike of Clinton persisted until he felt justified in his dislike with the Lewinsky scandal. When I asked him why he also hated Hillary “The Snake” Clinton, he never gave a clear cut answer, just going back to how much he disliked Billary’s 8-year term, and still feeling the prick of Perot losing the election.

The month of August 1992 horrified my family and I, when breaking news recorded the events of Ruby Ridge. Randy Weaver and his family were surrounded by federal agents for 12 days, in which his son and wife died. I sat, glued to ABC News during the ordeal, and afterward our community at large was horrified and angry at the government for such a violent exploitation of civil rights. Later, Weaver was acquitted of all charges except missing a court date and violating his bail conditions; he and his daughters won a lawsuit against the government where Randy received $100,000 for his “troubles,” while his daughters both received $1,000,000.

1993 became a pivotal moment for my family’s political culture, with the storming and burning of the Branch Dividian compound in Waco, Texas. David Koresh, a former member of the Seventh-Day Adventist Church who had long left the folds, died April 19, 1993 when the compound burned to the ground. I was helping an elderly friend fold and stuff leaflets as I watched the flames lick the sky and consume everything, wondering what in the world had gone wrong with our country when the ATF and FBI could dare do such a thing without proper due process of law, no matter how fanatical a sect might be.

After these two events occurred, it convinced my family that religious prophecy was about to be fulfilled, and the end of the world was gearing to occur. The culture in the South is more conducive to such beliefs, as conspiracy theories float around and the soon coming of Jesus is emphasized; and someone always knows someone who knows someone in some militia somewhere in the area. A neighbor told my Dad to teach me how to shoot to kill. Another Baptist neighbor told us about hearing new torture methods intended to use on Americans. Another Methodist neighbor told us he had his pack ready to run in case a Ruby Ridge happened to him. It scared us—all of us, to be surrounded by people who believed this. If it could happen in Idaho, my birthplace, then surely it could happen in Oklahoma. The Sheriff, a friend of my Dad’s, said the FBI was poking around our place, wondering what was in our barn (Emu incubators.) This scared us even more. Suddenly, we’d have low-flying black helicopters swooping over our barn at 1 or 2 in the morning.

I’ll never know what those occurrences were truly all about, but these events scared 12-year-old me. Randy Weaver’s son was about my age, and thinking about him being shot at from all sides made me cry. My parents voted for Bob Dole and Jack Kemp in 1996, but were soundly defeated by Clinton again. The fear grew. Rumors and whispers abounded in the area, such as some locals growing up with Clinton and saying he was a perpetual liar, you couldn’t trust him, or that martial law was being set up behind our backs. I watched and I listened and I was confused.

April 19, 1995 shook us yet again when breaking news told of the Oklahoma City Bombing, occurring just 3.5 hours away from where I lived. There were reports on the news that two bombs had gone off; later, the story changed to one. Some citizens came forward, saying they had been warned not to go to work that day. Rumors spread, and church people all over the area, Baptist, Presbyterian, Methodist, and the like all felt the need to pray, pray that the government wouldn’t come and get them next.

My parents breathed the conspiracy theories, taking it in like unseen smoke that propelled them into religious fervor, along with many other communities in the Bible Belt of America. It wasn’t until I left for California that I moved out of the conspiracy circles and away from the paralyzing fear that haunted us all.

In a odd twist of fate, it was yet another form of conspiracy, except this one based more on fact, that spurred me into political action. In 2004, I watched Fahrenheit 9/11 on the big screen, and as the tears rolled down my cheeks in sadness and anger, I walked out of there a die-hard Democrat, ready to throw out Bush and vote anyone else in. That “anyone BUT Bush” turned out to be lousy Kerry; while I was sad Bush was re-elected, I was also relieved that I didn’t have to take responsibility for electing Kerry into office.

Now, I feel confused, sad and hopeless at the situation our country faces. My parents keep emailing me conspiracy theories, and usually after glancing at the title, I delete them. My mom keeps begging me to move out into the country in case the world does blow up (Waco and Ruby Ridge both happened in the country, I remind her), and I keep arguing with her to think about the fear statements she makes that are based off of Bush’s Code Orange, Code Red, and Code Rainbow to cow people into submission. Somewhere in the depths I still believe in hope, along with my parents, but it is just a shred of hope, that America can change—NOT go back to life as normal, but actually change into something better.

The economic outlook is bleak despite the largest rise in the stock market yesterday, but we are still told by financial analysts to expect worse. I am not so militant that I claim one party over the other these days, but I am definitely not of Bush’s ideals, nor have I ever been. I was just shy of my 18^th birthday when Al Gore lost in 2000, and while family members celebrated W’s first victory, I sat silently, wondering what would happen next. I have worked on both sides of the political aisle, and I have taken the political tests that show me slightly on the liberal side of moderate. On my ballot I voted for both sides, and yet somehow I have this nagging fear that it won’t matter, since nothing much will change.

My political depression is definitely aligned with that of my parents and much of America, but I am still in the game, still connecting the line on my ballot, still hoping Obama’s promised change actually materializes.

So how am I like or not like my parents politically? I never was a Ron Paul supporter as they have been; I didn’t fall in love with Palin as my Dad did; we both get a kick out of Kucinich; I do share their same bleak outlook although I don’t think it is the dawn of the end like they do. I refuse to let the past democratic abuses by our government scare me.  Yet, at the end of the day, I want what they want. Peace. Stability. A house paid off. A degree that gets me a decent job. Good will established with our global neighbors. The war in Iraq to end. We may be voting opposite party tickets this campaign season, but we both truly hope that our candidates will bring the change that they promise to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW and the rest of America, and that there will be no more War on Terrorism, no more Ruby Ridges, no more OKC and NYC terrorist acts, no more anthrax and other chemical scares, and no more financial meltdowns, but rather peace.

Tranquility.

I don’t think of myself as a political person. I know political people – they work in Washington DC, and love to govern. They have been career student government representatives, they believe in the system. My friend Sam is political. He loves arguing, hob-nobbing, and legislating. He’s a rare creature that despite some close calls, has always managed to be a part of the political sphere.

I’m more of an idealist. The government takes taxes and turns them in to opportunities and services for the whole country. I accept this fact and move on. I have given much consideration to hot button issues like abortion, gay rights, our foreign policy, and our defense spending. When the time comes, I will vote upon these policies because I have been researching them, and been considering my options. I am an informed voter, or at least I like to think so. But am I a political person? I don’t believe myself to be.

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