November 15, 2010
Mr.
Barack Obama
President
of the United States of America
The
White House
1600
Pennsylvania Avenue NW
Washington,
DC 20500
Dear
Mr. Obama,
According
to a Swiss man in Prague, I, as an American, will never understand what it is
to be European. What is the secret?
I
imagine the following scenario. Perhaps
Europe sees itself as the father of America, and looks upon his arrogant son
with what would be the laughter of a healthy pride, except that his son has
forgotten him and extends his arrogance to him and can no longer be contained
condescendingly in concepts of mere youthful rebellion, as he has in fact
implemented a global revolution. And yet
the father knows his youthful son is still a child, and sees his own youthful
follies in him. The father fears that
the revolution stands on infirm, idealistic grounding, and that it is at this
juncture beyond his son’s control, and then that it is even beyond the father’s
own control on the off chance that his son were to come home for help. There would be nothing he could do. America is a big dog under a chair, hiding. The son drove deep into the eye of the storm
and dragged the whole world with him, but he could not adhere to his idealistic
assertions and therefore was by necessity of survival compelled into betrayal
and now his own children must bear this legacy, and must take the
responsibility of maintaining a firm position in the eye of an erratically
shifting economic and political storm, and, as alluded to, the whole world
hangs in the balance.
So
I presume that, as well, the European can never understand what it is to be
American. The sins of the father visit
the son. Regardless, this is a musing,
poetic and perhaps hyperbolic and melodramatic commentary when this is, in
fact, no time for poetry. Yet bear with
me.
America
is a child in western history, a young adult, who has ventured into foreign
lands and has become homesick and disillusioned in the experience of utter
nihilism. America needs to come home to
regroup, yet it appears that its home has been lost on the sprawling winds of
deeply clutched desires. Then again,
perhaps this feeling of loss is simply a stubborn clutching of pride. Nevertheless, a great sickness of cynicism
overtakes the people, a sickness only capable of being alleviated by
demonstrating to the people that their struggling yet still existent faith in
America has been worthwhile. Sometimes
people having their faith rewarded is more valuable than the objective truth,
which, from a philosophical point of view, we would be wary to place undue
weight upon regardless.
From
my vantage point in the valley, I see the people hopelessly discussing a
politics of which they are painfully, acutely aware they truly have little to
no say in, or, for that matter, understanding of. The perceived knowledge of this ‘objective’ ‘truth’ is morally
debilitating, and suddenly, in a regarded estrangement, the people demand honesty
from politicians. It quite appears to
be a last gasp.
Bob
Dylan once said, “Destiny is a feeling you have that you know something about
yourself nobody else does. The picture
you have in your own mind of what you’re about will come true. It’s a kind of thing you kind of have to
keep to your own self, because it’s a fragile feeling, and you put it out
there, then someone will kill it. It’s
best to keep that all inside.” That is, Mr. Obama, he who has charted his own
blessed path, in the Queen’s English, hypocrisy is freedom of choice, the heart
of American ideology – white lies.
I
would be arrogant to presume any political solutions to America’s predicament
from my position. I watch the sun set
behind the peaks. From your vantage
point, however, where the sun only finally sets beneath the most distant
visible horizons, perhaps these words can find their way home.
Respectfully,
Jason Greendyk
Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com
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