Reaction To President Obama's Tucson Address: Pretty, Empty Words In America. But Whatever Makes You Feel Better.

The events of Saturday - and its aftermath - have weighed heavily upon me.

The American President who used the imagery of bringing a gun to a knife fight had this to say at tonight's memorial service for the fallen in Arizona:

" . . . We may not be able to stop all evil in the world, but I know that how we treat one another, that's entirely up to us. And I believe that for all our imperfections, we are full of decency and goodness, and that the forces that divide us are not as strong as those that unite us.

That’s what I believe, in part because that’s what a child like Christina Taylor Green believed. Imagine, imagine here for a moment, a young girl who was just becoming aware of our democracy; just beginning to understand the obligations of citizenship; just beginning to glimpse that someday she too might play a part in shaping her nation’s future. She had been elected to her student council; she saw public service as something exciting, something hopeful. She was off to meet her congresswoman, someone she was sure was good and important and might be a role model. She saw all this through the eyes of a child, undimmed by the cynicism, vitriol that we adults all too often just take for granted.

I want to live up to her expectations. I want our democracy to be as good as Christina imagined it. I want America to be as good as she imagined it. All of us – we should do everything we can to make sure this country lives up to our children’s expectations."

There were no "shout-outs" this time.  And lots of very pretty words.  It was a carefully-orchestrated show-to-be-sure (and given the circumstances, a little too showy for my taste), but all-in-all not a bad job . . . just as much what the President needed to say as Sarah Palin's message was what she needed to say to a media-out-of-control in our rhetorically-vicious climate.

Here's the thing about Obama's speech.  At the risk of being accused of making this all about me, I used to be Christina.  I used to be that little girl. 

And when I came home to Asheboro . . . to help shape the future . . . after working for YEARS to be the best doctor I could be . . . and meeting ALL of the obligations/responsibilities of citizenship . . . I learned that public service was little more than glorified indentured servitude . . . that our democracy is seeped in corruption . . . that truth is always relative to who you are or who you know . . . that many of my role models and representatives were cowards or frauds or both . . . that our journalists have sold out to the highest bidder . . . and that people were generally NOT decent and full of goodness . . . but instead selfish and greedy and apathetic and often methodically, deliberately cruel.

The good ole' hometown broke my heart.  The government stood by and watched.  Local bloggers-mostly-of-the-blue-hue eventually cheered . . . and one took it way too far.

That's my reality in North Carolina.  Christina-Taylor Green's was to be shot in the chest at the age of nine by an un-diagnosed, un-medicated (probably) paranoid schizophrenic who fell through every hole there was to fall through in Arizona.  No hope and change for her.  But God bless that blow-hard sheriff - who seems to have forgotten that you don't comment on active criminal investigations lest you thwart justice for the victims.

At least that's what "law enforement" (I use the term very loosely) has always told me.

I keep plodding on . . . fulfilling what I believe is my calling to help take care of other women's children.  But I don't believe in the shining-city-on-the-hill anymore.  I want to.  But I don't. 

That realization has only been under-scored by my time in the Greensboro blogosphere.  I came here for help and healing - I've found neither - except for the relief that comes with breaking years of silence & isolation, and unburdening myself of all the hurts.  Indeed, my very presence in this blogosphere - nearly six years after I entered it - stands as local "citizen journalism's" greatest failure . . . living, breathing, "ranting" testimony to the hypocrisy of John Robinson and Roch Smith, Jr. and Edward Cone-of-the-Cone-Healthcare-System-Cones-that-had-to-be-shielded-at-all-costs.

(The Courier's Ray Criscoe is not on the list because I never expected him to be anything more than the useless mill-town erand-boy/lap-dog he is).

[1/15 Addendum:  In a real ?WTH? moment, last night, I found this gem on the subject of perjury from Lex "Just Die Already" Alexander (if he kills the link again - it's all about how horrible perjury is).  Funny how the N&R's former "medical reporter" could NEVER do a story on the Asheboro Pediatrician swindled by perjury.]

The power of the pen in this country is a mighty thing - if they'd have only used it to help right a wrong . . . in short, if they'd done their JOBS in the way I did mine one-night-in-the-middle-of-the-night-going-on-thirteen-years ago.  If I had saved their child, I'd been a "hero".  As it is, I'm something nasty on the bottom of their shoe.

And/so I simply cannot digest Obama's lecture on how we treat one another after the way I've been treated here - by people (mostly of the President's politcal persuasion) professing to be enlightened and socially aware.  All the pretty, noble, forward-looking words just ring empty and hollow. 

A few days ago, I said I was going to concentrate on other things . . . things I've never wanted to do . . . but now feel more compelled-than-ever to do . . . in an effort to make this state/country live up to its promise.

I think now it really is time to step back and work on that.

I'm still waiting for this country to live up to my expectations . . . and to Christina's.  But I labor under none of President Obama's flowery illusions.  The hope train left the station long ago.  Things are not going to magically or miraculously get better using reason or persuasion.  People are not going to do the right thing because it's the right thing.  They are not going to change.  And whatever justice I may eventually extract, I'm going to have to fight for . . . in the very Courts that did me so dirty once - no twice - no three times - before (well, four, actually, if you count being unsuccessfully SLAPP-sued for tellling the government you served the truth).

So tell me again, Mr. President, as you stand above the fray of the supporters & minions who've done your very dirty work for the last five days, that how we treat one another is entirely up to us.  The difference between your pretty words and what I've experienced courtesy of those who spew them most is like the void behind one of the black holes Congresswoman Gifford's husband studies from space.

And I'm still thinking if the beautiful girl had survived that bullet wound to the chest, she would have grown up to be very, very disappointed, indeed.

1/13 Author's Note:  This post has been tweaked this morning after I slept on it.