Someone recently commented on the lack of political discourse in my blog. Their point was not that all blogs had to be political, but that it was odd coming from ME; someone who has a social justice-related job and has been lecturing people for years about American foreign policy and the widening gap between the rich and poor in this country, and the list goes on. And my NASCAR focus made it all the more confusing, they shared.
The fact of the matter is I would rather talk about racing. I don’t know how it happened exactly. I am committed to my job, but I quit showing up to the usual, after-work meetings. I grew tired of hearing the same people beating their chests over the same issues; the same long-hairs with drums at the same peace marches. I got tired of hiding my preference for Wild Turkey over red wine and of apologizing for living in and loving Ohio. My opinions about world issues did not change, but my tolerance for the culture of the Left as I knew it, most certainly did.
NASCAR, a world introduced to me by sister-in-law, was the perfect salve for my disillusionment. It allowed me to explore a part of myself that had lain dormant. Taking in the smell of exhaust at my first race reminded me of the excitement I felt when I was little and my Dad came home from work. He smelled like the gas station, or the big truck in which he hauled water. Learning about the race cars reminded me of all the time I spent with my Grandpa in the barn as he worked on cars and tractors and trucks. I found that I knew the name of engine parts and what they did thanks to his early exposure. And becoming a part of a new community that Woo-Hooed instead of wailing, well, it was right on time.
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Last night I attended a service commemorating the 25th anniversary of the death of the four churchwomen in El Salvador. Two of the women were from Cleveland and so December 2nd is very real for many residents. I did not know the women personally. I was seven when their murders took place and too young to understand the politics of big business, communism, Reagan and hemispheric influence--that ravaged the people of El Salvador and put the women in harm’s way. But I remember the news reports about their deaths. I watched the made-for-TV-movie that came out a couple of years later. I can credit Jean, Ita, Maura, and Dorothy (and Bono I have to confess) for leading me to learn more about the world outside of small-town Ohio and for later visiting El Salvador myself.
As I listened to the keynote speaker talk about the example of their lives and of the challenges facing the social justice movement today I looked around me. I knew many faces and even the strangers felt familiar. As the speaker continued to highlight every horror in the world that wakes me up at night; every issue that makes me worry for the reality my nieces and nephew will face—I began to smile. I was happy. I felt reconnected to another part of myself that has taken the back seat for the last few years.
And the two worlds—the two parts of myself-- are not so far apart. Behind the flag-waving and race-start prayer are working class folks, hard core union men, and old-school populists who believe in taking care of neighbors and community. Behind the indignant veganism and the speeches are people who are sincere and committed to making the world a better place for all of us.
As for me, I will be the redneck at peace events who shouts “Get off the cross” every now and then and reminds fellow activists that diversity should be a reality not a motto; that tolerance and open-mindedness are a two-way street. And I will be that weird chick at races with the hand-woven Guatemalan scarf and the petition to make NASCAR switch to unleaded; use their research on fuel efficiency for the greater good.
Can you see it? Peace-niks and race fans—one, big, happy family celebrating a sport that is always turning to the Left. One can dream…
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