Generation Bereft
The circuitous dysfunction of American politics leaves voters disengaged and disillusioned, with no end in sight.
“You’re the 9/11 generation, because your generation will always remember where you were on September 11th [2001]. It’s the way my generation will always remember where we were when [President] Kennedy was shot,” my English teacher remarked. It was 2004, and Ms. Louis’s class was comprised of children born in the late 1980s. We were the original Millennials, titled as such because we came of age at the dawn of the new Millennium.
There was truth in her statement. Although quite young and now decades onward, I still remember the events of September 11th with alarming clarity. It’s one of the few days of my life that I can recall in precise, two-hour increments. Yet despite this acute recollection, I rejected Ms. Louis’s presumption. I didn’t want to be the generation of the worst attack on American soil since the bombing of Pearl Harbor. I didn’t want to be associated with death, fear, and the heightened security state which ensued soon after.
Coincidentally, as Ms. Louis was making this declaration, the universe was working in my favor. In the summer of 2004, a history-altering event would take place. A young, unknown state senator from Illinois, was vying for national office. He took center stage at the 2004 Democratic National Convention and made a sixteen-minute speech, which catapulted him to superstardom. That November, then-Senators John Kerry and John Edwards lost their bid for our nation’s highest office. But their star speaker, Barack Obama, proved victorious, and began one of the fastest political ascents in American history.
As the 2008 election drew to an end, the emotion was palpable. When the polls closed in California and then-Senator Barack Obama was declared President-Elect, I erupted in tears of joy and pride. Across Los Angeles at my rival university, students jumping in unbridled excitement created a miniature earthquake. My friend and I drove through the streets, screaming and honking to fellow supporters, “YES WE CAN! YES WE DID!” It was euphoric and transformative.
My generation was no longer the generation of September 11th.
We were the generation of hope. The generation of change. The generation that made history.
Eight years later, I once again cried on election night. But in 2016 I cried different tears. Tears of disgust. Tears of anger. Tears of acrimony. Unlike most, I wasn’t surprised at the election results. I understood enough of politics to see the direction the country was headed. But when reality set in, it was no less devastating. When the “hot mess, inside a dumpster fire, inside a trainwreck,” that was the first 2020 Presidential Debate rolled around four years after that, I was depleted.
When the culmination of the 45th President’s lies, disregard for custom and civic responsibility, compounded with white supremacy, caused the first breach of the U.S. Capitol since the War of 1812, I was suspended in disbelief. I will never not be shaken recalling Congressmen whisper in fear of their lives as they huddled under their desks, protecting themselves from “supporters” of their own president.
Today, the original Millennials have not only come of age in 2000 and beyond, we’ve come of age in the War on Terror. The Great Recession, which was an economic depression in all but name only. Soaring education costs. Unprecedented education debt. Lower rates of homeownership. One of the worst presidential administrations in history. A global pandemic which cost the lives of millions–exacerbated by the dereliction of duty by the aforementioned president. Another recession. Copious amounts of gun violence in schools. A stratospheric rise in the cost of living. Stagnated wages. And not least of all, perennial military conflicts with more likely on the horizon.
As we turn to another election year, which is looking to be a rematch of 2020, I wouldn’t be surprised if this was one of the lowest voter turnout in recent history. How many times are we to feign enthusiasm for the same individuals, making the same arguments, giving us the same results?
I think back to those children sitting in school in 2004, in that Presidential election year. I think back to the Iraq War. The swiftboat attacks against John Kerry. The ferocious debates surrounding identifying as a Republican versus Democrat.
I think back to those university students in 2008, who witnessed a meteoric rise to the presidency unlike any other in over one hundred years. The students who patiently watched and participated in a two-year electoral process where both Democrats and Republicans embodied what true democracy should look like. I think about the adults they now are, and all they’ve seen.
Over the years, I’ve identified across the political spectrum. I’ve voted for candidates from every major party in local, state, and national elections. In the United States, unless you’re close friends, it’s still impolite to discuss politics or inquire how people politically identify. Once upon a time, I called myself progressive. Today, myself, and many of my peers, are hopeless. But unlike the Kennedy assassination or a terrorist attack, we cannot collectively pinpoint the exact day that became true.
Jake Tapper also said of the first 2020 Presidential Debate, “we’ll talk about who won the debate, who lost the debate, but I’ll tell you one thing for sure: the American people lost tonight, because that was horrific.”
Today is “Super Tuesday,” something that once had so much meaning. Across the United States, people will be voting in primaries for local elections, the House of Representatives, Senate, and the candidates for the 2024 Presidential Election, exactly nine months from today.
In November, I’ll vote. But I know, irrespective of the outcome, I won’t cry on election night.
I don’t have any tears left.
