Bernie Sanders made me cry.
At age 60, I don’t sob often. But there I was, perched on my mission-style rocking chair, misting up like a 5-year-old.
Maybe it was the combination of events. Britons had just decided to leave the European Union. As an Anglophile, I became emotional about that vote. Then Sen. Sanders appeared on CBS This Morning.
I don’t agree with everything Bernie says. Yet, I vastly prefer him over Hillary Clinton. He is honest. He says what he thinks. In fact, the senator from Vermont says things no one else will say.
News anchor extraordinaire Charlie Rose got Bernie to define the positions that the senator wanted Hillary to embrace before he endorses her. They are free public post-secondary education, a $15-an-hour minimum wage, and the right of all Americans to have health insurance.
I wept like a baby.
Why?
For one thing, I don’t think I’ll ever see those ideas materialize. Our lives are going to get worse before they get better. Like Pollyanna, I can usually see the bright side of any situation. Not this time.
Bernie Sanders did better in the primaries than anyone expected him to do, created a buzz around his ideas, and engaged many previously apolitical young people. But he will not be the Democratic nominee. So I cried.
I enjoy voting and was quite irritated when I couldn’t vote in a presidential election until I was 20. I was that excited about becoming part of the process. This year, I’m wringing my hands. And weeping.
There’s no way I can vote for Donald Trump. The question is, can I bring myself to cast my ballot for Hillary Clinton? I think Trump could easily start World War III, while Clinton has already shown herself to be adept at foreign relations. But her private email server setup was simply outrageous. I question her character and her judgment.
I cried for my country. We have an astonishing history, but it hobbles us in some ways. We pride ourselves on our independence above all else and have internalized all the truths and myths of the Wild West.
Sometimes I wonder if it is easier for me, as only a second-generation American, to see the value of semi-socialism. By that I mean the kinds of ideas Sanders proposes — free tuition to public colleges, universal health care, etc. I don’t think we sacrifice any liberty by creating a more compassionate society. The French fought their own revolution and fiercely uphold their credo of “liberté, fraternité, egalité.” They also are guaranteed 30 days of vacation time per year.
I don’t have any gun-slinging cowboys in my family tree, and there seem to be no gun-slinging genes in my DNA. But I accept that our society as a whole has a unique attitude toward guns and violence because of our history. The right to gun ownership is not just established in the Constitution, it is somehow ingrained in our collective consciousness, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
Still, this makes it hard for many of us to see that banning the private ownership of assault rifles is common sense, not an erosion of our rights. I don’t advocate limitations on regular, garden-variety rifles, shotguns and pistols. But I agree with Sanders that we don’t need the kinds of weapons used in Orlando and Sandy Hook to defend ourselves from whatever we fear, whether it be thieves in the night, civil unrest or a zombie uprising. The Sig Sauer assault rifle Omar Mateen used in the Pulse nightclub enabled him to kill 49 people within minutes. Why do we want these kinds of guns made available for purchase?
Now I’ve gone and said it. I know what kind of reaction to expect. How dare I suggest any infringement of our right to bear arms. But I think it’s a way to make our country safer. Like Sanders, I believe we can be pro-gun and pro-safety.
I cried that day because the stress of living in a violent environment is sometimes too much to handle. Because I am tired of catastrophic news. Because I can’t believe that Donald Trump is the presumptive nominee of the Republican Party. Because the cost of food seems to increase daily, but my paycheck doesn’t. I am middle class and have what is considered excellent health insurance. What about those who aren’t as fortunate?
We had a chance to elect someone who cares about what’s wrong with this picture, but we’re not giving him a chance. I cried at that thought, out of despair and frustration and fear.
Liz Soares welcomes e-mail at lsoares@gwi.net.
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