Needless to say, I changed my facebook political affiliation from moderate to conservative just to spite my Warren Court section.

—TIMOTHY J. McGINN

Disenchanted Days

Go ahead, ridicule me. I’m an eternal optimist, the proverbial Pollyanna. And while the deep pit of my stomach was always worried, I saw no point in being unhappy too soon. You might argue—and many have—that this is no way to approach life. I’m sorry, I can’t help it, it’s the way I function. And maybe that’s why I made my section of the country into a new Eden, combining the down-to-earth values of the middle of the country with the political leanings of the coast. Perhaps it was the sweet immersion of the comforting liberal cocoon at Harvard that did it. Perhaps it was my insatiable pride in the various aspects of my identity. But everything hurts a little worse right now. It’s just become a little bit harder to keep saying “pop” and a little bit sadder to wear my “Everyone loves a Midwestern Girl” T-shirt, because the fantasy in my head has floated away.

I should be able to absolve my state from sin. I mean, I don’t live in Ohio and though Michigan had me scared for a moment on election night, 51 percent did vote for Kerry. In fact, the Midwest acquitted itself fairly well, if you weren’t in Indiana or the aforementioned four-letter state, but I was disappointed. This was my world, my home, it could succeed, it could do better. With admiration, I spoke of my pre-election swing state status, determined that with my coaching it would all work out all right. It was too late to save the backwards states down south or out west, but the Midwest would prove it could make the difference. Even my father, a self-named “independent” but originally Bush backer, was changing his vote—as a veteran he couldn’t stomach what President Bush did with the war in Iraq.

But things weren’t close enough around the country and the details showed trends in my own home state that I just could not handle. Laugh at me, I deserve it. I should’ve remembered that Michigan swings for a reason. I should’ve understood that those vehement letters in my local newspaper against gay marriage weren’t some random crazies, but part of the 59 percent that would vote for an amendment to ban it. I should’ve seen it coming when old friends from high school finally joined thefacebook.com and reminded me that every one of them would be casting a vote for Bush. The voters in Indiana and Ohio wouldn’t realize that we would get hit the hardest, that much of the job loss is from our factories, the outsourcing from our states. All the Battle Creek city positions would go Republican, and my cousin, who served a dedicated term as vice-chair of the county commission would squeak out a 104-vote victory. Never mind that his opponent was a late replacement with little time to campaign while he went to every door in his district, the conservative vote would come out strong.

Perhaps it’s more realistic to live in the divided world, instead of my out-east bubble. After all, it didn’t really hurt my formative years. But I’ve lost hope for rational discussion. I don’t want to debate, I just want to be protected. On this rollercoaster of anger that spirals into depression, there is just too much hate—something that rarely enters my realm—for me to keep on defending. The blame should be less, but my standards are higher and I don’t know how to go back. Someday I’ll recover my will to fight, but for now I’m a Midwestern girl without a home.

—MARGARET M. ROSSMAN