Day 365- The last letter

Dear Mr. President,

After 365 letters I suppose I should be running out of things to say. Is a year enough distance to gain any perspective on all that has changed and all that still waits to? Tonight I hoped to make sense of it all; the personal and the political, the minutiae, the mundane, the profound, all of the things I've written about this year. As I look back through this year of letters, of one-sided conversations about issues and actions that defined 2010, I don't have any clue what it all means. I am still tired, still frustrated, still impatient with the progress we've made and the way you govern. But I'm still more like the girl I was in November 2008- stone sober and still too drunk off of election night euphoria- than I ever thought I could be. For all of the disappointments and frustration I have been so proud this year to call you my President. I don't imagine your job is easy, nor do I think I could do it better myself. I am often wrong. I am often too emotional. I use far too many commas.

For all of my shortcomings, I am still a voter and still a citizen and still, I believe, entitled to tell you what I think. Personally, I feel that the great tragedy of the disconnect between the people and our government in this country is not the disparity of money or even power but the way we converse. You do not speak or listen to people like me. When you do talk to me it is in form letters and speeches and talking points- language so polished as to be devoid of any real meaning. We do not have frank conversations. We do not hear one another. I listen to your Sunday addresses, your press conferences and your speeches and all I can say I know for sure is what you want me to think or feel, not what you actually think or feel. Perhaps the most important domestic issue is what you called the deficit of trust. This year has shown me, more clearly than I ever might have seen otherwise, how little trust our government has in the people or we have in it and how damaging this deficit is to all involved.

Deep down I still think that you are well-intentioned. If your caution and moderation do not always sit well with my hot head or bleeding heart, I can accept that you at least believe you are doing the right thing. That is what prompted me to vote for you, to phone bank for you, to write you 365 letters and to hope that I might cast my ballot in 2012 for you, again. Beyond your good intentions, I believe that you are capable of great things, that, should you overcome your fear and find the courage to make really the necessary, difficult decisions that will save this country from some of our worst tendencies, you will be re-elected and likely remembered well. I would not say that I'm a person with any tremendous amount of faith in anything, but I do have faith in you. 2010 didn't change that, and I hope to say the same about 2011.

Happy New Year, Mr. President. Good Luck.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey


To all of my awesome readers:

Thank you so much for all of your support this year. I will have a much more articulate and coherent reflective piece in the coming days, as well as some suggestions for reading, a bonus letter to President Obama from a guest blogger and information about the Espresso book I'll be making. I hope you all have a fun and safe New Year's Eve! See you in 2011!

Day 364- The things you miss from the motorcade

Dear Mr. President,

Tonight when I got on the bus to go home the driver saw the book in my hand and said "The two highest compliments I get from any one who rides my bus is falling asleep and reading." He said he'd try to drive smoothly so I'd have an easier time with it. I've never seen this bus driver before (or, maybe I have and, like so many bus riders let my eyes slide past him without committing anything to memory) so I don't know if he enjoys his job or hates it, if he's gay or straight, republican, democrat or anarchist. The only thing I know about him is that he is kind and approves of my two favorite activities (sleeping and reading) and seemed to approve of me, as well. This remark buoyed my work-weary and cold little spirit, a small kindness that made my whole night a little brighter.

Lately my friend's trip home for the holidays has made me the temporary owner of a car. The freedom that comes with this is incredible; I can drive where I want to go without concern for route or schedules or fare or transfers, I can play music and sing (badly) as loud as I like, I can transport really amazing amounts of groceries. But I usually wind up angry at the rest of the drivers on the road, drivers who go too slowly or break rules or don't use turn signals. While riding King County Metro doesn't always give me hope for humanity- smelly drunks, screaming children, twitchy addicts and the general impoliteness of high school kids in large numbers are just a few of mankind's shortcomings I've been known to complain about- I do at least have to keep my anger to myself, as we're not all insulated by our little glass and metal vehicular bubbles. Reluctantly, often grudgingly, I connect with people on the bus; from the young aspiring DJ asking for my number (and mistaking my right-hand ring for a wedding band when I said no) to the tiny girl playing peek-a-boo with pink plastic beads in her fuzzy braids, to the old man who wanted to discuss international humanitarian law after seeing my textbooks, I find myself having conversations, interactions or observations of strangers every time I ride the bus. I think that, even at its most tedious, riding the bus leaves me feeling a little more connected to my community.

While I will continue to take advantage of Eric's car as long as he lets me, I think I will forever be a bus rider rather than a car owner. This isn't just because I can't imagine attaining the financial security necessary for car ownership in a city, or even because of my environmental objections to frequent driving, but because I think relying upon the bus keeps me from isolating myself behind my ideas of other people and forces me to observe and interact with individuals of ages and backgrounds I might never otherwise encounter. I'm surely romanticizing the entire experience (and will laugh at this, the next time I'm crammed into a standing-room only commuter route through the tunnel with eight teenagers blaring music through their headphones or a crazy crackhead lighting up in the aisle) but for now I'm smiling to myself at the kind words of an old man who approves of me, even if he doesn't know a thing about me, not even my name, except that I read on busses.

Mr. President, I know this seems like a strange thing to tell you on the second to the last night of my year of letters to you, but I started this project for a number of reasons and among them was this; I wanted to share with you the only thing I can offer that no one else can, and that is the small experiences of my average existence. You will probably never ride a public bus again, especially not as a stranger, and so I like to imagine that you might find some value in the story of a girl, feet aching from work and caught in a surprise cold front without a coat, boarding a city bus and being thanked just for doing the thing she loves most. That you might understand why such an experience matters. Maybe it's just the optimistic holiday spirit sweeping me up, but tonight I think the world is not so bad. I hope you think so, too.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 359- Christmas in Beit Lahm

Dear Mr. President,

Your faith teaches that today's celebration is marking the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem. Christians from around the world will be making pilgrimages to the tiny church of the Nativity, lighting candles and saying prayers, passing through the apartheid wall that confines Palestinians in the West Bank. When I visited this church in the shimmering heat of high summer, we walked past walls still scarred by bullet holes from 2002 gun battles between Israeli troops and Palestinian fighters. Perhaps, not being Christian myself, I failed to experience the reverence I was meant to feel for the site of Jesus' birth, but I could not separate my horror at the grotesque oppression (and it's violent legacy) of the residents of Bethlehem from my respect for the teachings of Christianity's central figure.

For all of those American Christians who are today sitting in churches, saying their prayers or singing carols, I hope that the harsh restrictions on the freedoms and opportunities of those, like Jesus, guilty of the unforgivable crime of having been born in Bethlehem are not forgotten. It seems so unjust that Christ's disciples are happily celebrating his birth when the citizens of his birthplace, Muslim and Christian alike, live under occupation in fear and confinement. Christmas may be a time of celebration, but I would hope that remembering the reason for this holiday and the ongoing (and overlong) fight for basic human rights for Palestinians might not be so easily disentangled.

I hope that you have had a good and peaceful holiday, despite the burdens of your office. As an individual with rather more control over the fate of those living in Bethlehem, I hope you, at least, have not forgotten them today.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Two well-written pieces on this can be found at Ma'an news and at Al-Jazeera. I urge all of you to read them.

Day 342- Oklahoma makes me hopeless

Dear Mr. President,

One of my final papers is on State Question 755. I would not normally write to you about issues of state government unless it was my own state, but the broader implications of this issue and it's popular support are really getting me down today. As I'm sure you know, State Question 755 would amend Oklahoma's state constitution to prevent courts from considering Shariah or International law when deciding cases. While I have confidence that wiser heads in Federal courts will prevail, it isn't this law, or the effects it would have that bothers me the most.

State Question 755 passed with almost 71% of the vote. Not just a majority but an overwhelming majority of Oklahoma voters were convinced that the threat of Shariah law is dire enough to warrant a constitutional amendment. I believe that many issues have perfectly reasonable people on both sides, that intelligent, rational thinkers exist as both conservatives and liberals. I don't believe that SQ 755 is one of those issues. I will say now (and I don't particularly care if it is disrespectful) that any one who voted for this is either stupid, uneducated, racist or easily manipulated. It really depresses me to know that 70% of Oklahoma's voters fall into that category. It makes me think that maybe public education is even worse off than I'd realized.

Researching this issue has led to reading a number of comments from supporters wearing the modern-day white sheets of internet anonymity. CAIR is a trojan horse, they say, Muslims are evil, they say, Islamic law demands that you beat your wife, force her into a burqa and mutilate your daughter, they say. I wish I was exaggerating but these are all comments I see repeated again and again. I think this must have been what it felt like to be a white American during the era of Jim Crow. I see this pointless, hateful, twisted logic written in to law and supported by the majority and hidden behind fear-mongering and I can't do anything about it. No one wants to listen to reason, no one wants to even hear information that might contradict their beliefs. It's like banging my head against a wall.

I guess I should take comfort in the fact that Jim Crow laws were overturned, the civil rights movement did change a lot of minds and that things did, slowly, get better. Muslims in this country may be the convenient scapegoat of our irrational fear at the moment, but in a few decades or centuries it will get better. What really bothers me is that, even if things have progressively improved for minority groups in America, it seems as though the ignorance and fear that caused the oppression and wrote it into our laws (and even our founding documents) hasn't gone anywhere. We stumble from enemy to enemy without questioning the real problem- our ignorance and our fear.

I don't have anything constructive to offer. The courts will strike down SQ 755 and it will materialize in another form on another ballot in 2012. I want to be cheered by the inevitable triumph of judicial wisdom over popular ignorance, but I'm having a hard time seeing the good in a system that pits one judge against 70% of a state's voters and hopes that the right thing will be done. How do you maintain your own faith in the voters, especially after this year's midterm elections? How do you explain an initiative like 755 passing with such a wide margin of victory?

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 267- Trust

Dear Mr. President,

Your speech to the UN general assembly about the prospect of peace between Palestine and Israel was difficult to hear, even as it was unsurprising. The way you glossed over any mention of violence by Israel against Palestinians demonstrated to any one listening that the United States continues to turn a blind eye to the very real suffering Israel has inflicted. It is so insulting to refuse even to acknowledge the needless loss of life and senseless destruction of Israel's occupation while using the most manipulative imagery possible to condemn the rockets fired from Gaza. ("This time, we will think not of ourselves, but of the young girl in Gaza who wants to have no ceiling on her dreams, or the young boy in Sderot who wants to sleep without the nightmare of rocket fire.") You perpetuate the idea that Palestinians might be oppressed, but Israelis live in constant fear of their lives- conveniently ignoring the inarguable fact that dramatically more Palestinians die at the hands of the Israeli military than Israelis are killed by Hamas. To allow that disparity to go unacknowledged while condemning Palestinian violence is the kind of gross misrepresentation of reality that I usually expect from FOX news.

While I admire your optimism in believing that the peace talks should continue even if the settlement freeze is allowed to expire, I don't see how you can reasonably ask the Palestinians to accept this. These peace talks are based on the idea that each side can trust their enemy to hold to its promises, to keep its word. That kind of trust is the only way any agreement will be reached or any lasting peace could ever be established. Stepping up construction on illegal settlements in territory that any reasonable final agreement will have to belong to the Palestinian state is the ultimate confirmation of the Palestinian's fears that Israel's appetite for land will never allow them a state of their own. (I say stepping up and not resuming because the settlement freeze has only slowed construction and never actually stopped it.) The Palestinians have, for six decades, watched their land erode to Israeli control. They have seen it taken by military force, by racist and unjust laws, by the construction of the apartheid wall. They have seen their neighbors and their children shot for harvesting crops on their own land. They have seen their water supplies dwindle to water Israeli crops. They have seen roads diverted around settlements that certain races are not allowed to drive on. They have been choked off from relatives living on the wrong side of arbitrary lines or with ID cards of the wrong color. They have had attempts at commerce and education foiled by checkpoints and blockades. It is a miracle that the current Palestinian leadership has summoned the good faith to talk, to suspend disbelief and allow for the hope that the land they have now might remain in Palestinian control. Allowing settlement construction to continue is a testament by the Israeli government that it has no interest in peace. That it has no intention of allowing the Palestinians their own state. It is a betrayal of trust these negotiations will not recover from.

You may ask all you wish for the talks to continue even if the freeze expires. It will come to nothing. You are likely using every diplomatic tool in your repertoire to try and convince the Netanyahu administration to extend the freeze as an act of goodwill. As Israel's closest ally and largest provider of military aid, our influence ought to be enough to accomplish this. I think, however, so long as you continue to demonstrate that we will not be practically tough on our ally, that we are not willing to revoke the military aid and to do more than verbally admonish their worst acts, Israel has no incentive to take the US or the peace talks seriously. I was a skeptic from the beginning about these talks, but you have asked us to hope. You asked us to trust that these men negotiating are serious about peace because they see it is their moral obligation and in the interest of their people. Trusting words is difficult in the best of circumstance, but trusting those words in the face of actions and policies that directly contradict them is downright foolishness. Israel must demonstrate a willingness to give up many of these settlements, that they can be trusted to obey international law and the terms of any future agreement. Expanding settlement construction now will only prove that the trust of the Palestinian people was in vain.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 252-Hype

Dear Mr. President,

After I posted yesterday's letter I received several disheartening responses. "Is this meant to be serious? " one reader asked, "That President Obama could influence these people to reconsider their actions? You must understand that a direct statement from him on this gives these people the profile they so desperately crave to do what they do in front of the largest possible audience." This morning you gave an interview in which you clearly expressed your disapproval for the planned event, without elvating your opponent. Thank you for this. Such a balance is a difficult one to strike and, given the volatility of the situation, I thought your words were well chosen. I don't know if you changed the man's mind or if his better nature is stronger than I give it credit for. I don't think I was off base yesterday in implying that you had the ability to appeal to this man's humanity, or that, at the very least, it was worth a try.

Since he has announced the suspension of the event, much discussion by the media has focused on the accusations that this story was blown out of proportion by the media. I considered the well-made point of my cynical reader's comment about the risk of granting this man's clear desire for attention, but I stand by what I wrote and what I asked of you. For one thing, yesterday was several weeks past the point of hushing this story up and hoping no one would notice. The outraged protests set off by the Danish cartoons several years back came months after the cartoons had been published- when apologies were basically useless. Had this "Koran Burning Day" come to light months later, it would have caused considerably more uproar. If 50 people had burned Qur'ans and no one had noticed, I concede that no actual harm would have resulted in the symbolic action. But, by the time I heard about the event it was on CNN; the damage was pretty much done. I'm glad that things seemed to have calmed down (and also that Imam Rauf is refusing to negotiate the location of Park 51,) and I believe much of that credit goes to your leadership.

I don't know the best way to handle these stories in general. On one hand, it does elevate crazy people to give them national news coverage. On the other hand, the media didn't say anything untruthful, and it was part of a larger trend of anti-Islam incidents in the last few weeks. I can see why it was relevant to the news. It also gave Americans a chance to publicly demonstrate our opposition to this behavior, and for people of all faiths to intervene on behalf of Muslims- a symbolism far more powerful than the most heartfelt apology might have sounded should the story have been told after the fact. Consider, also, that while this man's church may have only had 50 members, the "International Koran Burning Day" facebook page now has 15,000 fans. That may be nothing compared to the group opposing it, which has 10 times as many, but it shows that these 50 people were not acting alone. (Especially considering the number of people who feel this way and can't work facebook, which can't be inconsiderable.) This small man and his small band of followers had the support many more Americans who agreed with them. Taking this chance to show the world that they don't speak for all Americans, especially not our government, was absolutely the right thing to do. Thank you.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 241- A reflective mood on a cloudy day

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Dear Mr. President,

The interview you did with Brian Williams was encouraging. Your calm indifference to the rumors about your birth and religion is pretty much the only respectful way to answer such nonsense. When Mr. Williams asked you what you saw when you looked ahead, you responded "as I look forward, my central focus is going to be be to make sure that I'm constantly communicating with all segments of this country about why I feel optimistic about our future." I think this is an excellent goal and I believe that more effective communication is essential to the success of your administration. Especially given the grim economic circumstances, conveying an optimistic idea of the future will be a full-time challenge.

This hope you have for us was what drove your campaign to be successful. When the markets were crashing and things were getting worse by the day, your campaign continued to calmly promise better days. Even if it is hard for me to feel that hopeful today, I am emboldened to hear you speak of it still. I, like so many Americans, have fallen time and again to the cynicism and the pessimism that do little good. I have despaired that the progress we've made is not enough. That it was too slow, that you and your administration are no different and no better than your predecessors; that your desire to win elections had beaten your desire to do the right thing. I have thought these things, and worse. I have lost my hope that I could do anything to stop what was going wrong. I have been chided by my friends from the left and the right for my naive faith, and I let it get to me.

But I don't think that does any good. I don't think that hope or optimism does any one any harm. I haven't seen enough (or, perhaps, have seen too much) to know for sure that it does any good, but I know for certain it can't hurt. You have had it so much harder than me. You have seen friends turn on you, you have born the weight of every American life and home and job lost these last two years. You haven't lost your faith in us, or in this country. That makes me ashamed for my own capricious optimism. It comes down to this: I want to know that you're working for a better, more peaceful world. In your efforts to constantly communicate to this particular segment of the country (me), I hope that you do a better job explaining to me how you're doing that. Do this, and I promise to try harder to share your optimism for the future.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

PS

If any of you reading watched the full interview above, you probably saw the President and Brian Williams express their disbelief that what happened after Katrina could happen in America. I was struck by this, the implication that elsewhere that kind of devastation was to be expected. It is happening right now, and even worse, in Pakistan. I know that money is tight, but if you have anything to give, please donate to Pakistani flood relief. This shouldn't be acceptable anywhere.

Day 240- Keeping it in perspective

Dear Mr. President,

Tonight the onset of a minor sore throat has me slightly panicked. It is almost certainly just a cold. I'll drink tea and plenty of fluids and be fine in a few days. The thought that keeps lingering in the back of my mind, however, is about the enormous medical debt my sister once had after a case of strep throat. At the time she was uninsured and it took her over a year to pay off the considerable ER bills. I looked in to what it would cost to be added on to my mother's policy, or to buy my own insurance through my school. Either plan would leave me with a co-pay that I (more than likely) couldn't afford, and the premiums would be more than half of what I pay in rent each month. I know the arguments for having insurance; I want to have insurance. But I also like buying groceries. What I mean to say is I could really go for some socialized medicine right about now.

I seem to be losing some perspective on the actual size of my problems lately. I should be glad that all I have is a sore throat, and that I'm healthy enough to work, and able to go to school. These should be good enough for me, right now. It could be worse, after all, I could be a meat-eater.

Speaking of losing all perspective, it seems that our country has been "wandering in darkness." It was really unlikely that I would find much to agree with Glenn Beck about today, but his religious tones surprised me. All of his talk about returning America to God and restoring our honor just didn't make any sense. Am I, as a secular American, laboring under the false illusion that this country has never had any shortage of religious devotion? Or is Beck, as a Christian, deluded in his idea that America has become too secular? I think the problem is that, so long as our standards for "too religious" or "too secular" are "more religious/secular than me" we will always see ourselves as a persecuted class. Anyway, Beck's speech today seemed harmless enough; if I think that his timing was tasteless and his message off-base, well, that's probably the nicest response I've had to anything he's ever said.

Lately I've been talking to a friend quite a bit about our mutual feeling that we've regressed. Bad habits and old problems seem to be creeping back in to our behavior, while the progress we'd made toward life goals is slipping away. This feeling of falling backwards was beginning to get overwhelming. Regaining my perspective on this, accepting that growth isn't linear or neat or increasing at a predictable rate has helped me calm down and remember that a few bad days don't mean that it's ok to give up. I think I see the whole Tea Party movement as a big regression for our country, back to the mentality that elected and re-elected President Bush. It may be all I can do to comfort myself with the thought that it, too, is a temporary setback, the inevitable ebb of our progress away from those times. A few bad days (or news cycles, or elections) don't mean that it's ok to give up. For now, I'm going to try to sleep away whatever is ailing me and avoid any WebMD-induced panic.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 237- Hate crimes

Dear Mr. President,

The stabbing of a New York taxi driver because he was Muslim is all I can think about tonight. Every article I've read about it so far is suggesting that the recent increase in tensions over Park 51 contributed to the suspect's anger at Muslims. I don't know if that is true, I don't claim to know what was in this man's head or what motivated his ugly act of violence. I suspect, based on the statements and the charges filed, that this crime may not have occurred if this controversy had not been stirred up. I believe that there are a number of people reacting honestly to false information. For one thing, people believe that Park 51 is a mosque. For another, they believe it is at Ground Zero. Finally, the slanderous way many have discussed Imam Faisal Rauf has many people convinced that the group behind Park 51 is extremist in nature. All of these are outright lies, but I understand how those who believe them might feel strongly opposed to Park 51.

Tonight I am not angry at the people believing these lies. Tonight I am angry at the people who brought out this issue. It will likely never be admitted, but out there now are those who, in their heart of hearts, know that the only reason they have pushed this issue and upset so many people about something so harmless is to win an election. Why else would this be a non-story in 2009 and a front-page issue in 2010? If I am right about these two beliefs, that the attack on the driver was motivated by the anti-Muslim sentiments stirred up intentionally by those on the right who would benefit from it, than Mr. Sharif's blood is on the hands of the people who pushed the false narrative about this group and the community center they plan to build.

The entire country has been a victim of a hate crime lately. I don't want to try to minimize the horror of the specific crime committed against Ahmed Sharif (and not just because I have particularly strong feelings about neck violence,) so I don't intend to trivialize it, at all by saying this. The crime committed against Americans is psychological. We've all been affected by this ploy, this attempt to divide us and to manipulate us. This blatant stoking of fear and hate and violence. I don't know who to blame and I don't want to blame any one. Unlike the crime against Mr. Sharif, this crime has no recourse in a court of law. I just want it to stop. I want some one with a loud enough voice (or a big enough podium, or enough cameras in their press room) to stand up and say that attacking Americans like this is not acceptable. That we will not abide the lies and the violence caused by those lies, or let them be called by any other name.

I believe that this is a moment that will live on in our history as a test of the values we aspire to- the named by our founders as the purpose of the American endeavor. This is a moment in which, more than ever, we need Presidential leadership. Even if you can't make it all right by saying the right thing, the right thing needs to be said; this is America, damn it. Either we stand for what we've always claimed to stand for or we don't. This decision has to be made by every one of us, we have to commit to it and live by it and call out those who would turn us against it. Or there will be more incidents like this stabbing. There will be more innocent blood spilt by the disturbed, misguided and easily manipulated. I do not believe that the people seeking to spread this controversy for political gain intended to cause violence, but I also don't think they will ever be forced to answer for it in the same way that Imam Rauf and those of his faith are forced to answer for every crime committed in the name of Islam. It isn't about naming a villain or calling out those who have had an emotional reaction to this issue. It isn't about calling them racists or seeking to divide us further. This isn't a partisan issue and you should not have to tread so lightly around it. Jon Stewart and Keith Olbermann should not be the most eloquent or the most courageous voices of reason in this debate, sir- you should. The right words from a President can unite the divided and calm the outraged. Tonight, as I hope that Mr. Sharif heals quickly and completely, I will hope also that you find those words and help the country to do the same.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 236- An Experiment (part 2)

Dear Mr. President,

Today I spent 5 hours standing on the corner of 4th and Pine in downtown, with a sign encouraging people to support Park 51. I had fun. I met a number of interesting people. I heard more 9/11 conspiracy theories than I previously knew existed. One woman suggested I breathe in Christ and stop worshipping Satan. A couple of people got angry enough to curse me out for what my sign said. Part of my message was for you; it said "Dear Mr. President, don't back down!" This got some surprising responses. One woman told me she was happy to see that I still had faith in you. One man said he didn't think you had the strength to stand up to the right. Mostly people just smiled and said "thank you."

I'm not sure that I changed any minds. The ones who wanted to argue usually didn't stop to talk things over. A few people weren't aware of the controversy and listened to me patiently. But I think it would be disingenuous to say that I was out there for them. What made the day great were all of the people who already agreed with me. As strangers, we keep our politics secret, we rarely recognize these important beliefs and values in others. Having it out in public for any one to see means that for 5 hours today I, and those people who saw their own views in what I was saying, felt connected. Even in a country controlled by Democrats, liberals don't always feel like we're part of a larger group. The taking heads on TV, the values proclaimed by many politicians, even the constraints of polite conversation often make it seem like we're the outsiders. I finally get the purpose of these demonstrations- it isn't to change minds, it's to let our allies know that they do not stand alone.

Besides dramatically increasing my chances of getting skin cancer, I don't think I did any one any harm. If I made any one's day just a little bit better, that's great, but I'm certainly convinced this did a world of good for me. I wasn't hiding behind my computer screen, I wasn't shying away from the ones who got angry or from their arguments. I felt confident in what I believe and what I was standing for. Several people suggested that I needed to be part of a group or organization, but I think that I work best when I don't have to worry about representing any one but myself.

Anyway, Mr. President, the only thing I can offer you today is the same boost I got from every shy smile, every thumbs up and high five, every thank you and every stranger who said keep it up, sister. That small promise that however hard the work has become, you don't do it alone, and you don't do it in vain.

So thank you, Mr. President. Keep up the good work. I think that you're brave, and I'm glad that you're doing so much for this country. It makes me hopeful. I don't always agree with you, but I hope you know you're not alone.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 226- Perseids

Update: President Obama seems to have walked back his courageous words from last night to the tepid centrism he's clearly more comfortable with. *SIGH*

Dear Mr. President,

Thursday night, two friends and I stayed out late to watch the Perseid meteor shower. Though we were not far from the city, a local park provided enough darkness to witness the truly impressive show the stars were putting on that night. It was an unusually chilly August night, and we huddled in blankets and sleeping bags to keep out the cold. At times it looked like the sky was being torn, the meteors were so bright. I've been an amateur astronomy geek my whole life, but I've never seen anything half as amazing as the Perseids.

While lying there, we were discussing your impending visit to Seattle. We'd like to come see you, but we're not exactly in a financial position to afford a plate at Patty Murray's fundraiser. (That being said, I hope your presence draws a considerable crowd. If Murray loses to either of her Republican challengers it will be a sad day indeed for Washington voters and the Senate.) We thought about trying to find a place in the crowd outside to catch even a glimpse of the President we admire and helped elect. Perhaps the light show in the sky contributed to my very small, powerless feeling at that moment. I joked that I should bring one of the form letters the White House has sent me, to see if I could get you to sign it for real. Inside, I wasn't quite so amused at my own insignificance.

It isn't that I think I'm important enough to deserve your attention, Mr. President. It's the helplessness of knowing that so few people like me will ever have any hope of catching your ear, let alone being heard. When I say people like me, I mean the non-wealthy, non-swing-state-voter, non-elderly. That class that isn't middle class enough to make a good all-American photo op. Just a little too far left to be taken seriously. You might tape a message to Netroots Nation, but talking at us and listening to us are worlds apart. There's no power to be gained in taking my generation seriously, I suppose, but we are the next leaders of this country and a significant factor in your re-election.

Shortly after Robert Gibbs' remarks about the professional left, I got an e-mail, (ostensibly from you, but clearly written by an intern,) asking me to commit to vote in 2010. To sign my name to promise that I'll be there. This transparent scramble for reassuring data was probably the most offensive OFA e-mail I've ever received. You want me to commit to supporting your candidates? After your press secretary trashed the ideological left? While your administration acts like we're nothing more than a shrill pest? I'm sorry, Mr. President, but you're going to have to do a lot better than a form e-mail to re-engage your base. I'm not asking for an autograph, a seat at the table, or even a new press secretary; I'm asking for an administration that actually empowers the people it asks to show up on election day. A White House that feels less like watching a barely-comprehensible cosmic event and more like a group of people who have the interests of voters (and not just donors) at heart.

Anyway, Mr. President, maybe it's just been a rough week. I wish there was some way I could show you how much I want to believe in you, and in this country again. I wish there was some way of reaching you at all. Even if it's just as useless as shouting at the sky, I'm going to keep writing, keep blogging, keep pestering you about the things you promised us. If you never respond to a single letter, if you never know I exist at all, that's fine. I just hope you find a way to hear the parts of this country you're ignoring, before you realize they won't be coming out to vote in November.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 222- Why I'm fasting for Ramadan

Dear Mr. President,

For Muslims living in America, Ramadan begins tonight at sunset. I've observed the month-long fast before, but it has been several years. I've decided to do so again this year for a number of reasons, but chief among them is my desire to demonstrate solidarity with Muslims. While I doubt very much that it has ever been an entirely comfortable thing to be an American Muslim, especially since the post-9/11 increase in Islamophobia, the level of antipathy toward Muslims in America seems to be on the rise this year. From opposition to the Cordoba House community center, to anti-Mosque demonstrations across the country, displaying bigotry toward our Muslim neighbors has become disturbingly acceptable. The Tea-Party has called upon its members to demonstrate against mosques being built in their areas, urging them to bring dogs, bibles and the American flag as symbols of their opposition. In Florida, on Septmeber 11th, one minister is proposing to burn Qurans.

That this is happening in my own country makes me sick. When it is considered along with European countries proposing laws to ban Burkas in public areas, the continued siege of Gaza, the destruction of Palestinian homes in the West Bank, and the continued slaughter of civilians by coalition forces and the Taliban alike in Afghanistan, it is clear to me that many Muslims around the world are suffering because of their faith. I don't think it will fix anything to fast along side them for a month. My symbolic gesture of solidarity is meant to say that I will not look the other way while fellow human beings are maligned and persecuted for their faith. And it may not do any good, but in my general state of powerlessness, it feels better than doing nothing.

So today I've visited my favorite bakery, deli, coffee shop and grocery store, all in preparation for the fast. It will be a challenge, but I figure if Minnesota Vikings Safety Husain Abdullah can do it and still play professional football, I can probably manage just fine.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 220-Inception

Dear Mr. President,

By now I feel like the last person in the country to see the movie Inception. This is probably not the case, and I don't often feel comfortable writing to you about pop culture, but this is slightly less inane than knowing who snookie is, I think. Movies, like any art, make me feel things. Love, Actually or Pride & Prejudice still make my skeptic's heart believe in the possibility of a true and lasting love. Star Wars still inspires my childish dreams of heroics and adventure. Being moved by these experiences may be temporary or even contrived, but I still enjoy it. Which brings me to Inception, a film that asks the viewer to question the nature of reality.

When I was a little girl I often wandered into empty rooms, looking for a place to be alone. I would lie down, close my eyes, and imagine the whole massive, complex world, and then the whole span of history (which, at that age, I could barely conceive of as anything more specific than immense.) I would feel so small that I would cease to exist. An impulse at the back of my mind suggested that this meant I did not exist. How could I, a girl of exactly no consequence, be real? A girl of only a few years, with no apparent purpose or significance? It was, on the whole, a preposterous notion. I wondered how I had ever thought that it was possible to have my own place in the infinite. Once I had finally reached the point of truly doubting if I could exist at all, I'd open my eyes. I don't recall if I enjoyed more the feeling of oblivion or the reassurance of my own senses. I recall reading once that the great Russian author Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn had such an extreme egocentric view of the world as a child that he insisted his classmates did not exist unless he was around. Allegedly, one day when he was home sick, the class came to visit him to prove that they still existed without him there. When I read this I wondered if my own obsession with existence and nonexistence was somehow a variation on this.

Don't worry, I'm not going to try to convince you that we're all dreaming. Actually, while watching Inception, I couldn't help but think about foreign policy and the different ways we perceive our own nation in relationship to every other nation. Are we in a constant state of war, guns drawn and fingers on the trigger, enemies pausing only because of the size or number of weapons pointed back? I think some people must see the world that way, and I don't know that I can necessarily disprove their version of reality. As for my view of the world I see the way that those in power use violence and, more often, fear of violence to keep those without power believing that the enemy speaking a foreign tongue is much more threatening than the system telling people to be afraid. I don't know that any one could prove or disprove this reality, either. I can believe, all I want, but I can't convince others to share in my reality. I wonder if this is why we tend to reject evidence or information supporting politicians or policies we ideologically oppose. If my younger self was dwarfed, not by the number of people that had ever lived, but by the number of contradicting realities that must simultaneously exist to make them all right. Does my conviction about the state of reality do more harm, than good? Should we all give up these differences in perception and agree to live in the same world? Which one? Who decides?

Ok, this is perhaps venturing too far into theory for me to be really comfortable with its relevance. I experience this sensation too rarely these days, and I don't often get to the movies, so forgive me, but I'll enjoy it while it lasts. I wonder, does being President make it hard to distinguish between the office and your self, at times? Do you find yourself perceiving or reacting to things differently, as President, than you might have as just Barack Obama? Is there a single paradigm shift that you think is in order for the American people or for the American government, by which I mean, If you could change the way this country collectively perceives something, what would it be? For me, I would change the way we perceive our own isolation. I would have us see ourselves more clearly in strangers and better understand how the harm and injustice and exploitation we perpetuate, even through apathy, comes back to directly affect our own existences. But that's enough philosophy, for now. I want to lie in bed, close my eyes, and, just for a moment, doubt that any of us exist at all.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 214- On crows, or almost certainly something Eric disapproves of

Just for fun:




Dear Mr. President,

Like many Seattlites, I have a special relationship with crows. I'm sure this is not a uniquely Seattle matter, but certainly one that has been explored by local authors and academics. I certainly didn't feel the same way about them when I lived in other cities. My irrational side, which looks for magic, or at least a deeper meaning, in just about everything, believes that crows are good omens, auspicious signs of a good day. This confuses, and deeply annoys Eric, my neighbor and close friend, who has a much firmer grip on his rational self than his silly bird-brained neighbor girl. Since we are hanging out at our neighborhood bar, looking for something to write about for our weekly writer's group meeting tomorrow night, I've decided to use him, and our ongoing argument about crows, as my inspiration for this letter.

Eric has become part of my urban family through two close friends, both of whom have a talent for finding and befriending really great men who challenge my own cynicism and mistrust of the opposite sex. He's my brother now, stuck with me if he likes it or not, even though we lost our closest link to the Peace Corps. He, mostly, finds the things that I do perplexing and absurd. Write the President every day? Ridiculous. Read ingredient lists on food? No fun at all. Imagine the outcome of my day might be portended by the appearance of birds? Downright preposterous. But, for whatever reason, he puts up with me, and I am glad for this. It's good to have people in your life to remind you to have fun. He doesn't really approve of the amount of time I spend, in general, angry or upset about things outside of my control. Some nights I find this attitude disturbing, but tonight, with devastating floods in Pakistan, effective, comprehensive energy legislation looking like a fantasy and less than $20 in my checking account, hanging out on a comfy couch and listening to the bar tender's friends sing really bad karaoke is, while not exactly productive, at least keeping me from locking myself up in my apartment and declaring myself done with life in general.

Outside of my superstitions, crows do tell us a number of things about shrinking natural habitats, and the ways that urban man and wildlife will interact in the future. I generally like the idea of an animal that has adapted to human presence in such a way that they've even mastered traffic lights, enough to use them to their advantage- it comforts me that our sprawling existence, while problematic, might not be the end of the world for every non-domesticated living creature. We've got to do more to protect wildlife, to reduce our destructive impact on the natural world; it's just nice to know that some creatures are tougher than I give them credit for.

I know, today you're talking about troop draw-downs in Iraq, the future of American small businesses, and Virginia's legal challenge to the new health care legislation. You've got bigger concerns than me and my crazy superstitions. And I'm glad you do; I'm 24, I don't have my degree, and I'm not able to Save The World, yet. So I do silly things, like listen to drunk people singing old-school country songs (and Lady GaGa,) and look to the presence of the wild in my utterly urban existence for hope that, even if you or I, or my entire generation, can't save the world, the world might save itself, a little, too.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 201- Charity

Dear Mr. President,

Ghassan Elashi. I'd like you to know his name. He is the father of six children, and he is serving a 65-year prison sentence, allowed no visits with his children and only 2 phone calls a month. His crime is not murder or rape or theft, but charity; what you would call material support. He is one of the "Holy Land Five," convicted of sending money to Palestinian charities run by Hamas. The prosecution, which relied upon the testimony of an Israeli intelligence officer to make their case, does not believe that one dollar of the money Ghassan sent to Palestine went toward violence or acts of terror, but, as the hospitals and schools and food it bought were linked to Hamas, the good will it may have garnered is, apparently, just as dangerous.

I want to live in the real world. I try to be pragmatic, I try to understand the complexity and nuance of cases like this. I find fault with much of Hamas's charter, with their goals and with their methods. But what options have we given them? Hamas has done charity and community service work, they have honored cease-fires, they have participated in legitimate elections and won. Leaders of Hamas have indicated that their stance on Israel is softening. What do they have to do to gain international legitimacy without sacrificing domestic credibility? These projects funded by the Holy Land Foundation were helping some of the poorest people on earth just to survive and have access to basic services. It doesn't make Hamas' violent past all better, but it doesn't make every member of the party terrorists. How can we ignore the complexity of this situation? How can we look at this work, that by any other group, in any other place, you would praise as God's own, and call it a crime?

Ghassan Elashi. Please remember that while you call on Americans to give our time and our money to the betterment of those less fortunate, that this man will sit in prison for 65 years because he tried to help.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 200- Mad girl's love song

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)


-Sylvia Plath

Dear Mr. President,

I want to write about policy tonight, but I just finished a book that I can't stop thinking about. I'm still walking the streets of Damascus, wandering in the desert with angels and saints and old friends from long ago. I'm also feeling like I've overstepped the boundaries of polite acquaintance, because, unlike some anonymous reader, I can put faces to some of the characters and I have heard their voices and I have heard their telling of the same story. You're an author, you probably experienced that strange freedom of telling your life's secrets to strangers. I don't know about you, but I think it isn't the same, telling it to people you know, or at least have spoken to in person. Maybe I just like to hide behind my keyboard. But still, I'm overcome by the beauty of my friend's writing, of her story, of the hope it gives me. I think it is, at least in part, because I see myself in the story, not me exactly, of course, but a part of me, the part of me that has always been afraid that I'll never feel like a normal person.

The author means a great deal to me, not only because of the kindness she showed me when we met, but because of the strange moment in my life at which I encountered her. I wasn't heartbroken, not all the way, but I was in the middle of a descent into the kind of love and grief over love that are never really distinct from one another, or from madness. I've been in this state several times before. I know all the signs. I know the feeling, that's something like finding what you've looked for all your life, only to realize it isn't at all what you wanted.

Anyway, I was just starting this vicious cycle all over again about the time I took a trip to Palestine. It was hard. It was eye-opening. I hoped it would be life-changing. While walking the path of Abraham, a prophet who I hadn't given much consideration, even during my brief forays into organized religions, I saw amazing things. Sites of power and history and faith. I met people who believed more deeply in these things than I could possibly understand. One morning, waiting for the group to get organized and explore Nablus, my cell phone rang. Up until that instant, I wasn't even sure I could get calls. It was the man I thought I was in love with. He was drunk. He needed to ask me for a phone number of another friend. I went to this place because, for my entire adult life, I'd felt drawn to it, while circumstances or bad choices seemed to prevent me from ever getting there. And, once I finally got there, my cell phone couldn't help reminding me of all of the things just waiting for me to come back. Things I knew I couldn't face as the same person I'd been when I left.

And I met the amazing woman who wrote this book, and she seemed to be, in many ways, what I wanted to be one day. Happy. Sane. Wise. An outsider who had accepted and been accepted in a new place, without losing her ties to home. The type of person I didn't think people like me were allowed to become. But most of all, she seemed to understand the conflicted nature of being an American in a place where America had done or helped to do really awful things. Of having yourself represented by a passport that got you special treatment, and the nightly news images of bombed-out buildings and dying children on TV. Of never, ever, being able to hide from your origins or to express the pride and affection you still have for your country, for all of the things it means to you that never get translated well. Of wanting to Do Good, (whatever that means,) and finding that you could never make it all right. That no one can. And I got to experience all of that all over again reading her book. It's good to be reminded that I'm not the only one who has ever felt so lost. That sometimes the fight just to figure out your own life, to keep your own sanity and to mend your own heart is more important, and harder, than we let ourselves say out loud.

When I was in Palestine, they gave me a new name. The people I met made me reconsider a number of things I'd been sure of. But my life did not change, right away. I went home and fell into the same patterns and was trapped by the oppressive sameness of my life, compounded by these dashed hopes for instant renewal and transformation. But, eventually, I got better, in no small part because I had begun to understand what I was looking for. Because I learned that change is hard. Change takes time and work and doesn't often look like the original plan. Change requires moving in utter darkness, pressing forward on uncertain ground with only faith to tell us that the path exists at all. Change does not happen all at once.

Ok, I guess this was a little bit about policy, after all.


Respectfully yours,

Kelsey


PS

The book I've been writing about is one I've mentioned here before; it's called The Bread of Angels and the brilliant author is Stephanie Saldaña.

Day 189- Anonymous

Dear Mr. President,

After an inexplicable night of insomnia, I found myself awake at 5am. Bird song, and the early first light were too tempting to pass up, so I donned my running shoes and went for a jog. The city was empty. Skyscrapers on the horizon were just beginning to reflect the pastel light of the rising sun, which was still competing with street lamps for dominance. Crows dotted the wires of telephone poles, the lines of the intersection on the empty road, and scuttled away from me in the park. It was the perfect morning, warm, but only beginning to hint at the oppressive heat that would rule the rest of the day. After I got tired, I walked for a ways, read the newspaper on a bus bench, and watched the city begin to wake up. I've never been a morning person, so this voluntary predawn excursion seemed to signal something deeply wrong. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was an indication that I've finally overdosed on 90's sci-fi television. Maybe I was just restless for the expansive luxury of an empty city street.

Then I saw the interview you gave with an Israeli journalist. Your answer to the question about what parts of your old, pre-white house life that you missed, struck a chord with my strange morning excursion. You miss going for walks, being anonymous, experiencing the world in private. This freedom, which I take for granted, most days, is the steep price of your office. I am often overwhelmed and frustrated by my invisibility, my smallness, my inability to affect change. I have not often stopped to consider the benefits of this anonymity; the peace of insignificance. When one is as alone in the world as I often feel myself to be, it is hard not to envy some one like you.

You also spoke of Jerusalem, of walking through the streets of the old city. Even reading your words in the simple light of my laptop screen, I could almost see the affection that compels them. Every one I speak to, young, old, Israeli, Palestinian, American, every one I know speaks of Jerusalem this way. It is why I dislike hearing it referred to as "The Holy Land." It is not about the shrines or the churches or the mosques or the synagogues. It is not about the dead men who died so that others could die for it, or who died trying to take it away from the people who died to take it away from the people before them. It is about the living. The sounds of the old city markets, the smooth stones in the street, the punishing sun brought low at sunset, spilling a softer, more forgiving light across the palm trees and the balconies and the minarets and the satellite dishes. The clothes that dry on lines, the foods that cook on street corners, the hum of so many people in one place. It is the same beauty, perhaps, of every city, but made all the more precious by the great powers that have battled for it in the background of its entire life. The life in this city, not the history or the blood spilled, but the mundane, anonymous, boring life is what makes it so beautiful. These things that cannot often be found in briefing books, or, as you've sadly reminded me, practically anywhere in the lives of those in power. I am glad to know you still remember it, and while I am grateful that you've given up that part of your own life for this service to our country, I hope that one day you are again able to walk in the old city, or in any city, and feel anonymous, even if it is only for a moment.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 177- Warner Brown

Dear Mr. President,

My Grandfather passed away today. He was almost 89 years old. He served his country in World War II, raised 5 children, lived to see his first great-grandchild, and, even just a few years ago, could beat my sister handily on the tennis court. His ashes will be scattered in Florida, the place he was undoubtedly the happiest, and, if there is any afterlife, he is happily reunited with my grandmother. Theirs was the family's one love story, a brief courtship followed by a wedding and a long deployment. When the war ended they were together until her death, six years ago, and my Grandfather never loved anyone else.

I did not know him well, but I believe he was a good man. He lived a continent away, but when I look back on the crowd of hands that have held me up and gently pushed me onward, his is undoubtedly among them. He barely knew my sisters and I, but every month while we were in college he sent us $25, which he insisted that we spend, not on books or bills or anything sensible, but on something fun. (I confess, sometimes groceries were fun.) I was never as thankful as I ought to have been, but I hope he knew my gratitude. He was stubborn and funny and totally independent. He lived well, and I am glad, for his sake, that death found him before he suffered.

I don't feel particularly sad, to be honest. My Grandpa lived a long, respectable life, had a loving family, and died a quiet death. This is certainly more than is promised to any one. I don't think I've contemplated death much more or less than any other 24 year old, but I know it has never frightened me. It is all any of us is owed, without exception. As dazzlingly complex as life on this planet may seem at times, every one succumbs to the forces of entropy, and, at the end, we are all the same. Walking home tonight, I felt oddly close to every one, from the tired bus driver, to the tribe of punks drinking and smoking in their back yard, even to Presidents and rich oil executives, because I am reminded that when our unique stories end, when the trigger is pulled or the breaks fail or the organs shut down, the same night awaits us all. And I believe it is peaceful, and beautiful, and calm.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 167-Earth Day Monday

Dear Mr. President,

I, and many others, have been calling on you to take the opportunity, now that the graphic images demonstrating the toll of our oil addiction are still shocking Americans into questioning their behavior, to call on all Americans to change our habits in order to avoid another incident like this one. Today I read an article that convinced me we've been wrong to do so. Americans have outgrown the spirit of sacrifice and community that got us through WWII; when President Bush asked only that we keep shopping, we were only too happy to comply. I want you to ask us to change, to give up some of the luxuries we're used to for the greater good of sustaining our planet for generations to come. I want you to do this, but I know that, even if you did, it might only mean the end of your Presidency, and have little effect on our actual habits.

So today's letter, Mr. President, isn't for you. It's for all the people who read my blog. It isn't many, mostly friends and family, but I'm hoping it will be enough. This is as big a soap box as I will ever have. So, dear readers, I ask you to take a look at your own lives, your own habits. How can you use less oil? How can you make transportation and food and lifestyle choices that will help you consume less? Can you encourage others in your life to do the same? Even small changes will add up if enough of us commit to them. I'm making a commitment to all of you, and to our President, to make the small changes necessary in my own life, to give up the things that I can live without, if it means a better world for my nephew. Many of us have a holy day, a day set aside for the sacred; I'm proposing that we, no matter what our faith, chose one day a week to devote to the planet as well. We should give up a day to the reverence of the earth, to tend our gardens or clean up parks or, at the very least, to give up consuming fast food, especially beef, and unnecessary driving. We need an Earth Day every single week. What greater display of faith could their be, than to put aside our instant gratification, for the betterment of future generations?

My Earth Day is going to be every Monday. I'm going to do more research about reducing my oil consumption and overall carbon footprint, and post a more detailed plan here. I hope that every one who reads this can find a small sacrifice to make in their own lives. Because, be it today or tomorrow, things have to change.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 155-Hope & Change

Dear Mr. President,

Tonight a close friend, while we shared horror stories from our respective jobs, mused that, no matter how bad things got, he often cheered himself up by thinking, at least he doesn't have to deal with the President's job, or all of your problems. As some one who is frequently told by the very customers making it necessary for me to be at work at 4am how much they pity me for having to be up so early, I know this doesn't help to relieve the tremendous burden of your job. But I do hope you know we appreciate the magnitude of your struggle. On days like today, when I am so despairing of the ignorance and shallowness and petty crimes of so many, I like to remind myself of the people in this world who give me hope.

Emily Henochowicz lost an eye to the IDF this week, for daring to speak out against their attack on the humanitarian ship. She's 21. My best friend leaves in 3 weeks, giving up two years of comfort and delaying academic and professional success to work with community health clinics in rural West Africa. She's 24. My youngest sister supports her family working retail and living paycheck to paycheck, trying to ensure that her son has all he needs to grow up healthy and supported. She's 22. I am surrounded, daily, by examples from my life and from the lives of those I may never meet, of the hope you asked of us in your campaign. What could be more hopeful than giving up your time, energy, even your physical safety for the sake of the next generation and the world we will leave them? You asked us to hope, Mr. President, and I think that, despite all that would inspire only cynicism and despair, we are hopeful, yet.

In exchange for this, we asked you to change things. We asked that our hope be not in vain, that our country be remade in an image more of us could find reflective of our own features, our true nature. Your efforts have been honest, if the results have not always been as profound or as swift as many had expected. Right now it seems like, more than just oil, it is all of our political ambitions, our dearest hopes and grandest plans gushing out to be lost at sea. How will we fix this? Even after it is fixed, will the fallout consume your presidency? I am sure that no one feels this fear more acutely than you, sir.

I suppose the point of this letter is to remind you that, more than our relief at being able to entrust you with the most difficult job in the country, we share your struggles, too. That my generation will have ownership of whatever world you leave us is not lost on me. I am afraid, I am worried, I am angry; but I have not lost hope.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey