Personhood and Politics

My chili is simmering in the kitchen, perfect time to sit down and write a bit about today. Today I had to be at school at 8am, which means I had to be up and moving at 6:30 this morning. This is quite a struggle for a spoiled college student, who spurned outright any class beginning before 10am. At 6am the idea of Grad school looks better and better all the time. Despite my early morning battle to get my body working, I am enjoying classes very much.

One of the classes I assisted in today was a large group in their 12th year. The whole hour was dedicated to them asking me questions about myself, my country, and my impressions of Berlin and Germany. I recognized some of the kids from other groups. Consistently there are a few kids who are brave enough to ask most of the questions, while the rest are quiet listening. Up to this point I've been surprised not to have entertained many political questions. Actually, there has only been one thus far: "What do you think of Bush?" I offered a diplomatic, but also clearly unfavorable response. They actually clapped when I said that I had never been a Bush supporter and was happy to be able to voice my opinion in the last election.

Other than that, politics have been surprisingly absent. When I commented on this to Günter - the 64 year-old husband of Marion, the couple I'm currently staying with - he says probably because they feel so hopelessly impotent in a political system that doesn't care about them, they have lost interest in politics. Somehow I think this is oversimplifying the matter. I think politics, and especially the idea of America, fills and surrounds their bi-cultural lives. I prefer to take their lack of desire to interrogate me on the politics of my country as a sign that they can separate a person from the government under which they live.

This was particularly clear when one of the boys asked me the highly political, but also deeply personal question, "Where were you on 9-11?" I told them that I was in Mexico. I felt the interest of the students peak. I told them how I found out, at first thinking it was a misguided joke of my prank-loving Mexican friends. I told them how it dawned on me that this might not be a joke, and how I felt when I wandered into the international students lounge just in time to see the second tower fall. I told them how alone I felt, how I felt light years away from home, loved ones, and compatriots. As I finished my abbreviated tale of that day, I geared up for the inevitable political follow up questions about the war, and our bellicose leader. None came. A moment of silence followed my little story, and the weight of it lifted. Then came the more questions, about school, teachers, and daily life in the U.S. For some reason this made an impression on me. I was a person, not a flag, a symbol for all the good and bad actions of my government. It was very humane. Or maybe they were just scared to ask the questions they really wanted to ask. It's hard to know.