powerless

Today I went to the gym (for the first time in about two weeks, mind you. Jimmy, I know, I know, but I have been going to ballet and jazz classes inbetween, so I haven’t been a TOTAL slug). At my gym, they have Tvs mounted to the ceiling, one next to the other, so you can watch MTV, CNN and ESPN all at the same time. The juxtaposition of these televisions was never particularly bothersome to me, until today. On CNN, they were showing pictures of the destruction in Mississippi and Louisiana. On MTV, they were showing fresh-faced celebrities, unloading from glistening black limousines, sauntering down the red carpet to the MTV awards. It was strange, seeing two girls, their hair mussed, eyes red, pleading for information about their missing mother next to a smiling Paris Hilton. It made me physically sick.

Maybe it was guilt – I felt guilty about worrying about the little pieces of flab on my tummy while I watched people wade through knee deep water to retrieve bottled water that was being thrown from helicopters. I felt angry thinking about the amount of money what was undoubtedly tossed into producing the MTV awards, the cost of the huge bling that was weighing down Nelly’s neck, and the amount of money it is going to take to rebuild the gulf coast.

Last night I went out with Boy #6 (oh yes, you heard right, #6), his former college roommate, and another of his friends to a bar by #6’s house. We were sitting in this bar, drinking Velvet hammers (Guinness and cider, quite good actually), and Boy#6 leans over:

“I feel so guilty about sitting here, while all that stuff is happening in New Orleans,” he said. “I cannot stop thinking about that.”
“I know,” I said. “I saw a terrible picture of a body just floating down a river. It is almost too much to comprehend.” (or something to that effect, I cannot remember exactly what I said)

We talked about what we had heard that day, and the inadequacy of the federal response to the situation. We also talked about how this whole disaster was a perfect distraction from the “war on terror,” the 850 plus people that were killed in Iraq in a stampede on a bridge, the monsoon that hit somewhere in Asia.

How do we reconcile ourselves to go on living, when so many people are struggling? The rational thing to do is figure out a way to help, so we can sleep at night. So we give money, or we donate clothes, and then we feel better because we did something to flatten that lead ball of guilt weighing down our stomachs. But what happens after that?

Do we keep tolerating a government that has no plan to help those most in need, whether it be from a natural disaster or economic warfare? Do we shrug our shoulders and give up on democracy, because the remnants of this system are fading into an ever-growing capitalist landscape? When did capitalism become our main form of government? And how do we stop participating, when it has become so engrained in our way of life?

We are not powerless to change things.