Love It or Leave It

-Rachelle Linda Escamilla

Chris and I have always talked about moving to another country, specifically before #OWS.  I imagined having multiple books of poetry published (the dream is on target); building my resume; charting out a future in academia; and Chris dreamed his crazy-computer-science-minded dreams about making solar robots (which he does) and providing an adequate cushion for us to begin the relocation process.  Because that's how you do it, legally - in order to emigrate you must make yourself viable to the receiving country.  We contemplated Guatemala,  considered South-East Asia, and wished for somewhere like Germany, Iceland or Sweden (but I'm a California girl, having transplanted once to the cold climate, I don't know if I could do that again).  After a few passive sessions of wishing on the globe, we settled on Argentina.  I researched Universities I could either attend or be employed, and he became instantly lost on the internet researching the cost of an organic, grass-fed, lovely steak dinner. 

Today we were driving to Stanford to visit the Cantor Center; I was craving a dose of Rodin in the bleakness of current political events.  How nice it would be, I thought, to escape the world for a while and look at the glossy black forms.  During the drive we were wrapped in conversation about the recent police brutality on college campuses.  College CAMPUSES where free speech, non-violent protest, and activism has its strongest and most sensible crowd.  As we drove, Chris read the open letter to the Chancellor of UC Davis.  The letter addressed the recent bout of police brutality which included prying mouths open and spraying pepper spray down the throats of students who sat, arms-linked, in agony. In the letter, Nathan Brown an assistant professor in the English department at UC Davis, asked Linda Katehi, the Chancellor, to resign due to her inability to provide a safe environment for her students.  

I agreed with Professor Brown and was infuriated.  I could feel my blood pressure rising and my body become stiff with worry.  How could this happen?  This is AMERICA.  How does it occur that students, sitting, in non-violent protest, become victims of physical pain?  I don't question the police action (because, as a person of color, I expect police to be evil, unless they are the exception to the rule), but I question the one institution I've always believed in: Education. How could a University provide so much education, but make such disgusting decisions regarding civil liberties? 

Well, we proceeded with our planned day.  We arrived at Stanford later than planned, but ready to take a break from the world of activism and worry.  As we emerged from the parking structure on campus, we heard voices shouting in unison.  I assumed, because this is Stanford, not Cal, that it was just a bunch of kids getting ready for a pep rally. As we rounded the corner we watched a procession of students yelling "What do we want? JUSTICE! When do we want it? NOW!" I became instantly elated.  Had we stumbled upon a demonstration in solidarity with the recent police brutality on the UC campuses?  We picked up the pace and caught up. 

Sure enough, we had.  Chris and I blended in with the early twenty-somthings, and yelled our way around campus.  We trailed along in the back and midway through the march I nudged Chris to look behind him, we were now in the middle. He squeezed my arm, as if to say "see, my love, people care".

And sometimes, in this country, we do not care. Or we are distracted.  The clamor of television,  celebrities, and consumerism becomes so loud, so overpowering that the country seems lost. The overpowering diegetic nature of our lives: the worlds within worlds within worlds where information and power and civil liberties and love and peace are diluted with clothing and shopping and doggy pajamas and new release movies and everyday tasks and going to the museum; everything becomes lost in the shuffle of being lost in the shuffle of being American. And that's why we contemplated leaving America. It isn't slow enough for us, or clean enough for us, or progressive enough or nice enough or loving enough or peaceful enough.

But stumbling upon the cavalcade today made me realize that there might still be a glimmer in the darkness.  That we, as a country, can redeem ourselves.  We could cash in our trademarked blinders for clarity and care.  That all is not lost. 

When we considered emigrating to another country a couple years ago, it seemed difficult. Now, it seems to be the easiest route: leave the mess of America to the mass of Americans.  I don't know if I want to leave anymore, I've never backed out of a challenge before. I sure as hell won't do it now.