Dear President Obama,
I don’t remember exactly when I fell in love with you, but by the time
your 2008 campaign was in full swing, I was on board. As a politically active
high school student, I knew it was my duty to pay attention to the election and
work to get you into office. But you made me feel something I hadn’t felt in a
long time. You made me feel hopeful, like we might not be past the point of
being able to build a better country and make the American Dream a bit more
real. You made me believe (naively, I know) that politics could write us a
better future as a people.
I followed your campaign the way most people follow professional
sports. I spent my weekends organizing voter registration drives at local food banks.
I watched your speeches, praying and believing, and felt part of something
real, something bigger, something important. I remember election night, when
they called it for you, and everyone in the room started crying and hugging
each other. That moment belonged to all of us, and it was so beautiful, so full
of hope and promise for a better world. I watched your inaugural speech, and
when you acknowledged that we were a nation of many faiths including
nonbelievers, I felt like I had a place in the America you were trying to
build.
Even after the honeymoon was over, I stuck with you. I knew you were up
against an obstructionist party. I knew politics is slow and takes time. I
defended you on health care, even when the bill you ended up signing wasn’t the
one we all wanted. I understood that sometimes, you have to compromise your
ideals to get anything done at all.
It’s been a long, hard road since then. Your economic policies haven’t
created the recovery we wanted, and while it would have been worse without the
stimulus, I still feel let down. I remember when all the serious climate bills
died in Congress and you barely said anything. I got the feeling you weren’t
listening as much as you used to. I wasn’t sure you still cared about me the
way you once said you did. You used to tell me stories that made me feel like a
part of something that mattered—how we were all working towards a better
America, how we stood on the shoulders of great men and women who had tried to
build a more perfect union. You used to show me your roots—the community
organizing in Chicago, the struggles you went through to go to Harvard, the
racism you endured growing up. I don’t know when that all changed, but I found
myself feeling less connected. The spark I fell in love with was fading. What I
used to love so much about you was that I really wanted you to be president. It
wasn’t like 2004, where a vote for John Kerry meant “anyone but George W”. We
wanted you, Barack. But suddenly, I found myself saying things like, “Yes,
everything’s going to hell, but it’ll get there a lot faster if Bachmann or
Perry gets elected.” It wasn’t about you any more, it’s just that the
alternative was so much worse.
I had talked myself into grudgingly supporting you in 2012, if only
because there’s no better choice. But then last week, your State Department
greenlighted the Keystone XL pipeline. Your administration said that it was ok
to take tar sands oil—the most energy-intensive, environmentally destructive
oil that exists on Earth—and pipe it from Alberta (where indigenous communities
living near extraction sites suffer disproportionately high cancer rates) to
the Gulf Coast. This, in the name of energy independence. This, to allow our
economy to keep growing. I understand politics—job creation, a secure source of
power, and the like. I know you want to get re-elected. But I’m tired of being
taken for granted, Barack. I’m tired of you assuming that the enviros and
greens will vote for you every time because we don’t have a better alternative.
And now, today, you tell the EPA to wait to enforce their new standards
on air quality until 2013. You don’t want to set tougher standards for ozone
(better known as smog), even though it would prevent thousands of premature
deaths a year. And even the cynic in me can’t understand what you’re trying to
do. You’re not going to win over pro-job conservatives who think that
environmental protection and economic growth is a zero-sum game. You’re not
going to get corporate polluters to switch to your side. All you’re going to do
is make enough people like me sad enough to want to stay home next November.
Barack, I can’t do this anymore. I still believe you’re a good person
at heart, but you’re not the man I fell in love with four years ago. You’re
old, world-weary. You don’t have the spark that inspired me to believe in great
things and work for change. I know that all alternatives come 2012 will likely
be much, much worse, and I don’t know how to reconcile that with my desire to
beg you to stop taking people like me for granted. I’ve been in love before, had
a broken heart and spent days crying over broken relationships. But you’re the
only one who’s ever made the light inside me burn a little less bright.
With regret,
Rachel
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