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(But I’m not...)

by Lucy Sieger

This awful realization hit me after a new acquaintance, whom I met while walking our dogs, hemmed and hawed when describing her progressive North Knoxville neighborhood. “Oh, you know, all our neighbors are really cool...I mean...they all think alike...um, it’s just that...” She bit her lip, not wanting to provoke a near-stranger. But I knew what she was getting at.

I know her neighborhood, and you can hardly see the houses for all the Kerry signs. Her hip neighborhood has a definite political identity.

Unlike mine.

I quickly offered a pro-Kerry bon mot, and we fell into the predictable post-debate litany of “Could you believe when he said...” and, “What was that bulge in his jacket?” But I was squirming inside. How could she not know I was a Democrat? How could I come across as being a...a Bushie?

I was reminded of something my first husband, who was president of his college’s Young Republican Club, once said to me:

“You think like a Democrat, but you live like a Republican.”

Well, maybe so, but I never did fit into that Republican milieu. And anyway, that was then, and this is now.

Gone is husband number one, a corporate sales manager with a penchant for conservative views, golf and Porsches. Gone is the McMansion subdivision. (Well, it’s still out there in Farragut, actually, but I’ve moved in closer to town.) Then I was a childless housewife with lots of time on my hands, now I’m a Web strategist who tells people to get time on my calendar.

With my new husband, a graphic designer, I’ve renovated a frumpy old ranch into a really cool house. I even have an old Volvo, its radio faithfully tuned to WUOT. I eagerly await my New York Times every Sunday morning; I’m a long-term Utne Reader subscriber. The list goes on.

But it’s not enough. The reality is that my appearance and demeanor have all the edginess of a Land’s End catalog model. To look at me, I could be a “security mom” who shops at Talbots and drives a W-stickered Cadillac Escalade. And that is the first impression I make. Sigh. What more can I do?

Lots, actually. My pique over failing to emanate hip, progressive signals faded as I got to thinking about how politics is much more than a lifestyle statement. Personal aesthetics aside, I passionately believe in the more progressive, Democratic agenda. I always have, even as a child growing up in a conservative Republican family.

But what am I really doing to live these views? I’ve been “too busy” to volunteer for the Kerry campaign this fall, much to my chagrin. Sure, I’ve got the yard sign and the bumper sticker, and I’ll cast my vote bright and early on Nov. 2. I’ll even donate money to the Kerry campaign as soon as I get around to it—right after finishing this column, I promise.

But what am I really doing? How can I incorporate some measure of political activism into my already crowded schedule?

I don’t have the answer right now. And I know the answer won’t be convenient, because the answer will involve action, and action takes time. But if someone mistakes me for a Republican, I’d sure like the satisfaction of knowing my political actions are undeniably progressive—even if my “persona” is not.

October 21, 2004 • Vol. 14, No. 43 © 2004 Metro Pulse