Over half of the people that voted in the 2004 presidential election cast their ballot for George W. Bush. Despondent in the aftermath, mourning the life that has and will be lost in the plant and animal kingdoms due to the policies of this administration, I spent the next few days seeking comfort and instead encountering an outpouring of anger in the progressive community. Insults flung, insinuations of conspiracy, fight fight fight! I felt isolated, because my overwhelming emotion was that of sadness. Even if mass corruption occurred, it would still be true that at least half the people of this nation voted for four more years of Bush. I don't subscribe to the notion that they are all stupid, misinformed, malicious, or greedy. I think they trust George Bush. I've talked to some people that voted for him, and they describe a feeling that he's "one of them," a "people's man," "down to earth," and a "strong leader." I'm reminded of the disparity between the popular approval of Reagan and the approval of his reprehensible policies. Why did these millions of people choose to disregard a four year history of poor judgment, corporate corruption, and lies? I think they want, very badly, to believe that our culture is on the right track. Perhaps it's comforting to have a rough-and-ready cowboy in charge of a country at war, because it provides the illusion of a united country, a connection to something bigger than one's self, a sense of...community?

The bonds that connect me to my community are absent for most people in our culture. I am friends with the people that grow the food I eat, and I even grow some of it myself. When I buy things, I buy them from locally-owned stores, and the people often recognize me. I know my neighbors; I walk or bike wherever I go, and often have conversations on the way. I volunteer at my food co-op, and at my radio station. When I'm celebrating my friends celebrate with me, and when I mourn they offer support. This sense of connectedness is not the canvas on which my life's story is rendered; these connections _are_ my life story. Where would I be without them? I don't have to guess, because I haven't always had them. Before becoming involved in a community, I lived a life that had more in common with the majority of the people in our country. I watched a lot of TV. I didn't have very many friends. I lived in a house too big for my needs in the suburbs, bought a steady accumulation of things that I didn't use, worked too much, and was increasingly unhappy and disillusioned. But I held tightly to the myth that this was the way, and I even occasionally voted Republican. Why? Because it seemed like they were driven no-nonsense hard workers, and that was part of my self image. I was afraid, and when we are afraid, we act to comfort ourselves. I'm guessing it's comforting to have John Wayne in office when you grew up watching his movies. Maybe he reminds you of your Dad. Maybe he just makes you pine for better days.

The point is that in order to vote for people that are going to implement compassionate policies that value life and don't marginalize people, one has to be in a pretty strong place personally. It's hard to think of the world as an interconnected diverse network of valuable creative creatures struggling to be meaningful, and to vote for someone that will respect that network, when you're lonely and scared. And people without connections to a community of other people are, I believe, lonely and scared, particularly when they are seemingly trapped in a system that disregards their creativity and individual worth and instead asks them to swallow 50 years of meaningless toil in order to spend their remaining 20 years wondering what happened to their life.

The common thread composing these missing connections is love. A spiritual energy (and yes, I know many progressives stop reading when either of those words is used, let alone juxtaposed, but please bear with me) that creates life. We are born to feel it, to create it, to nurture it. And in order to really do that, we have to recognize that it exists in all humans. As much as I wish Bush was not our president, I won't march holding angry or clever signs about the opposition. I don't believe there is an opposition. For those that saw Fahrenheit 9/11, do you remember the scene where Bush is informed of the attack, sitting reading a children's book to a classroom? I disagree with Michael Moore's commentary in that scene. I don't think George was thinking "Who screwed me over." I think he was very, very afraid. Scared, lonely, intimidated, horrified. These emotions played across his face so visibly that I felt a flood of compassion for him. I wish he wasn't president, but I don't hate him.

The polarization of activism, even in my beloved community, has led me to seek ways to work towards positive change that hold compassion and love at their core. I don't judge those that protest, that write detailed diatribes on public policy, or deliver lengthy litanies at meandering meetings, but I cannot devote myself to those pursuits. Instead, I try to find ways to build bridges. I like potlucks, elementary school after school playground gatherings, and other places where I encounter people in a warm setting that puts them at ease, where we can talk. Have you had many conversations with people of a different mindset while holding a sign at a protest and watching people flip you off out their window? Me neither, and I've held those signs.

So today is Christmas. I'm not Christian. Although I have a lot of respect for the actual teachings of Christ, I find the dogma surrounding the church since his death to be smothering, and the image of a male bearded omnipotent father just doesn't resonate with my spiritual side. But Christmas does give me the opportunity to visit with people outside of my community, and maybe to exchange gifts. I treat this as a chance to expose people to the idea of community, and to give them a taste of mine. I prepare food from local ingredients, I give away things knitted by friends, books written by people in our community, and...CDs.

Ahh, my title is exposed. The "CD review that isn't"...is, sort of. Give the gift of local art! Our community is filled with talented people pouring their souls into their canvases, their pottery, and their instruments. Most people in our culture never meet the people who write and perform the music they love, and that is tremendously sad. To know an artist and to here their music live is to witness an intense expression of an energy that could make the choice of president irrelevant if enough people listened.

That day after the election I went home and listened to a CD by Paul Kotheimer, his latest, entitled "Home Grown Roses." Here's a guy who lives right here in town, creating beautiful music and not making much money doing it. "Home Grown Roses" is intensely personal, lyrical, and shows that although Moxy Fruvous assures us that "Everyone's a novelist, and everyone can sing," some people work hard at doing both really well, and Paul's one of them. No two ways about it, Paul's songwriting is enchanting, and he's a talented multi-instrumentalist to boot. But most importantly, at least for this article, he lives here in Urbana, works in his yard, and takes care of his kid. He's part of our community; you can even get your CD from his hand to yours. You can hear him live, both on his own an as a part of another stellar group, Darrin Drda's Theory of Everything (but that's another "review.") So I encourage you to do your part to build connections in your community and beyond. Eat local. Buy local. Listen local. And talk about it!