In many ways – perhaps the important ways – you are much more courageous than we are here in the United States.
Or perhaps more fed up. Though maybe not.
We have no Mubarak. The genius of our founding fathers is in how they sought not to duplicate what they’d just rebelled against. They instilled no sole, limitless dignitary. They built-in a balance of power. They gave voice to the people.
You, the people of Egypt, found your voice after years of unhappiness. That that voice was magnified by the tools of the internet is no small thing, nor is that you used the internet to help find that voice in the first place.
In the U.S. we use the internet – and all media, really – to create a multitude of voices: a digitally driven heightless tower of Babel. We use those voices to complain. To spread vitriol, slander, lies and divisiveness. We use those voices as extensions of individuality – of individualism – and often concern ourselves little with what damage we may be causing.
You use the internet to bring yourselves together; we use it to rend ourselves apart.
And to post pictures of cats. Your ancestry is full of depictions of felines, appreciating their odd half-in/half-out-of-the-underworld nature. We like them because they’re funny.
Because in America we like to be entertained.
We demand to be entertained.
We want our news to be funny.
We want our events to be dramatic.
We want everything to be as visually appealing as possible.
We post pictures of cats because it’s more entertaining than seeing ourselves in the mirror of your headlines.
The truth is, we Americans are incredibly unhappy. This seems ridiculous in a nation of such excess. But I tell you: if you really examine it, all that excess is simple candy and chocolate bars. It’s nothing we can live on for a long period of time.
We have no Mubarak. We have no one figure to blame for our decades of unhappiness. This is the upset stomach and rotten teeth we bear under the sheen of sugar and frosting. Would that we had a king: at least we could depose someone and try again.
You, the people of Egypt, have set an example for those of us here and for the rest of the world.
We have a lot of work to do. We have no king, no president-for-life, no dictator. We have a system that is breaking down, maybe has broken down already. The world has moved on and we simply aren’t willing to do the work to fix it. We aren’t willing to give up our entertainment-addiction for a few long decades of hard work.
Of thinking, and thinking critically.
Of doing rather than opining.
Of accepting though we don’t understand.
Of forgiving what we cannot own.
To the people of Egypt, I don’t know that I’d want to be where you are right now, with so much uncertain and dangerous. But I think I’d choose it over watching this American machine grind ever more rapidly to a halt.
I wish you luck, health and fortune. I wish you work and I wish you happiness. I wish you the strength to continue your conviction to its end. I wish freedom from as much as freedom of.
To the people of America, I wish you would stop your mouths and open your eyes. A house with a giant flat-screen television in every room cannot stand.
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