To the future.

Politics have always been a mixed-bag for me. As a pre-pubescent adolescent, I had “discovered” punk rock and, like most unknowing 11 year-olds spinning Anti-Flag’s “Underground Network” for the first time, I became suspicious of the government. I recall attempting to butt into my parent’s conversations about the upcoming election – “George Bush is a fascist!” I would say (I laugh now – what would I have known about fascism when I was too busy reading every issue of X-Men?) – but not really quite getting “it.” It took a few years, and the 9/11 tragedy, for any political knowledge to really impress itself upon me the knowledge of what “I” was trying to say; in fact, on the one year anniversary of the World Trade Center attack, I wore a t-shirt with Anti-Flag lyrics on it to the ceremony my school was holding and spoke eloquently, for a 12 year-old, regarding my opposition to George W. Bush’s presidency to the most influential teacher of my life.

While my shirt sported “911 For Peace” lyrics, I had shifted away from the Fat Wreck Chords catalog for my political knowledge and began following newspapers, cable television, and books for every piece of information I could about politician’s platforms, shortcomings, and promises. For two years, I followed Bush’s career as president closely as his performance – and the country – continued to decline. Once, I even told my Social Studies teacher that, “Bill Clinton was one the greatest presidents.”

Maybe she believed me to be naïve of the “finer” moments of Clinton’s presidency, but she merely chuckled and rolled her eyes. Unlike most kids my age, though, I sat and watched CNN with my parents every night – an event that still happens to this day whenever I go home – and I was savvy on Clinton’s indiscretions as well as his strong-points.

Therefore, while I couldn’t vote in the 2004 elections, I encouraged both of my parents to do so (they both voted for Kerry) and argued with my freshman ceramics teacher as we watched Kerry concede during eighth period.

It could have been that defeat that led to my steadily declining interest in American politics. I became progressively more radical (as radical as a teenage resident of rural, Southern Ohio could be) and disenchanted with the nation as a whole. When the Obama train first pulled out of the station, I was less impassioned than my peers – I knew his platform, I knew the implications his mere running for candidacy had, I knew the impact his – unimaginable – election would have. I, however, had registered green on my 18th birthday and started writing bad short stories about rural anarchists, and generally was uninterested in the “system.”

I voted for Hilary in the primaries and went off to college without much thought. I was going to be a writer, not a politician or a “tool” of the man. I also read a lot of Abbe Hoffman and listened to a lot of This Is Hell so I, generally, had a bad attitude. As such, the first three months of my freshman year passed without much note – I drank, I watched Obama win the presidency on a jumbo screen, I faced a few hairy situations, and I went home before winter had the chance to set in.

The ten months of my life is incapable of summarization. This is not a literary device: much of it is hazy, blurred together by bottle after bottle of cheap booze and pack after pack of Camel Wides, and other parts are self-incriminating. The rest was spent in smoky bars, playing bass in a pseudo-hardcore band, and couch surfing until I returned, rather quietly, to college in hopes of “starting over,” refreshing, and resetting my life.

Just as with most things that was easier said than done; I crawled from Microeconomics all the way to Advanced Critical Writing, a class that, undoubtedly, made me the writer I am today (though, I’m not sure that ‘s saying very much as my sentence are usually convoluted and my penchant for parallel structure is a bit much). Simultaneously, I also found a group of people who would, through a series of events, alter my perception of the world indefinitely. I found feminism. Or feminism found me, drunk and stumbling about a house party with people who shared, for the most part, my own disenchantment with the world but were, for the most part, doing something about it.

I ended up living in that house the next year, throwing myself into reading, writing, and organizing while reshaping, refining, and reevaluating myself. I became a vegetarian (again), I debated politics, sexuality, social class, music, literature, wrote reviews of shows and albums, volunteered at women’s shelters, and read thousands of pages about oppression, suppression, and depression. Slowly, I started caring about the things that I thought I stopped caring about – animal rights, women’s rights, worker’s rights, gay rights. I didn’t need a political label to become educated and, in turn, spread that education. I just needed a voice.

I barreled through “Eating Animals,” “Fun Home,” essays about environmentalism, each issue of Slingshot, and read feministing every day. And then, after the recommendation of a friend, I picked up Derrick Jensen’s “Endgame: Volume I.” For two weeks, I poured over every page, agonizing over every death that I had a part in without knowing it over the course of my life. From the moment I finished the book, I knew that my life had to change.

Jensen spoke to 15 year-old me, the one who thought anarchy was the key dismantling all systems of oppression, the one who had a “KFC is Cruelty” poster in their locker. He also spoke to the 21 year-old me who knew that words were just as powerful of a weapon as a bullet or a bomb. I started to change my life.

I had taken small steps – reading “Eating Animals” after reverting back to vegetarianism reaffirmed my deep-seeded hatred for the food industry and factory farming – but I knew that it wasn’t enough (even now I wonder if anything will ever be enough). So, over time, I started changing my life to further my commitment to environmentalism and the pursuit of sustainability. I became more conservative in my vegetarian practices, cutting out, completely, cheese and milk and only consuming ‘traces’ of dairy until transitioning to veganism completely, stopped funneling money into the economy, and started reading. And talking.

Over the next five months, I read, as author Gary Paulsen said, like a wolf eats – ravenously. “The Vegan Monologues,” “Overshoot,” “The Vegetarian Myth," “Walking On Water,” “Earth and Mind,” and the list goes on and will continue to grow. I stopped buying “alternative” food, I started eating out of trashcans and off of discarded plates whenever the opportunity arises (though, I have yet to truly commit to a full-on dumpster diving, freegan lifestyle for any extended period of my life), I’ve started writing opinion pieces about the consumption and production of food, and for the last few weeks, I’ve been campaigning for Francis Thicke as the next Secretary of Agriculture in the state of Iowa. And now, on election day, I’m starting this blog.

Whether or not Thicke wins this election (and I hope – almost pray – that he does), work will need to be done (there always be work to be done). Americans throw away 25% of their food annually. Factory farms and agribusiness still dominant food production. Countless species go extinct daily. Politicians oppose cap and trade because Americans don’t want to save the planet. Excuse me. They don’t want to pay more taxes. The list goes on and on.

However, Thicke’s campaign has done something that I am proud to say I’ve been a part of: he has raised the consciousness of countless individuals about the benefits of local, organic, and sustainable farming and received the backing of Democrats, Republicans, and Independents who, six months ago, did not know what the difference between a grain-fed and a grass-fed cow is. And, for those of us who did know – and know so much more – he has received our gratitude, support, and admiration. (I cannot count the times over the last few days that someone, myself included, has said something to the effect, “Thicke is my hero.”)

And, I figure, if Thicke can do something that most people didn’t dream possible – an organic farmer running against a BigAg-endorsed candidate?! – I can finally start writing about the things that I care about. If he wins, he’ll need people out there educating others on his practices, policies, and beliefs. If he doesn’t win, he’ll need people out there that won’t give up, that won’t let the world die quietly.

- Live free, stay hungry.