I heard John Edwards speak tonight.
Wait, before I start, let me give you a minute (okay, maybe two) of background. In 2004, John Edwards was my man. His speeches moved me, his smile charmed me, almost everything I learned about him made me want him for my President. Needless to say, I was thrilled at the thought of sharing his airspace. Okay, read on.
Edwards is making the college rounds, promoting the
Opportunity Rocks program which is trying to get college students involved in the new war on poverty. Without fail, Edwards hit all of the expected notes in his speech. There was the slight against Bush, the knock on the war in Iraq, the slam against Haliburton and the mention of Rosa Parks. He mentioned paycheck advance services and gave a nod to labor unions. He talked about the horrible poverty that many of Katrina's victims endured. He discussed the racial divide which casts Blacks and Hispanics into poverty, while leaving whites relatively unscathed. He talked a little about the working poor, explaining that one woman he met works three jobs at minimum wage and is still barely making it.
Then his speech changed. He started talking about how each one of these people needs a champion. I was excited. I knew that he was right. We are all, right now, looking for a champion: someone to rise above the cynicism that is inherent in politics and reach out, do the unsafe thing, speak plainly and for once do something that we can all applaud and be proud of. I waited, holding my breath, to hear who, who this champion was.
Can you guess it?
It's YOU. According to Edwards, everyone one of us is a champion.
The audience, of course, went wild. They all wanted to believe, fervently, that they could make a difference. And, to be honest, it's entirely possible that they will make a difference, at least to someone. But as I watched the girl next to me put her camera down for the first time that night and beat her hands together as though they were on fire, and as I looked up at Edwards, smiling and waving, I had this thought: "Really? Is that it?"
Is that it, Mr. Edwards?
Is that the best you can do, talk about how I need to do more? Don't tell me that it's college kids who are going to make a difference, and don't tell me to quit looking to elected officials to lead. Isn't that their job? Isn't that what we're paying them to do? Are they not public servants?
Please, Mr. Edwards, do not talk about poverty without discussing the very real war currently being waged on the middle class, which, incidentally, the middle class is losing. Do not ignore those in poverty who wear high heels and nylons to work every day and eat ramen 14 days out of the month because that's what they can afford. Do not talk about poverty without mentioning the twenty-eight year-old bank teller who goes without health insurance because it costs 15% of his take-home pay and he figures he's young and healthy, and can take the chance. Don't talk about poverty without talking about the couple in their mid-thirties who will now lose their home because they had a special-needs child and the health-care costs would have bankrupted them, if bankruptcy was still an option. Don't talk about poverty without talking about the student in his mid-twenties who realizes that he makes enough money to survive on, barely, but not enough for tuition and books, but he makes too much to qualify for financial aid.
There are millions of people in this country who live under soul-crushing poverty; Katrina showed us their faces. But unless we start, right now, fighting for the so-called middle class, there will be no other rung on the ladder for the poor to grasp in their climb up. There will be no place else for them to go.
I believe John Edwards is a good man whose heart is in the right place. Tonight, he became less of a champion in my eyes, and more of a politician. Me? I'm still looking for a champion.