I just thought you might have some insight.

P.

Well, this friend of mine poses an interesting question, and one upon which I said I'd think on. Having done so, my initial response is that politicization it's probably like the process of grief, with a range of known or common phases. Some people experience all of them in a common particular order while others go through very few or possibly none or maybe stay stuck in one phase forever.

I think about my own experiences. I've always been an angry letter writer, but for years my satisfaction came in the writing not the delivering. So even to this day, I have one particular letter I wrote in response to an article in The South End, Wayne State University's student paper. The article was a ridiculous piece equating gay rights with "special" rights. Aach, special rights. The foundation upon which it was written was super sketchy and to this day it's the response of which I'm most proud--but I never mailed it to the paper.

I also remember an incident that to this day still sticks in my craw. I had gone to visit my parents for the weekend, and my mother drove me to the Greyhound station for my return trip. She wanted to put my ticket on her credit card, but when I went to the ticket counter they said that she would have to come to the counter to sign for it. That much was understandable, but, as I explained, it was very difficult for my mom to get in and out of the car due to physical weakness caused by a congenital illness that was becoming symptomatic. I asked if the ticket person could instead accompany me to the parking lot where my mother was waiting in the car. I could draw the story out but the short of it, is that she refused and so did the manager whom I eventually requested to see. It was mid-afternoon in Grand Rapids, Michigan (not exactly known for serious crime like carjacking or kidnapping), no other customers were in line, and the car and my mother were visible from the ticket counter. It couldn't have been more than 20 feet from the tiny station's front door. But they wouldn't budge. It wasn't policy. I was asked, "if she can't get out of the car, then how did she get in it?" I have never come so close to decking somebody. I was absolutely incensed and outraged at their stupid bureaucracy and lack of compassion. After lunging at the woman behind the counter, I went out to the car where to my surprise--and my mom's and my aunt's--I burst into tears. To be honest I don't remember how the situation was resolved, though my aunt admonished me gently, saying that I needed to be strong for my mom. The entire bus ride, I scratched out the most scathing the letter. I was determined that not only would both the ticket clerk and her manager be reprimanded, but I was going to send a copy of my letter to the Grand Rapids Press, hopefully inspiring the firing of both people. But as always, the act of writing was all I needed to move on with my life. I never mailed the letters though I felt guilty for not doing so.