Don’t Be Different

On March 22, Utah will be holding it’s primary. Except, it’s not a primary; it’s a caucus. I didn’t know what a caucus was before I moved here. A caucus, it turns out, is when—instead of the anonymous voting process I mistakenly believed our democracy was predicated on—you go to a neighborhood meeting and literally stand up for your candidate in front of all your neighbors.

Note that only Democrats have to do this. The Republican party has funded an online poll in lieu of their caucus. But if you’re a Democrat (I am, obviously), you have to go to a caucus and vote, in person, and publicly. Now, it’s not that I don’t want anyone to know whom I’m voting for (IT’S BERNIE SANDERS); it’s just that this system smacks to me of peer pressure and conformism—two things that Utah seems to really be known for, in my experience so far.

This is all just a precursor to something else that happened to me today. There’s a website called Nextdoor.com that I love. I’ve belonged to it since I’ve lived in California, and it’s been really great for connecting with neighbors in terms of “Who knows a garage door repair guy?” and “I found someone’s Labradoodle wandering in the park!” and “Would anyone like to buy Girl Scout Cookies?” Neighborliness is something that really appeals to me, and one of the few reasons I actually love the benign little suburban neighborhood I live in.

Yesterday, someone posted the following:

(If you can’t read it, it says: “Just saw some guy walking in Dimple Dell road [sic] near deer hollow and the rehab center pushing a bunch of shopping carts, Just an FYI. Seems kind of out of place.”)

There was something about this post that grabbed my attention. Dimple Dell is not a sleepy little neighborhood street; it’s one of the main roads that runs through our neighborhood, the kind of street where people drive too fast (ahem, Jon), because it’s bordered on one side by a bunch of open land and not a lot of houses. It’s not, in other words, a tucked-in little spot where you’d have to worry about a stranger. If that even matters.

Yet, 6 of my other neighbors “thanked” Amy for posting this, and a long string of comments ensued, with a good 10+ people pitching in about how we should all panic, call the cops, and how it’s “always good to notify your neighbors of anything that appears out of place or suspicious.” Until someone with some insight into the situation mentioned that he knows the “individual” and that he is not dangerous, just obsessed with shopping carts.

That did not stop the string, of course. And yes, someone did call the Sandy police to report that they saw a weirdo. And I sat on my fingers and tried really hard not to reply to this xenophobic madness, until finally, someone I’ve never met chimed in with a very sane and intelligent response about how maybe, just maybe, a more appropriate response to seeing someone “out of place” in our hood would have been compassion and curiosity about whether he needed anything—not an assumption that he is an immediate threat to all that is good and wholesome. For all we know, she said, he pushes a shopping cart because it helps him balance. “Maybe he’s a kooky artist,” I thought. Maybe he stole the shopping carts from Home Depot for some crazy project and plans to return them later, no harm, no foul.

The point is, we have no idea. Intrigued by the potential of a like-minded soul nearby, I replied to this one sane, rational, intelligent person and said, “Hey, I think you and I should be friends.”

Then I took a nap, because I don’t feel that great today.

I woke up from the nap to a message that my reply to the string on Nextdoor.com had been flagged.

Uh.

For being “abusive.”

That’s right.

In Sandy, you see, apparently it’s considered abusive to disagree with your neighbors publicly. (Is that even what I did?)

Which is why I am really not looking forward to the caucus.

BUT I AM GOING.

(Please vote.)