Disbelief and Hope

At about 3 pm this afternoon, it occurred to me that Obama could really win... that perhaps this time the victory would not be stolen from us.

I realized that I wanted to be with others for this historic evening, not alone at home preparing for tomorrow's class as I had planned.

I called Nathalie Hoffman and Bob Ditchey, who had been my neighbors on the November night in 1992 when Bill Clinton won the presidency. We had yelled and laughed together on that night.

At 8 pm I joined them for a small party in their apartment building, just as networks were making the call: Obama will win 270 electoral votes.

We cheered but still felt fearful: the joy of 2000 had turned to teetering and then defeat... the near-victory of 2004 had been taken from us in Ohio.

By 8:20 pm McCain was making a concession speech; the sadness in his face was hard to watch.

When Obama entered Grant Park in Chicago, the new reality started to feel real.

My friend Bob underlined the contrast: McCain speaking from the luxurious Biltmore Hotel in Phoenix, Obama speaking in Chicago from a public park.

"Not red states and blue states but United States," he said. That brought tears to my eyes.

A French-American in the room reported the message from his friends in France: "Now we fall in love with America again."

My daughter Marie texted me, "Joy!! Pure joy!! I am finally proud to be an American!!!"

She was just 13 years old when George W. Bush was elected; for half of her conscious life, he has been president. Since 2003 she has travelled and studied several times in Argentina, Costa Rica, and Brazil, all the while feeling shame about US aggression in Iraq.

Seeing the words "President-Elect Obama" on the television screen moved me another inch away from fear, toward belief that Republican reign is finally over.

I was voting against war, against so-called "pre-emptive strikes" and unilateral actions by the US without regard for the UN. Electing the first African-American president didn't really matter to me, though electing the first woman president would have been important.

Maybe tomorrow when I wake up this new world of peace, international cooperation, and interracial action will still be here.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

-- Emily Dickinson