I wrote last night about my feelings in that moment when it was officially declared. I’ve been pondering it all day today, too. Struggling to explain, even to myself, why this has affected me so much.
Because I know that governing isn’t powered by hope and that the Obama presidency is going to involve a lot of difficult times and failed initiatives. I know that this historic moment will quickly become just that: history. And that it won’t truly come good unless it follows through on the promises. And I know that we have to quickly get back into the muck. The economy hasn’t improved because of how people voted yesterday, our soldiers are still in Iraq, our health care system is still broken, CO2 emissions continue apace, and on and on.
All of these problems need immediate attention, which leaves little time for misty eyes.
But, for just a little while longer, I’m going to pretend that none of that is true. I’m going to rewatch his speech from last night and the one from New Hampshire all those months ago. I’m going to watch this video and try my hardest to imagine what it must be like to have been on the bridge in Selma, putting your life at risk just for the right to vote, to wake up this morning in an America where a black man has been elected president.
And I’m going to believe with all my heart that November 4, 2008 is a date that will sing in our history. In my life there have only been a few such days. The fall of the Berlin Wall, I wasn’t quite old enough to truly understand the significance. 9-11 will last forever, but while my most powerful memories are of the response – the way people came together – it is of course a memory of tragedy. The same is true of Katrina.
But this moment, right now, the feeling of last night and today: this is pure. Whatever may come. However transformative or insignificant the Obama presidency. Whether it ends in glory or mediocrity or tragedy, for this one shining moment all things seem possible. And most importantly, this is true not because of Obama (who is simply an intelligent, motivated, talented politician – nothing more, nothing less) but because of the American people who voted for him.
The symbolic power of November 4th will always derive from the fact that Obama did not run as a symbol. His race mattered, of course it mattered, but it was not decisive – in either direction. If he had won just because he was black, it would have been important to be sure. But it would not have been transcendant. Instead, he won simply because he was the best candidate. In that sense, the day is truly characterized by absence. The way intolerance did not prevent this from happening. The way it all worked as it was supposed to. The way that the collective consciousness of the most powerful nation in the world’s history rose up and said: no longer will this divide sustain itself, no longer will good people be denied access for reasons that should not matter, no longer should any of our citizens be led to believe that the highest position in the land is forever beyond their reach.
There is a powerful resonance, built deep into the bedrock of this nation. The highest ideals, the most grandiose dreams, everything…it all comes back to the most mundane of premises. To truths that really are self-evident. To the idea that every person ought be allowed to make of their life whatever they choose. It may take a black man being elected president to provide a concrete form, but the true power comes from the dream underneath.
And that means that the cynicism must return. Obama cannot be all things to all people, and the romanticism of this election will fade. But just as it would be a mistake to ignore these facts, it would similarly be wrong to treat today as simply another day. The basic facts do not change overnight, but every once in a while the sky clears and we are granted a glimpse of the perfection that will always remain just beyond our reach. When such opportunities are granted it is our responsibility, I think, to make good on them.
And so, on this day, I do not ask for anything more. The fights, the recriminations, the troubles and battles of daily life. The endless struggle of politics. All of this will return soon. But for now, I am satisfied to remember how it felt to watch a young man from Illinois speak about a 106 year old woman, born without the right to vote (twice over) who was watching at home. And to think about everything that came before him, and all that is to come after. And to think, full of wonderment: that is my president speaking.