I have written a lot in the past few weeks about the importance of not taking the experiences (e.g. being American right now) and traditions (e.g. elections) that we have for granted. Although this is a general philosophy that I try to keep in mind everyday, there are moments when our ability to reflect on and appreciate where we are and what we are doing is especially important. We are in such a moment right now. There are times when the short-term and long-term goals of our society converge and (HOPEfully) advance in tandem. This is one of those times. No matter what, the United States Presidential Election of November 4, 2008 is bound to live in our history as long as history exists (and I’m not just talking about “firsts” in the White House). Perhaps I am getting ahead of myself…
When it comes to politics (among other things), I am all too aware of the bubble in which I live—perhaps now more than ever. I grew up in a largely Democratic suburb of Boston, and now I live in a small community that is overwhelmingly in support of Barack Obama. There are always exceptions, and of course as a student in Acton I didn’t quite appreciate the level of political diversity in the town until my first Town Meeting.
In my early childhood George Bush was a name I associated with my pre-memory life, a vague association between a high-level politician and a shrubbery. From age two to ten, Bill Clinton was the President, and while he had his shameful moments, my family generally agreed with his policies, and would often speak of his charisma. I remember watching former Speaker of the House Newt Gingrich on TV, and recognizing that there was another face to American politics. Of course I didn’t understand the depth or consequence of the issues discussed on the news, but the world was slowly becoming a more complex place.
The first Presidential election that I followed (electoral map in lap, ready to be filled in) was in 2000. Former Vice President Al Gore would face off against then-Governor of Texas George W. Bush. I remember going to vote with my mom at one of the elementary schools in town that served as our precinct. As we walked through the raucous sea of students entreating us to vote for their candidate while they waited to be picked up by their respective buses home, we noticed just one girl in the crowd urging us to vote for Bush. This was the world of the afternoon on election day in 2000 to a fifth-grader in Acton, Massachusetts.
That night the polls started to report the results. States started being apportioned to each candidate. One moment Gore would be in the lead, and then a slew of southern states would go to Bush. I earnestly filled in my map until California gave Gore a bump. The night was a rollercoaster. My parents would urge me not to get too excited, or too sad, one moment to the next, but it was hard not to get carried away by the history unfolding before our eyes. As many of us have tried to forget, the next month or so was a complete mess. The election was not a sports event. One could not simply keep a scorecard and know the winner. Parts of my map turned purple as states like Ohio and Florida swung between the two candidates. The words “Too Close to Call” were seared into my mind.
When Bush was finally declared the winner, I didn’t know anyone who moved to Canada—though I heard of one family that left for New Zealand. My parents would tough it out like they had during the Nixon and Reagan administrations. Slowly, over the next five years or so, I would grow into my own political affiliation, trying not to take my identity as a Democrat for granted as just some inheritance from my parents. As I learned more about the world, I would continue to try to figure out where I really stood (not just which party, but where within one…) and wait patiently for 2004.
The newspapers and magazines started calling Americans my age, who had come into political consciousness just before and after the 2000 election, the “9/11 Generation.” Our beliefs were said to sprout from this tragedy alone. As I came to realize, our beliefs and the tragedy were both steeped in a context of generations of history. But no one could deny that the word “terrorism” would become a pivotally personal and political concept as the years went by—no less for a young Jew, who started going to an Israel-focused Jewish summer camp in 2000.
As part of a social studies project in seventh grade, I wrote a letter to Senator Ted Kennedy, appealing him to lower the voting age to 14, so that Americans my age would have some say in electing the person who would have the power to send us off to war in the 2005-2008 presidential term. When the 2004 election did roll around, it soon faded into the history of the 9/11 Generation. The Democrats produced candidates who were either too hot or lukewarm. The Republicans would strive to continue down the road they had been on. My beliefs were becoming sharper and sharper, and it was obvious who I would have voted for if Senator Kennedy had promoted my idea (perhaps, I am sorry to say, if the letter had not indeed been written by a 14-year-old), but I can’t say that anybody struck me as the right person for the job—though I did feel myself lifting off the ground during the keynote address at the Democratic National Convention. Many people felt similarly, so voting would reflect a rigidity around party lines, and the polarization of the country came into even finer focus.
In 2006, as I began to develop an appreciation for the common experience of young people to search for definition, I began to throw out some old definitions and try on new ones. For example, I began to look at the electoral map in a new way. I found a map of the 2004 election from a Princeton study that colored the map red and blue by district instead of state. There were shades of purple; the country’s polarization, while admittedly more dramatic than most times in American history, was also a generalization of a much more complex reality. This discovery, combined with an increasing general commitment to finding “other perspectives”—whether in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict or in post-WWI Germany—, led me to a new vision of politics.
Of course I was interested in ending the war, ending poverty, confronting global warming, reforming education and fixing the economy. But, perhaps as a product of my ideologically blossoming adolescent mind and my freedom from real economic responsibilities, I thought more in terms of basic values that I wanted to see in all levels of society. I wanted someone who would bring people together—not divide them further. I wanted someone who would increase communication among Americans and between them and the rest of the world. I wanted someone with a commitment to fostering the development of civic leadership among people my age. I wanted someone who would fix our image abroad. Most of all, I wanted my pride in the United States of America to come not from my right to think differently from the President, but from the President’s ability to appreciate people who think differently.
Barack Obama was a name I had heard before. I heard him speak at the 2004 DNC. I remember the crowd around me buzzing about the would-be first Black President when he spoke at a Washington D.C. rally against the genocide in Darfur in 2005. The man was an enigma, but it was clear that he had some special ideas about the United States. Sometimes I still close my eyes and relive the delivery of his classic spiel that “there is not a liberal America and a conservative America -- there is the United States of America.”
I remember at camp in the summer of 2006, someone made an “Obama Oh-Eight” comment. I could feel the excitement brewing inside, but it felt like all but a fantasy that this relative-unknown could actually run for president, let alone win an election. I learned the man’s biography. I read his books. I would revel in his speeches and interviews, relishing each sentence that seemed to fit so well into my personal beliefs. I remember feeling a transcendent enthusiasm, as I realized his wide appeal. Earlier in my life, I would have been territorial about such an interest, like an underground band that I had followed from the start, but Obama was different. I needed him front-and-center. I wanted to convince everyone I met to drop their cynicism at the door and join the next generation of American politics.
Images of Lincoln, JFK and MLK flashed. As he campaigned for different Democrats in the 2006 election cycle, the murmurs of his possible presidential candidacy grew and grew. He assured us that he just wanted to be as useful as possible, and that meant campaigning to win some Democratic seats in November of 2006. His levelheaded integrity made his recruitment all the more lively. The context seemed ripe for him and his ideas. (This trend would only be reinforced as the economy fell apart in the closing weeks of the election, and history seemed to be sliding inevitably towards an Obama presidency, or at the very least a really important decision in American politics.) As Dick Durbin, Barack’s Senior Senator from Illinois, would say, “sometimes you pick the moment, and sometimes the moment picks you.”
Soon the announcement that he was opening an exploratory committee would arrive. Then his candidacy would be official. Then the primary season would begin with his victory in Iowa. Then things would get hairy with Hillary, another historic and inspiring candidate. Then he would pick a running mate, hold the convention, and accept the Democratic nomination for President. All big moments.
With each day that has closed in on today, the feeling that history is unfolding has been more and more definitive. As with my ideas about not taking any day for granted, I like to think that every day is a contribution to the story we tell ourselves and entitle “history.” However, just as there are moments when we appreciate our lives more than at other times, there are certain moments that feel more historic, more momentous, than others. Just as I am aware that I live in a bubble, and that there are people as passionately angry about Obama’s success as I am passionately invested in it, I am also aware that this is the first election in which I can vote (a tradition that no one may take for granted), and that on some level there must have been 18-year-olds who felt just as desperate about electing John Kerry in 2004. But I maintain, as a student of history and a member of my generation and my country, that this election is the most important one yet (though I don’t disregard the important role earlier ones played in setting it up)—perhaps even in the lives of people much older than I am.
For the first time we have someone who doesn’t just make us aware of our complexity, but also embodies it in his ideas—not to mention his DNA. Barack Obama connects us to our moment in history—where we stand in the context of our country’s development and that of our world. He has connected us to our deepest common values, and new ways to implement them. He has connected us to the short-term victories of social change, without allowing us to lose sight of the inter-generational big picture. He has connected us. He has involved more people than ever before, and demonstrated that every successful movement and organization is made up of individuals working together. He has emphasized a commitment to transparency, honesty, and accessibility in his leadership style, and in his treatment of others. He has engaged the world, and shown that there are many faces of patriotism and American character. Perhaps most importantly, he urges us at every point to embrace the complexities within and among us, without compromising an appreciation for our commonalities (and vice versa).
Throughout the proceedings Obama’s supporters have been huddled around a constant inner conflict of wondering whether we are hopelessly naïve, or confident for good reason. And at every point we have been gratified by our commitment to making the dreams that seem impossible into the history that seems inevitable.
Today is not the final test, but it is a big one. It is no longer a matter of the choice between Barack Obama and John McCain; it is about the decision to commit to the larger process in which this election is just a (significant) step along the way. My hope is that no matter who is elected in ten hours, the hope and involvement that Barack has encouraged us to champion will transcend his candidacy. I hope the change and the values of participating in this undertaking that we call America will stay with us long after November 4th, 2008, and that we will not forget that we are always contributing, whether we are active or detrimental in inaction. I hope we have internalized that this doesn’t happen without us, and that we can make it happen no matter who the president is. I hope that if Barack is not elected, we will not swing from one extreme of hope to the other extreme of cynicism. I hope whether or not he is elected, we will not give up our vigorous pursuit of the ideals and reforms that we have worked so hard to promote, and that we will not forget that, beyond getting him elected, Barack’s campaign has stood for accomplishing goals that will take years to materialize. Essentially, it is true that writing this entry was largely motivated by a desire to preserve my unknowing pre-election perspective. However, at the end of this day, what will be most meaningful—indeed, the ultimate success of Obama For America, regardless of whether he wins or loses the election—is the extent to which the feelings, beliefs and energy in this entry are still alive and relevant among Americans tomorrow.
I have faith that just as this campaign has been sufficient proof of Barack’s managerial excellence, it has also given the American people a successful trial in participation. It has helped many of us in our formative years to internalize and develop the ideas and skills that we hope to contribute to our society—not to mention how much it has taught us about the issues that affect our lives. We have already accomplished and learned so much in the process that we need not doubt the power of possibility. Our real challenge will be, as it often is, to keep from taking such possibility for granted. For many young people (and the young at heart too, as it has been pointed out), this election represents an opportunity for redemption, and in some ways is the closest we’ve felt to our American roots, the values that Americans have embodied and promoted for centuries. What we sometimes forget is how hard people have worked to uphold these values and improve upon them.
Bobby Kennedy once articulated the importance of the crossroads that historic moments like this one present. He expressed the need to balance recognition of challenges with an appreciation for the opportunities therein. As we stand at this intersection of impossibility and inevitability, we must keep in mind the optimism and positive attitude that Obama’s campaign has been about from the beginning. A commitment to the need for change and new direction has always been balanced with an integral sense of hope and dedication to confront our problems constructively. There are certainly things wrong with America and the world, but Obama’s campaign has been about greeting those challenges with pragmatic and idealistic resolve. The recognition of such challenges does not make us unpatriotic; indeed, the realization that America is not perfect is much more deeply rooted in a will to make it better than simply an impulse to criticize it. We are more empowered than ever. We just have to make sure that we don’t let success go to our heads if Obama wins, and that we don’t feel alienated from everything that has brought us to this point if he loses. No matter what the result of today’s election is, we must embrace the process of progress that has advanced remarkably in recent months, and greet the inevitable challenges of the future not as impossible struggles, but as rich opportunities to continue to improve. If we are really serious about having a positive impact on our world, then today can be nothing other than a springboard.
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