November 4, 2008

I'm not a sentimental man. It's a lie I tell myself time and again, but I confess my hypocrisy on November 4. Knowing full well Obama would be elected president by nine o'clock that evening, my initial emotional reactions were muted, mostly due to the inevitability I felt the moment carried. That moment, however, at eleven o'clock, when CNN deftly delivered in quick succession Virginia and then the presidency to Obama, was overpowering. What a beautiful moment, so charged with history and sentiment.

For me, and certainly my memory, the Bush administration did not begin in January 2001. I would venture to say none of us could pull a concrete Bush memory or recall a particularly memorable Bushism from those early days. I remember, however, talks about the “lame duck” presidency of George Bush, even in the first months of his presidency. As our nation, we were still saturated with the goodwill and wealth of the Clinton years; the economic decline and e-bubble burst were only beginning. There were those who predicted the impending messes, not me—I was naïve.

For me, the Bush administration, with its machinations, hubris and eminence, began on September 11, 2001. Whatever the reasoning behind the Islamist assault on the United States—I would hazard a guess that many of us share a similar opinion—the Bush administration became a focal point for our fears. When, not if, will be attacked next? What is Cheney planning? Where is Cheney? How intelligent is Bush? Why is his invading Iraq? What did Iraq do to us? How many will die, how many will suffer, how many will let this happen? Fears became resignation, and in very short time, I became a cynic. 9-11 was everything wrong with this nation, with our outlook and our government's behavior. The Bush regime, however, became more popular; they were reelected in 2004. Politically, I felt alone. Fear was the prevalent political attitude: fear of foreign powers, fear of taxes and social policy, fear of homosexuals. It was the apex of twentieth century conservatism, a convergence of Christian and anti-government conservatism.

But the anti-government became the Government; the Christians, who rallied against “legislated” morality, legislated morality—in many states, amended their civil constitutions to reflect their sentiments rather than their liberties. (We will find ourselves battling these hypocrisies, and our own, for a while.) I was resigned to the concept of perpetual war and cynicism, doubting the ability of the electorate to right this tidal wave of fear. 2008 proved me wrong.

In many ways, it wasn't the power of the conservatives that tore them from the rostrum; it was their impotence. Their impotence to prevent their inadequacies from loosing the terrors of greed and selfish autonomy. While they defended “life” as a sacred right, lives were ruined—in Iraq, in New Orleans, on Wall Street, in U.S. cities, towns and neighborhoods. Fear turned to disgust, and disgust is by no means a projection of compassion and goodwill. The electorate began to shift.

Again, I am not overly sentimental—perhaps that's a better way to phrase my viewpoint—yet Obama has effectively focused our attention. (Well, the fifty-two percent majority that elected him; the other fifty-seven million voters will have wait and see his message.) Our attention is turning toward true compassion. I remember scoffing at the notion Bush put forward that his conservatism was “compassionate,” as if he had differentiated himself from any other form of political conservatism. There is compassionate conservatism or liberalism, tyranny or socialism: nevertheless, we can charge our policies with compassion. Compassion for the poor and sick, the lonely and the deprived, the war-ravaged and those who have lived long lives, beyond war and peace, yet are destitute.

Obama might not accomplish his agenda in four or eight years, but if we can sustain the sentiment of this movement, then another chapter is, in fact, being written in our relatively short history as a nation.

That is what November 4, 2008 meant for me. Bush has another seventy or so days in office, and he retains the capacity to enact harmful executive measures to ensure his political legacy will not end on January 20, 2009. The Iraq War guarantees that fate. Regardless, Bush is historically impotent now.

For me, Bush's chapter in history will be from September 11, 2001 to November 4, 2008. He will have not advocated compassion in politics any more than he will have proved himself a compassionate man. A man who advocated the removal of rights and livelihood for hundreds of unnamed, unseen political targets, their torture and death, under the aegis of a war on “terror,” when the true terror is the ignobility of a government whose responsibility was to its Constitution and its constituency.

It is inconsequential to me that Bush might be a kind man, loved by his family and friends, honored by social conservatives for his dedication to his god and his beliefs. He has wrought a silent death to hundreds of thousands—a violent death for the victims, muffled by the silence of their distance from our everyday lives. For anyone who finds in Bush any semblance of moral fiber, I ask this of you: Imagine the screams, the cries, the death. Imagine the blood and rubble of families buried together, the old aged as lifeless as those who were robbed of aging old. And ask yourself: what for? Were they, in actuality, a threat to the lives of three hundred million Americans?

I am losing my focus for this post. Let me recap: I am proud of our sixty-five million strong majority. We might not all agree on policies, outlooks or politics. Even so, we have made an initial repudiation not only of an eight-year chapter in our history, but of a thirty-year experiment with Reagan style conservatism. I hope, with the greatest sincerity, that our next four—and, if we're strong enough, eight—years will build a progressive coalition of conservatives and liberals, the religious and the rationalists, the majority of middle-class, white Americans and our ever-growing, ever more vocal social, economic and sexual minorities.

That's the hope for the twenty-first century. We face plenty of challenges.

This was a spur of the moment post for me. I apologize for any errors or exaggerations, but I wanted some venue to vent my thoughts. I thought I would share them with you. We have a long battle ahead of us, to ensure liberty and equality for all in our civil society. Despite our fears of societal collapse, economic disaster and war, the attitude in moving forward is recalling our nation's unique ability to adapt through history. Yes, we can! And yes, we will.