11:30 am
Flag Day
The coverage of yesterday’s truly monumental events has been so exhaustive that I hesitate to offer any additional thoughts simply because it seems that all the relevant observations have been written, spoken or blogged, and all the superlatives and cultural historical references have been used up.
I can only offer what is ultimately a purely emotional take on the inauguration of President Barack Obama, which began in the aftermath of the 2004 elections, and progressed, as it did with Charlie, with an enthusiastic embrace of a relative long-shot candidate back in 2006-07.
For both myself, and especially my wife, Kate (who devoted three months of her life to organizing with MoveOn in Minnesota in 2004), the aftermath of the 2004 election, and the (re-)inauguration that followed, was a profound disappointment.
I think many on the left, including us, lost more than an election that year. Due in part to the divisive nature of the politics of that time, it was easy to feel as though a significant number of your friends and neighbors, colleagues and even family members had heard your argument for change, heard your policy proposals and plans for a different way ahead and had simply rejected them all.
Indeed, in that moment, with the toil and sweat of a lost campaign still fresh in the mind, it was somewhat easy to take the result personally. I would venture a guess that, for some of us, our sense of belonging and camaraderie with our fellow Americans, indeed our entire idealistic outlook on the future, took a big hit. (I told you it was a low-point.) Though still patriots all, in that hour we could certainly be forgiven for wondering what our place in this new electorate ultimately would be.
As I heard more than once yesterday, perhaps the inauguration of the very embodiment of “change” would never have come were it not for that result in 2004. As former political organizers, steeled with the knowledge that our best might still might not be good enough, any remaining reason not to simply go for it, dream big and support a fellow organizer and apparent policy wonk by the name of Barack Hussein Obama basically evaporated — why not?
So we donated, canvassed in Ohio and made calls to Pennsylvania — but something prevented us from being 100 percent emotionally invested. Sure it was probably 85 to 90 percent, but looking back, it’s clear to me that 2004 was still hanging like a cloud over our heads. Although the enthusiasm of our fellow volunteers this time around was tangible, for us, it was also fleeting.
But then we called up our grandparents to babysit and took a trip downtown to Joe Louis Arena to see Nobel Laureate and former Vice President Al Gore endorse Senator Obama. The electricity in that crowd, the collective excitement and sense of unstoppable momentum pervasive amongst everyone reinvigorated our idealism, and reminded us why we had gotten involved in all of this.
After an oddly uneventful general election campaign (until the end of August, really), it seemed that our side was coming into the home-stretch well-equipped and with strong candidates for both president and vice-president (I love Joe Biden). Finally, on election night, all the hard work of scores of campaign staff and even more volunteers transformed into a beautifully executed victory, and not a few of us (Oprah and Rev. Jackson included) shed tears of pure joy at the prospect of electing such a fine person to the office of the Presidency of the United States.
Yet, something intangible remained — not doubt, or fear, or anything related to a goal or ideal, but something indescribable remained, despite my attempts to come to terms with whatever it was.
Until yesterday.
Then, as I was driving to work, listening to the beginning of a story on NPR about the inauguration concert Sunday night at the Lincoln memorial, it hit me. As Bono and U2 began to play “In the Name of Love”, the first full measure of the early morning sun began to shine through the trees of the park I was driving past and I looked to my left just in time to see it lit up in all its glory.
Our flag.
Now, there is really no chance I could have missed it, because this was one of those obscenely huge car-dealership-sized American flags, but at that moment it was the most beautiful flag I had ever seen. I realized then that ever since the 2004 election, I had simply been unable to look at the flag with unwavering, unquestioned pride. Although I wish I could have mentally separated this timeless national symbol — representative of our tireless and unsung heroes on the front lines as well as those here at home — from the actions of this past Presidential administration, the truth is that ultimately I couldn’t. It had been tarnished for me, and my sense of pride was almost always tempered with a twinge of disappointment.
But no longer.
In that brief moment yesterday, I realized that the flag was once again “our” flag, representative of the best and brightest, of the hopes and dreams and idealism that has guided so many of our predecessors throughout the history of this great, yet young, country.
While I’ve enjoyed the events of the past few days with a great sense of pride and collective accomplishment for our nation, and will likely remember the images from yesterday for (hopefully) the rest of my life, it really was that moment yesterday, when I got my flag back, for which I will remain forever grateful.