Perversely, the closer we have come to electoral victory, the more morose I have become. You see, one member of my family hasn't been warming to Barack. In fact, she hated him for defeating her hero, Hillary Clinton. What started as a friendly family rivalry between the two most political members of the family rapidly devolved into our own little cold war. My mother turned to a convenient racism. We didn't speak for a month, and didn't speak of the election again afterwards.
When the primary ended, I put down my sword and shield and tried for reconciliation with other Democrats, if not my own mother. During the primary, I neither gave quarter in the primary, nor expected any. After the primary I neither apologized nor expected apologies for partisanship. What I expected was for everyone to understand the Bedouin proverb:
Me against my brother
Me and my brother against our cousins
Me, my brother and our cousins against the world
and join up together to defeat our common foe: the revolting perversion that was once the Republican Party. But then came the rise of the "clintonistas": Alegre, the PUMAs and assorted others who despised Obama. And with them came dark rumors from my family about my mother, and a realization that her bad influences were coming from a distant relative whose corrosive racism and general awfulness had repulsed me as early as my childhood.
I wanted to understand why this was happening, why some Democrats were not seeing in Obama what I had recognized two years ago. In trying to understand where my mother had gone politically I became obsessed with Alegre, the PUMAs and assorted other clintonistas. I didn't find any answers, only a frustration that darkened my days.
My blogging became sporadic, erratic, and often poorly-received. I deleted quite a few missives. I had no new analytical thoughts of note; I was hanging on (so far spot-on) predictions I had made two years ago, and which are still being born out in the coming blue tsunami.
When Sarah Palin was implausibly selected to be McCain's VP, and invigorated the GOP base, I tried to reinvigorate myself with service to the campaign. And the experience was incredibly uplifting; days like this one made me surprisingly happy.
But the chill between my mother and I continued. My mother wasn't raised a racist, despite the obscene hatred that is common in my hometown. Her father, my grandfather, was a truck driver. And he was a rare one too: during the years of segregation his partner was a black man, something rather unheard of. My grandfather, bless his ornery little heart, would get them both food in segregated restaurants and eat in the truck cab with his buddy. My grandfather was no Martin Luther King, no Bobby Kennedy, no Ghandi. My sister and I made him stop using the "n" word. But he did the right thing for his friend in the face of terrible racism both in his hometown and on the road. That bravery has always touched me, it is why my mother's behaviour astounded me so much.
I'm still sad, sad for months lost. But last night I called my mother and tentatively mentioned the election, how well the polls look. And she surprised me. She said she'd had to work all week, that she needed a rest, but that this weekend she's headed down to the campaign office to volunteer.
She never said his name, but she said that she and my father have filled the lawn with campaign signs. I told her about my volunteering and she sounded surprised, and pleased.
It's not a lot, but it's more than I expected, more than I dared to hope for. My mother, the one who raised me to be a Democrat, a liberal, and a progressive, is coming home. She's coming home to Obama.
My apologies if this backdrop of my hometown and family is too dreary, too American Gothic. But it is the darkness of night that best frames the morning dawn. And that's how I feel today.
The blessings of freedom on you all,
The Reverend SPX
First Church of Democracy, United & Invigorated