Two years ago, just before the 2006 elections, my brother sent me a coffee mug. Many of you have probably seen it, the Disappearing Bill of Rights Mug. It was a reminder from him of why I needed to go vote. Having lost my faith in Dems as a whole and not thinking much of Pelosi, I'd gotten very doom and gloom about the state of our nation. "Nothing will change" I kept telling him. So he sent the mug with a note. "Do you want the rest of it to disappear?"
I have dozens of coffee mugs of course, but this one comes up in rotation from time to time, and, of all days, this morning it was the one pulled from the cabinet.
I watched, like millions of my fellow citizens, as a skinny, bi-racial man from Illinois accepted the Democratic Party nomination for President. I started crying the moment he walked out onto the stage, and continued to tear up throughout his speech. My beloved held my hand and watched, not quite as moved as me but still recognizing the moment as something more than just historic.
He's far more jaded than I, my beloved, and that's saying something. My disgust with government has grown exponentially over the last thirty years. And yet, both of us have been excited about Obama, both of us have donated to him and paid close attention to this election. When the FISA legislation happened, my beloved saw that as a sign that Obama was just like all the others. A slick manipulator, just another politician. While I felt deeply disappointed and betrayed, I was not as quick to write him off. But I did stop donating, and largely stopped blogging or even paying much attention. That I would vote for him was a given, but to actively participate and have my enthusiasm and belief stomped on yet again...no.
But when he picked Joe Biden, a man I have always liked, I started paying attention again, more than just in passing. When the convention started, I spent about 20 minutes on MSNBC and then switched to C-span for the duration. I wanted to witness all of it without a filter, with no voice in my head but my own and those who spoke. Michelle's speech was profoundly moving to me, in ways I cannot even articulate, and--dare I say it--that pesky "hope" thing began to creep back. I fought it, of course, without success. All week it grew a little larger with each day and each speech. And last night--it won. Cynicism and doubt lost out to a greater force.
I choke up even now as I think about that huge stadium, filled to the rafters with 84,000 of my fellow human beings--old, young, married, divorced, single, widowed, rich, poor, black, white, hispanic, asian, gay, straight--all standing together, happily cheering on a man who represents to them (and to me) the limitless possibilities of what this nation can be. I looked at the photos again this morning and I am still overwhelmed. We have the potential to be this all the time not just for a few hours once every four years. And I can see that I am not the only one who wants this--I saw 84,000 others who want it, too. Just in Denver. How many millions like me were watching from afar? The Nielsen's say 39 million, but that's without C-span or PBS, or the tubes taken into account. Nor does it include the large groups that gathered in bars and restaurants around the country to watch together. For every one known there is likely at least one unknown...and all of these people, my fellow countrymen, want this nation to be what it was meant to be from the moment those 10 rights were written down. The ones that currently, for the most part, disappear when I pour coffee in my mug.
They want to take care of their neighbors and lend a hand wherever it may be needed, instead of clinging desperately to what they have for fear it will be taken tomorrow. They want to be happy, enjoy their families, take a day off once in a while without fear of losing that job or not being able to pay the electric bill if they do. They want to like and respect each other instead of treating each other with suspicion and fear. Just like me, my fellow man wants all these things.
They are not small, petty, cruel people who care nothing for each other--although this is what the current administration, aided and abetted by the "news media" would have me believe. And pontificate and bloviate though they will, they cannot change what I saw. With my own two eyes. Power--the real kind, not the "be afraid" fabricated kind--to change the world. Starting with the nation I call home. Our power, as individual citizens to band together and hold our government, and each other, accountable.
The entire convention was a clarion call to all of us to get up, dust our selves off and stop believing that we are helpless in the face of greater forces. We are the greater force.
There are so few moments of pure joy in life, but Obama's acceptance speech was--for me--joy. Yes, it was historic, and the speech was masterful. Yes, Obama delivered beyond even what I expected. But that crowd, that moment, was about so much more than him. (I am grateful that he seems to know that because I suspect if I could garner a crowd of 84,000, I'd be a self-absorbed ass.)
So I'm going to do what is needed of me to help create the nation we should be. I will help register voters, I will have discussions about politics I would have previously avoided, I will donate when I can and I will pay attention and hold accountable all of those who seek to represent me and mine.
And January 20th, I'm going to buy a new mug. One where the Bill of Rights does not fade. Ever again.