Election 2008: Obama’s Moment
All love stories are beautiful at the beginning, and what we’re witnessing now is the beginning of a new one: America and Barack Obama. The story begins with the world spinning off its axis, the country mired in dark times and the way of the fresh-faced savior seemingly blocked by a juggernaut agent of the Status Quo. Only in the end, in the moment that sportswriters die for and that comes once a generation in politics if we’re lucky, the phenom rises to the occasion, gets the big hit in the big game and becomes a man before our very eyes. The old power recedes, and the new era is born.
That’s grand language for a forum as vulgar and profane as presidential politics, but this is the moment that Barack Hussein Obama was born for, and it really is happening before our very eyes. Like Kennedy or Reagan or even Bill Clinton, Obama is a politician whose best chance for success has always been on the level of myth and hero worship; to win the Democratic nomination, he must successfully sell himself not just as a candidate but as an icon, a symbol of the best possible future for twenty-first-century multicultural America and an antidote to both the callous reactionary idiocy of the Rush administration and the shrewd but soulless corporatism of the Clinton machine.
With just weeks to go before Iowa, Obama is succeeding at that sales job, thanks in part to an unexpected avalanche of positive press and in even greater part to Hillary Clinton’s recent performance as a creaky, suddenly vulnerable establishment villain. In just a few weeks, the first real votes in this insufferably long process will finally be cast, and when they are, the Powers That Be may find that they waited too long to get the real show started — that the long wait gave America just enough time to decide that it’s ready to move on to something new. For most of this campaign season, I doubted that Obama really was that new something. Now I’m not so sure he isn’t. Whoever Barack Obama is, there’s no doubting the genuineness of his phenomenon. And maybe, who knows, that’s all that matters.
Covering presidential politics has devolved of late mainly into a matter of gauging levels of public disgust, along a narrow spectrum that runs from violent outrage to mere nausea; if you spend enough time out there in the Dubuques and Nashuas and Charlestons of the world, you learn pretty quickly that no matter what other problems America has, no crisis is more desperate in this country than the spiraling level of general disbelief of our political system.
After debacles in Iraq and New Orleans and mushrooming scandals that exposed much of Congress and the Cabinet as a low-rent crime family hired to collect protection money for the likes of Halliburton and Pfizer, people simply do not trust the politicians they vote for to be anything less than an embarrassment. You get the sense they approach the upcoming election with the enthusiasm of a two-time loser offered a selection of plea deals.
People hate the mechanized speeches, they hate the negative ads, and they especially hate venomous news creatures, myself included. It’s now so bad that a poll last month found that fifty-six percent of all likely voters agreed with the phrase that the presidential race is “annoying and a waste of time” — a shocking number, given that it excludes the forty to fifty percent of Americans who already don’t vote in presidential races.
People don’t want to feel this way, but the attitude everywhere is the same: \Vhat choice do these assholes give us? And it’s that grim prejudice that has pervaded this process for a generation, forcing the public to choose from an endless succession of lesser evils and second-raters of the Kerry-Dole genus, stuffed suits who offered nothing like a solution to the main problem of feeling like shit about the American civic experiment.
Until now. Emphasising that this is not necessarily a reflection of who or what Obama really is, he unmistakably and strikingly attracts crowds that, to a person, really seem to believe that his election will fundamentally change the way they feel about their country.
“I just want to see if there’s going to be a difference with this cat,” says Richard Walters, a forty-three-year-old New Yorker, who had come to hear Obama give a speech at Harlem’s famed Apollo Theater. “Because if there’s something different, we need it — now.”
“At this point, I’d be glad if he recited the alphabet correctly,” says Xiomara Hall, another New Yorker. Laughing, she and her friend add, “We got hope. Change is goood!”
“I just want to see if he can do something, anything, to change things,” says Shirley Paulino, another visitor to the Apollo event. “See if he is what he says he is. We just — we need it, you know?” Normally the sight of prospective voters muttering platitudes about “hope” and “change” would make any reporter erupt with derisive laughter, but at Obama events one hears outbursts of optimism so desperate and artless that I can’t help but check my cynical instinct. Grown men and women look up at you with puppy-dog eyes and all but beg you not to shit on their dreams. It’s odd to say, but it’s actually moving.
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