what a difference a day makes

It was only a few days ago, but already I can barely remember the cold January morning air. I remember being cold, of course – freezing cold. But that feeling pales in comparison to the memory of the warm glow of anticipation that served as my alarm clock on Obama’s inauguration day, and continued to grow as we made our way onto the streets of Washington, D.C.

The weather forecast predicted that the thermometer would only make it up to about 30 degrees, but the wind chill would make it feel more like 20. Certainly not the kind of weather this Georgia girl is used to hangin’ out in for long periods of time. But I was well prepared. My inauguration day outfit consisted of: long johns (top and bottom), another undershirt for extra insulation, and 2 pairs of socks topped off with a turtleneck sweater and sturdy jeans, and appropriately accessorized with 2 scarves, a pair of gloves and a hat big enough to cover my forehead and ears. It’s a wonder I didn’t pass out from heat exhaustion before I made it outdoors.

At 7:30am, we joined the steadily growing stream of people making their way toward the National Mall. Gloved hands clutched cups of steaming hot coffee or miniature US flags, and faces shone with bright smiles and expectant eyes. The early morning sunlight glinted off of buttons that bore numerous artistic interpretations of the face and name we had all come here for – Obama. Hundreds more renderings of the icon on all manner of keepsake items were on display from vendors already hawking their wares, and other still setting up their booths.

“Getcha Obama t-shirts heeeere! Inauguration t-shirts, folks! One for ten, two for fifteeeeeeen!”
“Lifetime calendars! Lifetime Obama calendars!”
“Inauguration bumper stickers!! I was there, where were you?!!”

One t-shirt design in particular caught my eye as we neared the intersection of 17th and K Streets. On it, MLK lay sleeping, his head resting peacefully on an open Bible. In the dream scene depicted above his head, was a tall, proudly smiling Barack Obama.

 

 

 
After crossing Pennsylvania Avenue, the rivulets of walkers trickling in from other streets converged and widened into a fast-flowing stream. National Guard officers were situated on almost every corner, directing us toward the Mall. Even though the ceremony itself was hours away, most everyone moved at a brisk pace – myself included. “You know you’re not actually gonna get to see him, right?” This remark came from a woman walking alongside us. It was directed at her male companion, but we couldn’t help but laugh as if she were talking to us. True, we weren’t going to get to see ‘him’. We’d probably end up being a half a mile away. But I wanted to be as close as possible to the epicenter of the action, whether that was a half a mile or a mile and a half, so, I – and everyone else – walked with that singular purpose in mind.

The sight that met us when we finally set foot on the Mall was almost too perfect to believe. The Washington Monument loomed high over our heads at the top of a gently sloping hill, with the still rising sun gleaming brightly behind it as several sea gulls soared and dove in the air around us. It was as if the essence of the occasion and the emotions in everyone’s hearts had been purposefully captured in these physical symbols of history, hope, and the dawn of a brand new day.

 

As we continued past the Washington Monument, the human streams from the surrounding streets merged into rivers that eventually became one huge, and steadily swelling ocean of bodies that began near the Capitol, and almost reached the Smithsonian Metro station, more than halfway between the Capitol and the Washington Monument. We quickly decided on our desired position – get close enough to one of the Jumbotrons to see clearly without being obstructed by the trees or lightposts on the perimeter of the Mall. As we moved closer and closer in, our steps grew shorter and shorter, and eventually all we could do was penguin-shuffle forward along with the thousands of other bodies aiming to find their ideal spot. Despite the close quarters (which helped combat the cold), the mood was still fairly jovial and festive. The Jumbotrons were broadcasting the pre-Inauguration concert from the past Sunday, and everyone sang along when Usher, Shakira, and Stevie sang “Highest Ground”, got a little bit softer and a little bit louder on cue when Garth Brooks sang, “Shout”, and added color commentary to the speeches and homages delivered by a myriad of A-list celebrities to the Obama family. It was like a larger-than-life episode of MST3K. Of course, there were a couple of tiny flare-ups as the crowd continued to thicken and people brushed and pushed up against each other, trying to get a better view of the screen, but they all subsided quickly, and thankfully, there weren’t any dreaded “get yo’ hand outta my pocket!” moments.

 

A quick glance at my cell phone revealed that we still had more than 2 hours to go before the ceremony began. The long row of what looked like hundreds of port-a-potties to my left would have been a reassuring sight, had there been any conceivable way I could get to them and then make my way back to my spot in the crowd. “Pleasedontletmehavetopee. Pleasedontletmehavetopee. Pleasedontletmehavetopee.” I figured if I silently repeated it like a mantra, it’d get so deeply lodged in my brain, that my bladder would have to comply. “Wow,” I thought to myself. “I am actually doing this. I don’t even wait in line at the club, or a nice restaurant, and I’m about to stand here for hours on end in the cold with only enough space to shift my weight back and forth to keep the blood flowing to my lower extremities?” But between bantering with the folks around me, trading text messages and phone calls with friends and family back home, and portioning out small handfuls of the trail mix we’d packed as sustenance, the time actually seemed to fly by.

Soon, the Sunday concert on the Jumbotron was replaced with images of the vehicle convoy of arriving dignitaries. The massive crowd became unbelievably quiet as all of us trained our eyes on the black SUVs slowly driving down the streets toward the Capitol building. “Is it him?” we wondered silently. Then a vehicle would stop, the doors would swing open, and we’d squint and tiptoe and peer.
“Is that him?”
“Naw, naw. That’s Michelle.”
“No it isn’t. It’s Bush. That must be Bush, right?”
Then the camera would cut away from the mysterious vehicle and go to a shot of the Capitol interior, and we’d see who had been riding inside. As each person made his or her way onto the platform, the crowd would respond accordingly. Some were met with exuberant screams and cheers. Among them: Senators Ted Kennedy and Roland ‘Give Us Us Seat’ Burris, Al Gore, former Sec. of State Colin Powell, and the Clintons. For others – like Muhammad Ali, Dustin Hoffman, Steven Spielberg, and Magic Johnson – the crowd murmured their recognition and remarked on the individual’s appearance. Interestingly enough, not much was said when a shot of Puffy, Jay-Z, and Beyonce looking for their seats was displayed. I imagine they were all thinking what I was thinking: “I bet I could’ve beat her in a booty-jiggling contest if Inauguration tickets were the prize.” Or…maybe they weren’t thinking that, who’s to say? But we were all united in our response when George W. Bush’s rather somber-looking mug appeared. At first sight of him, everyone quickly joined in on a spontaneous chorus of, “Na na na na, Na na na na, hey hey hey… gooooodbyyyye!” and capped it off with a hearty round of boos.

And then, finally, after all the waiting, it begins. The pageantry of the procession ends, and the MC cheerily and politely booms, “Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats.” We laugh at the irony of the request, but by the time Rev. Rick Warren takes the podium and begins to issue the invocation, the cheer has given way to a feeling of solemn reverence. I hear the words, “Let us pray,” and I bow my head and close my eyes, shutting out the sight of the masses around me. In the darkness behind my eyelids, I am no longer a woman shivering in the cold with feet she cannot feel. I am a proud and awestruck pilgrim at the end of a long journey who is simply grateful to have made it to this moment, my personal Mecca.

Rev Warren continues, “We are so grateful to live in this land, a land of unequaled possibility, where the son of an African immigrant can rise to the highest level of our leadership….”
I murmur a quiet, “Yes, Father,” and feel the first tear leave a warm trail down my cheek. I do not even bother to wipe it away. I hear the folks around me engaged in their own, hushed call-and-response to Warren’s prayerful and poignant words.
“…When we focus on ourselves, when we fight each other, when we forget you, forgive us…. “
“Yes, Lord…”
“…When we presume that our greatness and our prosperity is ours alone, forgive us…”
“Yes, Lord. Amen”
“…When we fail to treat our fellow human beings and all the Earth with the respect that they deserve, forgive us….”

Two more tears fall, but I am smiling now, head still bowed. When Rev. Warren says the words, “I humbly ask this in the name of the one… who taught us to pray,” I recognize the lead-in to the age-old prayer and chime in on cue and with more intensity than I’ve ever said the ‘Our Father’ before in my life. I have the feeling that everything unfolding now requires my utmost sincerity and engagement to further solidify the moment.

When the prayer is finished, Aretha Franklin takes the podium and delivers a soul-stirring rendition of, “America”. I am moved, but my awareness of how close the big moment is, has me feeling antsy, distracted. I think to myself, “What’s up with that hat? Where are those background singers coming from? Good Lord, ‘Retha, where did you get that hat?”

Next, Joe Biden takes the stand and is sworn in as the 47th Vice President of the United States. Followed by the liltingly beautiful , “Air and Simple Gifts”. As the music ends, I take a moment to text my friend, “I am soooo getting this ringtone”, and I see a text from her informing me that it’s already past noon, so technically the transfer of power is officially complete. Technically, my eye. It’s all about the ritual.

And that’s when it happens. That man with the gait, the mannerisms, the physique that reminds me of my favorite uncle, leaves his seat, takes the stand and raises his hand – along with the hopes and once-impossible dreams of countless people present and past – in the air, and he says it. “I, Barack Hussein Obama…” and the crowd explodes. I am screaming and hooping right along with them at the joy of hearing that name. That name, ohmygod that name! Barack Hussein Obama. Oh, how the liars’ and warmongers’ stomachs must be churning and their teeth clenching at hearing that name. Who says God doesn’t have a sense of humor? The rest of the swearing-in continues, and when the much-talked-about flub occurs, I laugh and shrug and silently add Chief Justice John G. Roberts, Jr. to the top of the list of folks I will, without question, ‘open a can’ on if I catch him in a dark alley. The oath complete, my President takes the podium and delivers his Inauguration address.

Now, I’ve heard numerous Presidential speeches before, but they have all sounded like…well, speeches. Well written and appropriately toned, yes. But speeches, nonetheless. But, as I listen, I realize that this Inaugural address does not sound like some regular old speech. This sounds like a man who is sincere with his words and means what he says. In my mind I know he is a politician, and in my mind, I know the kind of men politicians usually are. But I do not worry about that, I allow myself to believe at this moment what is being said. Later that day, I would hear news personalities characterize the speech as dark, and I would remark to myself, “were they listening to the same thing I was? Is that how we’re describing words heavy on sensibility and realism versus empty rhetoric? Ah, well….”

With the highpoint of the moment over, we decide to begin our departure from the Mall. I get another text from my friend:
On TV, I see people walking out while that lady is reading her poem.
Yes, dear. That would be us. I am still in high spirits but I am very clear that there is no need to continue standing in place in the cold to listen to a poem that I am not quite grasping right now. Mental note: look that thing up when I get back to the room. But right now, concentrate on not falling on the ground from trying to walk with frozen blocks of ice for feet. Those are my feet down there, aren’t they?

We’re still picking our way through the thinning crowd on the Mall when Rev. Joseph Lowery delivers his benediction, which has to break some kind of record for the sheer length of it, if not for the including the most anachronistic, comedic phrase of the entire ceremony: “help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get in back, when brown can stick around … when yellow will be mellow … when the red man can get ahead, man; and when white will embrace what is right.”

Amen, Rev. Now, we need to turn left down this street, don’t we? Yeah. No, wait. This is the way we came from right? Right?

And that’s when everything changed….

For the next 2.5 hours, I experienced firsthand what refugees must feel like. Walking, walking, walking for blocks, sure that this is the way out, then being met repeatedly by closed streets, barricaded thoroughfares, and thousands upon thousands upon thousands of people who are even more lost and confused than I am, and who are growing more irritable and tired and frustrated by the moment. I have had only a cup of coffee and some trail mix, but I refuse to wait in the ridiculously long lines for a half-smoke, even though they smell like manna to me. My only focus is making it back to the room, but as the hours tick by, I intermittently wonder if the day a black man becomes President will be the day I take my last breath and lay down to die in a cold, crumpled huddle on a dirty city street.

Eventually, though, we do make it back to the room and I head straight for my bottle of celebratory Zinfandel. “Here’s to you, Mr. President,” I think as I take my first sip, “…for making history.” “And here’s to me, for making it out alive. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

cheers,
k

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