Crossposted from MY LEFT WING
Her voice was so low that at first he could not make out what she said. Then he made it out. She was saying that she thought she could get well again if children believed in fairies.
Peter flung out his arms. There were no children there, and it was night time; but he addressed all who might be dreaming of the Neverland, and who were therefore nearer to him than you think: boys and girls in their nighties, and naked papooses in their baskets hung from trees.
“Do you believe?” he cried.
Tink sat up in bed almost briskly to listen to her fate.
She fancied she heard answers in the affirmative, and then again she wasn’t sure.
“What do you think?” she asked Peter.
“If you believe,” he shouted to them, “clap your hands; don’t let Tink die.”
Many clapped.
Some didn’t.
A few beasts hissed.
The clapping stopped suddenly; as if countless mothers had rushed to their nurseries to see what on earth was happening; but already Tink was saved.
Some people live a lifetime and never witness the kind of moment we did last night. I never thought I would; I thought reading about those moments in history books and having been born shortly after a few of them was as close to them as I would ever get.
Certainly, after the degradation of the past eight years, the terrible dissipation and usurpation of our collective energy and optimism that the current Administration’s crimes and misdemeanours, I truly believed a mere 24 hours ago that I had no more true hope left in me. That what was left was bitterness, rage and the cynicism of dashed hopes and betrayed ideals. Even the disappointed promise of Bill Clinton’s Administration contributed to it; after all, did not those final ruinous months of that Administration add at least somewhat to the chaotic events that led to the catastrophic Bush/Cheney years?
But something happened on the way to the funeral for my Hope, and please, forgive me as I employ perhaps an over-effusive metaphor or two here…
I’m not saying the man is going to save the world or even the country. He isn’t Jesus or Gandhi or Martin Luther King, Jr. — though if comparisons were to be drawn, closer to the latter than either of the others.
What Barack is, when push comes to shove — and he did a lot of rhetorical pushing and shoving last night, halle-fuckin’-lujah — is the most masterful speaker (and given that he wrote that speech, that makes him the most masterful writer and perhaps thinker, as well) I’ve seen in my lifetime; and with talents like that, untested though he may be on the greater stage, I’m willing to wager everything I’ve got that he just might be one of the more masterful politicians we all may have seen in our lifetimes.
Scoff at that title if you like, but it’s nothing at which to sneeze. Great artists and theoreticians and scientists achieve great things over time, but so do the great politicians. And as many note time and again with each day that passes in this political season, we stand at the edge of a new, raw era; the hands that grasp the helm of this vessel in which we all sit and guide its direction hold massive power. I, for one, am impressed that Barack Obama holds within him not only the strength to wrest that helm from the forces amassed against him but the instinct and judgement to steer a sound course — and surround himself with those who would provide a surplus of wise and widely-varied advice when warranted.
As individuals, we face a choice between despair and hope. Less than two days ago, I was ready to pack it in and do my best to stop caring altogether, rather than feel one more day of wretched, bitter rage and despair over the seemingly irreversible course of inexorable deterioration of this country. The politics of division and ignorance and fear that have dominated us for so long have worn me down to a dull, aching, throbbing, open wound of a human being.
The thought of opening my heart and mind to the possibility of a new beginning — President Obama? Change? Could it happen? Could Election Day arrive and…? And having it all dashed to pieces the way it did that Tuesday in November 2004… Ah, christ. It hurt SO BAD. I just couldn’t FACE it again, man.
But last night… That SPEECH. That CROWD. All those faces, those flags, that music, the lights, the laughter… And they were all clapping.
Yeah. I believe.
Again.
In spite of it all.
Oh, god, please please please please please please please.
Okay. I choose hope.
