I'm not normally one to seek out a crowd. In fact, when I see a rowdy mob forming, I'm more apt to walk away than I am to enter the fray. That said, something was different about election night 2008. When I became one of the lucky few to snag a ticket to this historic event, I knew I couldn't stay away. Despite the worriers and the pessimists who warned me of the possibility of riots, assasination attempts, and worse, I was drawn to downtown Chicago and wanted nothing more than to be surrounded by the like-minded folks converging in the streets in and around Grant Park.
I could feel the energy in the air as soon as I stepped onto the el platform-- the city was practically humming. Impromptu street vendors lined the sidewalks, selling T-shirts, buttons, posters and the like to the people streaming by. We followed the crowd to the Congress Plaza; the semi-circular street should have been packed with rush-hour traffic but was instead packed with people. We arrived more than an hour and a half before the gates were scheduled to open, and already thousands were waiting to enter the rally site. We were shuffled through three security checkpoints, showing picture identification and printed e-tickets, opening our purses for police and secret service agents, (one threw away an apple I had brought to eat on the train ride home-- apparently it can be used as a projectile) and passing through metal detectors. The line, despite its size, moved quite well. They released people in stages, which prevented any bottlenecking or backups.
When we finally entered Hutchinson Field, the gated area where Obama was soon to speak, we looked out over a sea of people to the stage beyond, lined with American flags against a blazing blue backdrop. The media were EVERYWHERE, and with less than half of the field filled, we were able to move about quite freely for the next few minutes. We made a quick trip to the porta-johns so we wouldn't have to try and go once the park was full, then jockeyed for a space on the field behind some other short people. We had no chance of getting close enough to see the actual stage, so we settled for a nice view of the Jumbotron, where we watched a slew of CNN analysts make projections. We were shoulder to shoulder with people young and old, of every color and from all walks of life, and everyone willingly let down their guard and welcomed complete strangers into their personal space, partly out of necessity, but mostly because we were all united by a sense hope, inspiration, and our desire for change.
While we waited, we cheered each projection that turned another state blue, booed the states that filled in red, and filled in our own print-out map with pink and blue highlighters while we did the math on the electoral votes. We tried to stretch our legs and relieve the pressure on our throbbing feet, as we'd been standing for hours, but there was little room to move. We listened to an upbeat playlist during the commercial breaks and the crowed was momentarily entertained by the appearance of an "Obama" beach ball, which was promptly forgotten when the clock struck 10:00 and the Jumbotron lit up with Obama's photo and a graphic that simply read "BARACK OBAMA ELECTED PRESIDENT".
At that moment, nearly a quarter of a million people cheered as one. It was an almost indescribable feeling; the closest I’ve come to experiencing that kind of electricity is while playing a triumphant tutti passage in a bombastic orchestral piece. Surrounded by strings, brass and percussion, I can't hear myself playing, but it doesn't matter. At that point, instinct takes over; it trumps all of my senses. Once I've locked into the music, however, the recognition is instant and I know that I’ve become a part of something larger than myself, which is exactly what happened that night.
When the yelling and screaming subsided, I was stunned to hear the jubilant din replaced with sobs. People wept openly, so overcome with emotion, that strangers were compelled to hug and comfort each other and affirm that, yes, this was really happening. Before that night, I hadn't really given much thought to the impact this election would have on people of color. This is partly because the campaign went to great lengths to shift the focus away from race, but mostly because I have never experienced, first hand, the kind of prejudice and oppression endured by the thousands who fought for their civil rights in the 1950s and 60s.
I am not a person of color. In fact, if I was any paler, I would be translucent. While I can empathize with the oppressed, condemn the actions of the oppressors, learn from the mistakes that were made and vow not to let history repeat itself, I cannot fully relate to this contentious and turbulent time, because I did not experience it. But the enormity of the Civil Rights victory realized by Obama's election, a triumph more than forty years in the making, hit me square in the chest the moment the beautiful and articulate black woman behind me lost it, bawling and hugging everyone within reach and proclaiming that "we did this together! You and I, together! WE did this!" How liberating for her, and humbling for me, to be able to share in this victorious celebration.
Much of what followed was also witnessed in living rooms across America. We watched John McCain's gracious and magnanimous concession speech, and he was applauded by the crowd, a stirring show of respect for the years of service given by an American hero. The playlist reloaded while the crowd grew restless. Suddenly the mood shifted, and the crowd pressed forward, with near-crushing proximity. We prayed with the bishop, recited the Pledge of Allegiance, accompanied the singer of the national anthem when she stumbled over the lyrics, then erupted in cheers when the Obamas finally walked onto the stage.
Barack Obama delivered a concise and stirring speech, filled with more than enough eloquent quotes to satisfy the medias' soundbyte requirements for years to come, and spoke of a dream realized. He was surprisingly somber, perhaps fully realizing the enormity of the responsibility he is soon to assume. His warnings of a long road ahead, and the hard work yet to be done did little to subdue the boisterous crowd. I'd like to think that it's because people are finally ready for the challenge and are willing to come together to fix what's broken and to restore America's tarnished reputation.
We watched the Bidens join the Obamas onstage after his speech, then began making our way out of the park. Even though there was only one exit, the crowd moved steadily out into the street and once outside the park, peoples' enthusiasm erupted. Mounted police and officers in full riot gear lined the streets, but although people were giddy, no one was unruly. The team of officers outside the Congress Hotel reminded many people of an ugly scene there that marred the Democratic National Convention of 1968, when riots erupted outside. Forty years later, though, the hotel became a backdrop for an enormous but peaceful celebration, and instead of beating protestors with billy clubs, the Chicago Police posed for pictures and joked with the celebratory public.
My friend and I walked arm in arm, so as not to lose each other in the crowd, which elicited an "awww" from a lesbian couple in plaid miniskirts who passed us. We walked an extra couple of blocks to a more remote el station, and got right on a train-- we even got a seat! The trains ran on a rush-hour schedule and at full capacity. It felt so good to sit, but we were really thirsty. We passed the time on the train with a crossword puzzle, and guzzled multiple glasses of water once we were back home and the threat (of being in a porta potty while history was unfolding) had passed. I learned on the news this morning what I already sensed-- that the huge rally went off without a hitch-- no riots, no fights, no arrests. So if the world is asking whether Chicago can handle the 2016 Olympics, I would have to say "YES WE CAN!"
Regardless of whether people voted for Obama or not, I believe this was one of those moments that has etched itself into everyone's memories. People will forever remember where they were on the night America elected its first black president, a moment that will undoubtedly change a nation. I am-- and will always be-- proud to tell people-- now and for generations to come-- that I was a part of it, that I was there.
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