Today, George W. Bush will no longer be president, and Barack Obama will be. That simple fact has been the driving force that has pushed millions of Americans to our nation’s front steps. Personally, on November fifth, I decided I was going to Washington D.C., no matter the cost.
After a letter to Massachusetts’ Sixth District Representative John Tierney’s office, and a huge amount of logistical help from his entire office, I had an access ticket to the Washington Mall, where, in front of indeterminate million people, Barack Obama will be sworn in as the 44th president of these United States of America. For months, Americans, and the American media, have exhausting held the conversation of how historic this monumental moment is, and what it means to America in the context of the world at large. Every angle has been covered, now all that’s left is the public promise that Barack Obama will make to honorably serve the American people. As such, millions of Americans are flocking to the nation’s capitol, eager to capture and experience this historic moment for themselves.
My trip starts Sunday with a subway ride to South Station, where I will catch a bus that goes first to New York city, and then on to Washington D.C. I leave at 1 P.M., and am scheduled to arrive at around 11 P.M. I was never optimistic about this arrival time.
As soon as I step in the station, the palpable energy begins to emerge. When a man asks directions to the airport, there is no question as to where he is flying. Everyone seems to have something packed. I see a street person with a garbage bag full of his possessions, and can’t help but wonder if he has travel plans of his own. He seems to- his look of utter resolve suggesting that even a man of his means is making this trek.
The bus ride to New York is hard to read, as one can never really predict why someone is going to New York. As I board, Outkast’s “Rosa Parks,” rolls into my head. A moment later, I realize why. Whites are sitting in the back of this bus on this ride, and the utter irrelevance of that fact is a true testament to this country’s progress.
The bus is, for an event like this, is for the truly committed. There is no pretending that it will be pleasant, or any less than a ten hour pledge altogether. Beyond that, when taking a bus, there is a far greater risk of delays and headaches. The New York bus’s crowd seems steeled to this, and no one is surprised when, within moments of pulling out of Penn Station, passengers learn there will be no overhead lights on this ride. There is nothing to do but sleep, however tenuously, and wait.
The silent understanding of all the travelers is telling. There is no doubt to anyone’s destination, and motivation. For Bostonians, it is a familiar feeling. A decade of sports dominance has spoiled the city with Championship celebrations. Red Sox Nation, Patriots’ pledges, and Celtic faithful have all had their chance to take to the streets and revel in showers of victory. Today, it is America at large that celebrates. One needn’t have voted for Obama, or support his politics, to appreciate how much America is enjoying this moment, and how much that suggests we needed it. Maybe his mandate will be mismanaged, and the optimism soured, but today there is nothing to do but hope.
The bus arrives in D.C. minutes after midnight, making good time. Unfortunately, those moments cost riders their shot at the city’s last subway. To make matters worse, the streets are flushed with tuxedos and ball gowns, all recently departing their various galas. The result is a dearth of cabs, with hundreds fruitlessly milling about the streets. Curiously, there are empty cabs refusing fares, (although my estimation is that they have been paid off by high rollers to be available at a moment’s notice).
After nearly an hour of futility, my traveling companion and I secure a taxi. When the man next to us, himself failing to get a ride, is visibly distraught over being spurned, our cabbie asks if we’d mind doubling up with an additional passenger. We quickly agree, as an hour in the cold will make anyone sympathetic. We pick up one more struggling pedestrian, filling the cab.
In the cab there is no explicit discussion of the Obamanon surrounding us, instead focusing on the city’s overload, and the impossibility of managing it. When the conversation turns to the wayward cabs that are refusing service, I observe that it is hard to believe anyone would refuse money in this economy. Soon everyone is lending their opinions on the downturns’ origins. The driver, a part time real estate agent, talks of bank foreclosures and lowered resale prices. The front-seat passenger, a New York City broker, lays blame on shady, back-room dealings. The other guest-rider, a student at nearby George Washington, bites her tongue; almost as if she knows that she doesn’t have enough information available to say anything definitive.
We share an enjoyable ride, and bid friendly farewells. D.C.’s intuitive grid-layout makes the route direct, despite three destinations, and the taxi driver’s ingenuity makes him a killing.
Our destination is a consummate crash pad. It is a seven roommate house, and a total nexus of youthful exuberance. It has basically become a hostel, with everyone there friends of friends. No one bothers to suppress their excitement. Socializing, I gripe about the difficult journey I’ve just finished, only to learn that the person I was telling my troubles to has only just arrived from Omaha, via Philadelphia. A quick calculation later, and my suffering is obscured by their twenty-three hour sacrifice.
One beverage later, and it is time to retire. An air-mattress on the laundry room floor ain’t the Ritz, but that doesn’t make the sleep any less rejuvenatingly satisfying. The next day is a lazy one of recovery and preparation. Everyone in the District is in a holding pattern, collectively holding their breath and waiting for Tuesday’s early morning festivities. The energy nears critical mass, with lines just to get subway passes in advance of Tuesday’s assured chaos.
I take the day to meet up with a cousin, a freshman at nearby American University. On November fourth, it was he and his peers who flocked to the gates of the White House, cheering in celebration. I reflect to him that when I was a freshman we were a year removed from 9/11, and on the cusp of invading Iraq. His college experience is mostly familiar to my own at UMASS. There are floor-wide games of HALO, posters of Bob Marley, and not twenty minutes after my arrival to the dorm, crazy relationship drama unfolds, apparently involving every person on the floor. It is the quintessential American experience at American University, except that history is happening in their backyard.
My early years at UMASS-Amherst were full of Boston-sports related massive celebrations, that some have called ‘riots.’ Those events were great, but were ultimately all of their positivity were locally limited, and came at the cost of someone else. These kids’ experience is similar, but the victory they celebrate is one, not of regional success, but the triumph of America as a whole, and as an ideal. It is reassuring that they all appear to be sufficiently appreciating it.
It is an early night for everyone, with Tuesday morning itineraries starting no later than 5 A.M. The anticipation across the globe is reaching critical mass, and no one can wait to be at its epicenter.
In a few hours, George W. Bush will no longer be president, and Barack Obama will be. What that means to every U.S. citizen is distinct and unique. But for the millions that have flocked to Washington D.C., it can’t come fast enough.
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