Meanwhile, some close races were taking place at a municipality level.
(Via CuteOverload)
Caption This Photo
Meanwhile, some close races were taking place at a municipality level.
(Via CuteOverload)
...when we the people make it happen.
A bitch is still struggling to put into words what I am feeling right now. I must confess that I didn’t believe an Obama win was possible until they called it on the telly (Brother Rob Thurman was quick to call a bitch and remind me that he was right…and I’m thrilled enough to take that shit graciously).
I’m going to relish this indescribable feeling today…allow my soul to fill with the emotion of knowing that my Father, may he rest in peace, would be so thrilled that he lived to witness this…and let my sore as hell feet heal a bit (wince).
But tomorrow we begin again.
President Elect Obama inherits a towering mass of drama and the daunting task of dealing with it.
And our work…the work of social justice…begins today.
Elections give us tools that we call politicians. It is our job to use the hell out of them…to hold them accountable and to work with them to bring about change.
So get your party on, y’all.
As soon as Missouri finishes the count (Lawd, have mercy…get it done, people!!) and bitch will dust my Afro off and get to it.
Because this moment…these twilightesque weeks between Election Day and inaugurations…is when major shit goes down.
We have not reached the mountaintop, however exciting this historic moment may be.
With many states passing inequality into law…with so many in economic peril…with our nation still at war…and with reproductive justice still under attack…we have a lot of work to do.
And you’d better believe this bitch is fired up and ready to go!
Change happens…
…when we the people make it happen.
Blue State
I can't even tell you how hard I'm blubbing right now. I waited up all night to see my state go blue.
Five days after I started this blog, and one month before the 2004 election, I wrote of Indiana: "It is disheartening to read my favorite writers flippantly referring to the entire middle of this country as if it doesn't matter—a barren cultural wasteland whose only value is a bunch of electoral votes, many of which aren't even worth fighting over. Neither presidential candidate is even running ads here, because we're supposedly so red that either one might as well flush that ad money down the toilet. Well, yes, we're a red state; a majority of us (inexplicably) voted for Bush last time. But we also have a governor and a senator and many other elected officials throughout the state who are Democrats. That isn't solidly red; that's purplish."
I wanted my state to matter. I wanted the people in it to matter. I wanted my vote to matter. I wanted a candidate to come here and exploit all its purply promise.
Indiana is blue for the first time in my entire life.
Thank you, Mr. President.
[Please keep the comments in this thread positive. I just need one thread of unadulterated joy. I am so tired, and so spent, and feel so totally beat to shit after doing this day in and day out for four years. I need one thread. And then I will get back to the business of cynicism. I promise. Just give me one.]
Words of Hope From An Old Queer
I'm sitting here, balancing.
I'm balancing my joyful weepy-ness at the never-before-in-my-lifetime sight of a Presidential victory stage peopled with actual racial diversity . . . .
. . . . with my sorrowful weepy-ness at the all-too-familiar-oh-no-not-this-shit-again sight of the current California election results on Proposition 8.
I'm here to offer some words of Hope.
In 1973, when I was 17, and already knew that I was a lesbian, homosexuality was removed from the DSM-III as a mental illness.
Go ahead -- settle in -- this may be a long post.
In 1979, when I was 23, I marched in my first Gay Pride parade in Portland, Oregon. That same year, the "Moral Majority" was founded, and was later credited with handing Ronald Reagan the presidency.
In 1981, when I was 25, I came out to my Kansan parents. My mom said: "Well, I've changed a lot since I first began to suspect. A man in my church went to the pastor, and the pastor told him that he had to come out to the whole congregation, so that they could see that homosexual people [sic] were people they knew, and loved, and respected. So, I've changed about this. I just want you to be happy, and well, and loved."
In 1984, when I was 29, people who I actually knew began dying of AIDS. My partner and I volunteered at CAP and sat with many dying friends as the "gay plague" ravaged our community, and Reagan's White House looked on with apathy and disdain.
In 1988, when I was 32, I joined with members of Act-Up and other LGBTQ groups to fight "Measure 8", which sought to overturn a gubernatorial executive order (the first time an EO had been challenged by public initiative in Oregon), and which prohibited any protections for LGBTQ folk in state government. Not to go all Godwin here, but as a history-buff/institutional-memory-geek, I was alarmed, to say the least -- as I knew that Hitler's initiatory step to the oppression of Jews was prohibiting them from public employment.
Measure 8 passed in 1988. I mourned. (What the fuck is it with the whole number "8" for homophobic propositions and measures, anyway?)
In 1992, when I was 36, the same fucknecks who brought us Measure 8 brought us Measure 9, which would require that:"All levels of government, including public education systems, must assist in setting a standard for Oregon's youth which recognizes that these behaviors are abnormal, wrong, unnatural and perverse and they are to be discouraged and avoided."
Measure 9 was defeated.
(No, you're not reading that wrong -- that was the actual language.)
Bill Clinton was elected.
I rejoiced. I believed that a new day had begun.
Nine days (yes, you heard it -- NINE FUCKING DAYS) after the man I had campaigned for, raised money for, stumped streets for, sat phone-banks for, etc., was sworn into office ( just in case I wasn't clear enough -- that was: NINE FUCKING DAYS after his inauguration) -- Bill Clinton announces"Don't Ask, Don't Tell".
I was supposed to feel grateful, I suppose. Now, queers could have the privilege of dying for their country -- as long as they never mentioned they were queer. And no one asked them if they were queer. Woo-hoo!
Four years later, he signed DOMA. Which started a whole 'nother shit-storm of state constitutional amendments and ballot measures and propositions and crap and crap and crap.
Although Bill Clinton has looked like a "better" president to me as I've passed through the past eight years, it's important for me to look back and remember.
I had such optimism in 1992. The day Clinton was elected (after the long, black night of Reaganomics and Bush Sr.), I was totally and utterly convinced that a new day was rising. I was optimistic, fresh-faced, and twinkly-eyed.
By 2000, when I was 44, I was just plain tired.
I didn't believe any of them. I didn't believe the doomsday-predictors who said that GWBush could be the worst thing that had ever happened to our nation and the world (Boy! Was I wrong there!), nor did I believe the happy shiny people holding hands who said that Al Gore could quite possibly save us from ourselves (Again, totally wrong -- that would be me -- totally wrong, for disbelieving in both cases).
I voted Gore in 2000, but without much heart -- I had the sense that he was simply too close to the heart of Bill Clinton -- a candidate for whom I had shed blood, sweat, and tears-- a candidate who had betrayed me deeply.
By 2001, when I was 45, other countries were actually legally marrying same-sex couples.
By 2004, when I was 48, I had witnessed too much.
Yes, it was tiring, voting for people who ultimately probably didn't give a shit about me, but it was, perhaps, marginally better than voting for people who absolutely hated my fucking guts and would like to see me wiped off the face of the Earth. (And Yes, there is a difference between neglect and abuse -- as the past recipient of both, I'll tell you that, at least with neglect, you sometimes get a quiet moment to yourself.)
But also, during 2004, Massachusetts legalized same-sex marriage.
It was, of course, challenged -- and challenged -- and challenged. (Seriously, if you think this shit is easy, go read the entire wiki.)
The challenges were met. Same-sex marriage remains legal in MA -- no one has died of Traditional-Marriage-Challenge-Syndrome, and the world has not come to an end.
What a surprise.
By 2008, when I was 52, CA courts had decided that denying marriage to queers was unconstitutional in that state.
And so it was that Prop 8 was born.
And funded by out-of-state religious moguls.
And subjected to much youtubery.
And from where I sit, that was entirely predictable.
When you push on the gates of power, there will be pushback.
At first, for sure. Later, perhaps less so. Much later, maybe not at all.
So, at this point, you're probably saying: "But Portly! Where's the Hope!?! You promised me Hope, you chubby muff-diver!!"
Well, the Hope is here:
When I was 17, the thought of being accepted as a queer in my family, or in society at large -- the idea of being "out" at a job -- any job (except maybe a gay-bar) -- simply did not exist.
At the time, I was pissed about this at some level -- but it was a vague, subconscious kind of anger -- and I would never have expected it to be addressed in the media or a topic of conversation outside of the secretive community that I inhabited as a queer.
Now, at 52, I'm pissed again -- but this time, my anger is out in the open.
That may be bitter cause for Hope -- but it is, for me, Hope, nonetheless.
Prop 8
How?
It's not over yet, and I'm still optimistic (because I just don't know how not to be about something like this), but all I can think at the moment is how; how can the same state elect Barack Obama and enshrine discrimination into its constitution, actually taking away equality from its citizens?
I know how, of course. I know why. I know all the reasons.
And I still want to grab by the shoulders and shake every person who voted for inequality and demand to know of them: How could you?
Yes We Can
If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.
It's the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches in numbers this nation has never seen; by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the very first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different; that their voice could be that difference.
It's the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Latino, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled – Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been a collection of Red States and Blue States: we are, and always will be, the United States of America.
It's the answer that led those who have been told for so long by so many to be cynical, and fearful, and doubtful of what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day.
It's been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this day, in this election, at this defining moment, change has come to America.
I just received a very gracious call from Senator McCain. He fought long and hard in this campaign, and he's fought even longer and harder for the country he loves. He has endured sacrifices for America that most of us cannot begin to imagine, and we are better off for the service rendered by this brave and selfless leader. I congratulate him and Governor Palin for all they have achieved, and I look forward to working with them to renew this nation's promise in the months ahead.
I want to thank my partner in this journey, a man who campaigned from his heart and spoke for the men and women he grew up with on the streets of Scranton and rode with on that train home to Delaware, the Vice President-elect of the United States, Joe Biden.
I would not be standing here tonight without the unyielding support of my best friend for the last sixteen years, the rock of our family and the love of my life, our nation's next First Lady, Michelle Obama. Sasha and Malia, I love you both so much, and you have earned the new puppy that's coming with us to the White House. And while she's no longer with us, I know my grandmother is watching, along with the family that made me who I am. I miss them tonight, and know that my debt to them is beyond measure.
To my campaign manager David Plouffe, my chief strategist David Axelrod, and the best campaign team ever assembled in the history of politics – you made this happen, and I am forever grateful for what you've sacrificed to get it done.
But above all, I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to – it belongs to you.
I was never the likeliest candidate for this office. We didn't start with much money or many endorsements. Our campaign was not hatched in the halls of Washington – it began in the backyards of Des Moines and the living rooms of Concord and the front porches of Charleston.
It was built by working men and women who dug into what little savings they had to give five dollars and ten dollars and twenty dollars to this cause. It grew strength from the young people who rejected the myth of their generation's apathy; who left their homes and their families for jobs that offered little pay and less sleep; from the not-so-young people who braved the bitter cold and scorching heat to knock on the doors of perfect strangers; from the millions of Americans who volunteered, and organized, and proved that more than two centuries later, a government of the people, by the people and for the people has not perished from this Earth. This is your victory.
I know you didn't do this just to win an election and I know you didn't do it for me. You did it because you understand the enormity of the task that lies ahead. For even as we celebrate tonight, we know the challenges that tomorrow will bring are the greatest of our lifetime – two wars, a planet in peril, the worst financial crisis in a century. Even as we stand here tonight, we know there are brave Americans waking up in the deserts of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan to risk their lives for us. There are mothers and fathers who will lie awake after their children fall asleep and wonder how they'll make the mortgage, or pay their doctor's bills, or save enough for college. There is new energy to harness and new jobs to be created; new schools to build and threats to meet and alliances to repair.
The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even one term, but America – I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there. I promise you – we as a people will get there.
There will be setbacks and false starts. There are many who won't agree with every decision or policy I make as President, and we know that government can't solve every problem. But I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree. And above all, I will ask you join in the work of remaking this nation the only way it's been done in America for two-hundred and twenty-one years – block by block, brick by brick, calloused hand by calloused hand.
What began twenty-one months ago in the depths of winter must not end on this autumn night. This victory alone is not the change we seek – it is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were. It cannot happen without you.
So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism; of service and responsibility where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves, but each other. Let us remember that if this financial crisis taught us anything, it's that we cannot have a thriving Wall Street while Main Street suffers – in this country, we rise or fall as one nation; as one people.
Let us resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long. Let us remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party to the White House – a party founded on the values of self-reliance, individual liberty, and national unity. Those are values we all share, and while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress. As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, "We are not enemies, but friends…though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection." And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn – I may not have won your vote, but I hear your voices, I need your help, and I will be your President too.
And to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of our world – our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared, and a new dawn of American leadership is at hand. To those who would tear this world down – we will defeat you. To those who seek peace and security – we support you. And to all those who have wondered if America's beacon still burns as bright – tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from our the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope.
For that is the true genius of America – that America can change. Our union can be perfected. And what we have already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.
This election had many firsts and many stories that will be told for generations. But one that's on my mind tonight is about a woman who cast her ballot in Atlanta. She's a lot like the millions of others who stood in line to make their voice heard in this election except for one thing – Ann Nixon Cooper is 106 years old.
She was born just a generation past slavery; a time when there were no cars on the road or planes in the sky; when someone like her couldn't vote for two reasons – because she was a woman and because of the color of her skin.
And tonight, I think about all that she's seen throughout her century in America – the heartache and the hope; the struggle and the progress; the times we were told that we can't, and the people who pressed on with that American creed: Yes we can.
At a time when women's voices were silenced and their hopes dismissed, she lived to see them stand up and speak out and reach for the ballot. Yes we can.
When there was despair in the dust bowl and depression across the land, she saw a nation conquer fear itself with a New Deal, new jobs and a new sense of common purpose. Yes we can.
When the bombs fell on our harbor and tyranny threatened the world, she was there to witness a generation rise to greatness and a democracy was saved. Yes we can.
She was there for the buses in Montgomery, the hoses in Birmingham, a bridge in Selma, and a preacher from Atlanta who told a people that "We Shall Overcome." Yes we can.
A man touched down on the moon, a wall came down in Berlin, a world was connected by our own science and imagination. And this year, in this election, she touched her finger to a screen, and cast her vote, because after 106 years in America, through the best of times and the darkest of hours, she knows how America can change. Yes we can.
America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do. So tonight, let us ask ourselves – if our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have made?
This is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment. This is our time – to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American Dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth – that out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope, and where we are met with cynicism, and doubt, and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people:
Yes We Can. Thank you, God bless you, and may God Bless the United States of America.
— President-Elect Barack Obama, November 4, 2008 [Via.]
My Vote Was Earned
I have a new piece up at The Guardian's Comment is free America about one of the ways in which Obama earned my vote, which I haven't previously discussed here: Putting my state into play so that my vote actually matters for the first time ever.
Good Riddance to Bad Rubbish
Soon, Shakers, we will never have to look at that face again.
I'm so over Bush, it's not even funny.
From Day One, Bush was my worst bloody nightmare: A right-wing ideologue with no checks or balances, left to pursue every conservative wet dream with abandon. He was the Golden Boy of modern American conservatives—a corporate shill with the affected demeanor of a country bumpkin, around whom the unholy alliance between Big Money and Big Religion could be forged, standing at the altar and giving his blessing to the crackpot marriage between the business interests who sought to get rich off the stupid sniveling sods who marched in hypocritical lockstep with the warmongers and the corporate mercenaries, as long as they were promised protection from radical feminists and kissing boys.
The hideous underbelly of unfettered authoritarian conservatism—exposed by this perfect storm of cobbled-together allies, a GOP-led Congress, and a never-ending stream of media mouthpieces willing to demonize anyone who dared to dissent—has been absolutely revolting, a grotesque mosaic of avarice, antipathy, incompetence, and corruption.
And all along I've been accused of blindly hating Bush, as if there were not reasons, as if I did not watch him take this nation to war on false premises; watch him abandon the "right" war; watch him create millions of refugees; watch him play class warfare with his gilded tax cuts; watch him let an American city drown; watch his administration out one of our own spies; watch him sell We the People piece by piece in massive government-underwritten giveaways to Big Pharma and Big Oil; watch more than 1,000 signing statements undermine the law; watch habeas corpus be cast aside like day-old bread; watch the Geneva Conventions and our Constitution be treated like suggestions…
You're goddamned right I hate George Bush.
You're right if you think I found him an insignificant slip of a man who was unprepared for and undeserving of the presidency, whose history as a drunken dullard, constructed aw-shucks shtick, and careful positioning as the ordained man who would marry religious extremists with neocon corporatists made me want to puke from the moment I laid eyes upon his sneering visage.
You're right if you think that his leadership shames me, that every heh heh which has emanated from his condescending mouth has made my skin crawl, that I am utterly unable to find the merest shadow of anything to like about him.
And you're right if you think I hate him to the point of abject indifference, fervently longing for the day he takes his leave from governance and retreats to Crawford for good, where I won't give the tiniest, microscopic shit about him whether he is lost in a tragic brush-clearing accident and his body devoured by wild dogs before the search party arrives, or whether he lives out the remainder of his useless life in good health and happiness—either way, I don't care, as long as I never have to think about him for the rest of my days.
Yes, I hate him. But not blindly. I have reasons—more than I can bloody well count.
And I can't wait for the day when he will be gone for good, never to give me another thing to add to my list of his crimes and failures.
I can't wait to see him go.
Going, going…
Don't let the door hitcha where Maude splitcha, Dubs.
[Originally published in similar form February 14, 2008.]
Quote of the Day
Democratic presidential candidate Sen. Barack Obama, D-Ill. talks to his daughter Malia as he casts his votes at a polling place in Chicago, Tuesday, Nov. 4, 2008. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)
Woot!
I just saw Shaker Renee of Womanist Musings quoted by Rick Sanchez on CNN!
It's pretty much the dumbest segment of all time: What if Obama were white and McCain were black?
Yeesh. As if John McCain and Barack Obama wouldn't be totally different people if they were different races than they are (not because of intrinsic differences between races, but because of a socialization inextricably linked to institutionalized racism and race-based privilege, from which no one can escape). It's a truly idiotic hypothetical.
Anyway, they were soliciting comments, and Renee's comment came up. She said that McCain never would have been the Republican nominee if he were black, for a start. Ha. Too true.
Goofus and Gallant
McCain was just giving his usual stump speech in Colorado, still trying to rally his base to get out and vote. He said, as ever: "I promise I will never let you down when I am president."
Such a foolish promise. And egomaniacal, to boot. Only a daft braggart thinks he can never disappoint even those who think the most of him.
Compare to what Obama's standard line has been on the campaign trail: "I am not a perfect man, and I would not be a perfect president, but I will listen to you and learn from you."
That is a promise which is, apart from anything else, possible to keep.
some election day photos
(AP Photo/Seth Perlman)
(Larry Downing/Reuters)
(AP Photo/Jacquelyn Martin)
(AP Photo/Paul Sancya)
A Gripe and A Question
I figured every post today can't be about the election... but I thought I should write this before it gets buried.
Yesterday, I rode my scooter to work and parked a block away. I don't usually park between two cars, but there was street cleaning going on, and my choices were limited. I found a nice wide spot between two cars (not big enough for a car, but tons of room for my scoot), and made sure to part slightly closer to the car facing me, leaving plenty of room for the car in front of me to get out.
Well, you see where this is going, don't you?
When I came out to ride home in the evening, the first thing I noticed was that the scooter was on the side kickstand, not the center column stand that I always use. Second, the disc brake lock I use was not in the center where I normally position it, but up against the wheel arm. I assumed someone had been screwing around with it, and then I tried to start it. In order to start a scooter (I don't know if motorcycles are the same way), you have to squeeze the left brake handle while hitting the ignition button.
That's when I realized the left brake handle was broken off.
I managed to get it started and ride it to my scooter dealer to drop it off and took the bus home; hopefully they'll be able to fix it today. But here's what gets to me: Most likely, the car in front of me backed up and knocked my scooter over (less likely but still possible, someone was fucking around with it or attempting to move/steal it, and knocked it over); and the person takes the time to lift it up and put it back on the kickstand, but not leave a note stating what happened with contact information. Maybe I'm being all naive and "why can't we be friends," but goddamn it, that's what you do when you knock into someone's vehicle, especially when your vehicle is thousands of pounds heavier than the one you hit. Apparently, Hit & Run Harry didn't see it this way (or, seeing he caused damage, thought "oh shit," and took off).
Grumble.
I was talking to my father about this last night, and mentioned I was thinking of getting some Post-it notes printed up with a little retro scooter graphic on them, with this text:Look out!!!
There's a scooter parked behind you!
Please be kind and be careful
when you leave your parking space.
Thank you!
I thought I could keep this in my scooter's compartment, and when I *do* have to park between two cars, I could stick one of these on the driver's side window of the car in front. I even thought about putting something like "feel free to stick this on my scooter when you leave and I will dispose of it for you" so people wouldn't just throw them on the ground.
My dad didn't like this idea. "All you'll do is piss the person off, and they'll either hit your scooter on purpose or do something else to it." Now, as cynical as I am about human nature at the moment, I don't think that someone would be completely filled with rage by this note. What do you think? Good idea? Or inviting more trouble?
Say a prayer to Ceiling Cat for my poor ouchie scooter. Hopefully this won't be too expensive.
UPDATE: Paul happy. I just got a call and my scoot is all fixed, and it was less than a hundred dollars.
Scooterworks is the greatest scooter company on the planet. If you ever want to buy a scoot or need yours serviced, go there. And tell them I sent you.
Bizarre
CNN just showed Sarah Palin voting, then taking questions from a small group of reporters. The first question asked, naturally, was for whom she voted.
She said she's going to exercise her right to privacy and not answer that question.
Umm...okay.
Meet-Ups
If you'd like to organize a meet-up to watch coverage tonight with other Shakers, here's the thread to do it. Extend invites, solicit invites, suggest meeting places, etc.
Be careful about leaving any personal contact info; if you need to use me as a go-between to share contact info, I'll be happy to help.
International Coverage
Shaker The Bald Soprano, who lives outside the US, asked me recently what I'd recommend for international Shakers who want to follow the campaign today. I suggested C-Span.org, which she confirmed streams successfully outside the US.
If you're outside the US and have other recommendations to make to other international Shakers, please leave them in comments!
Get Out The Vote
Just a reminder, today is election day (see above).
If you need help finding your local polling place, click here.
P.S. And yes, this is just an excuse to post this ridiculous picture I took today.
