I never dreamt that my vote (a miniscule fraction of the mythical, elusive “youth vote”) would ever mean anything of consequence in a presidential contest. Foolishly and almost predictably, I assumed that my optimism peaked last week in Iowa with Obama’s victory and the next eleven months would be a gradual dwindling of interest and enthusiasm in the election. But then New Hampshire laughed milk through its nose, spraying it in the face of over-zealous pundits and injecting even more chaos and excitement into this already zany, drunk Jenga match of a presidential race. Both nominations are still wide open and the field of candidates is so broad and bizarre that if Vanilla Ice threw his hat in the ring, VH1 could put them all in a house and shoot another season of the Surreal Life. I can feel that I’m witnessing history and for the first time, I’m eager to perform my civic duty when the time comes.
In a development too ironic to be dubbed irony, it was Hillary Clinton who brought the fun this time. 180 years ago at a place called Dover’s Cocheco Mills, New Hampshire was the site of the first women’s labor strike in America. Last night, a large group of women (and men) sent a similarly powerful message: No matter how charming, articulate, handsome and captivating Barack Obama is, he’s not going to get a free ride to the Democratic nomination. New Hampshire reminded America (particularly Democrats) that as divisive and controversial as she is, Hillary Clinton is still qualified, competent and insanely motivated enough that she deserves her crack at making history, too.
Please don’t misinterpret this as an endorsement of Clinton’s candidacy. I’ve still got a laundry list of issues to address concerning Hil at the helm of the machine, but for today, right now, I’m holding my tongue. She blew the thing wide open all over again and reminded us just how profound a shift it is that we’re witnessing.
She wasn’t alone, though. John McCain did just as much to jostle the elephant team and keep them guessing. Every one seems to be able to say 5 nice things about McCain—patriot, hero, fighter, believer, maverick—before dropping the unkind truth that he’s too old, batty, unpredictable, stiff and tired to make a real run at the thing. That’s probably true, but he fought off Mitt Romney in New England and that’s commendable.
I won’t blow too much venomous ink on Romney just yet (we’ll see how far he gets), but it’s nice to see a presumed frontrunner get the smarminess backhanded out of him. A lot of my enthusiasm in Iowa came from Huckabee’s defeat of the all too slick Mitt. From the start, it seemed as if he thought himself the Music Man who could blow through Iowa like it was River City, selling 76 trombones to every Marion the Librarian in the state. So I had to smile when his humble pie was served up by a goofy preacher man from Arkansas with Chuck Norris on his team. (Seriously, though: what the hell is Walker, Campaign Ranger doing on stage with Huckabee at every event? I feel like I’m watching Saturday Night Live or something.) Last night, Romney had to eat it on his (almost) home turf, which must have left a particularly bitter aftertaste. This is not intended as a personal or even political attack on Romney, it’s just nice to see a Sure Thing from Massachusets lose, considering the recent maddening successes of the Patriots and Red Sox.
The only other observation I can share concerning the Republican field is my relief at the relative sputtering failure of Giuliani’s campaign. We’ll see what happens in Florida or whatever, but I’m thankful that for the time being, his candidacy can be reduced to a tasteless joke, reworked from an old ‘Nam riddle:
Giuliani: How many 9-11 survivors does it take to screw in a light bulb?
America: Um, I don’t know.
Giuliani: HOW COULD YOU KNOW? YOU WEREN’T MAYOR, MAN!
So this brief chapter is over now and I’m sure we can agree that New Hampshire, the Granite Planet, is a strange place indeed. Something I learned along the way is that the stae was once home to the famous rock formation The Old Man In The Mountain, until the thing eroded and crumbled back in 2003. John McCain seems to have fared a little better than that. New Hampshire is also famous for inspiring most of Robert Frost’s greatest works, including his poem Nothing Gold Can Stay. On the heels of a disappointing defeat for Obama, that might be a fitting headline for some campus newspapers this morning. And it would have been, were it not for Obama’s staggeringly inspirational “concession” speech last night.
In impossibly calm but forceful tones, Obama brought his faithful back to church after a difficult blow. And he introduced a new rallying cry by leading a chorus of “yes, we can”. The slogan sounded oddly familiar to me and I quickly realized that it is the same chant I heard while in the midst of one million immigrants in the streets of Los Angeles. When I heard it then, though, it sounded like this: “Si, se puede!” That was May 1, 2006, when a marginalized group of Americans announced their presence and the phrase “A New America” began to mean something. Obama knows who he’s appealing to: the future.
That’s why the youth vote might actually mean something this time. Same, too, for the Latino vote. As the rest of America starts to look more like my home, California (that is: browner and younger, with the obvious exceptions of, um, Iowa and New Hampshire) the future—mine, Obama’s, America’s—comes into much clearer focus.
But I’m getting a bit lofty. New Hampshire was a reminder that Youth alone can’t take it. Blind optimism can’t take it. Neither can the Evangelicals or the Unions or Big Oil or Feminists or anybody else. There are no color coded states this time, there is no partisan gang banging. And that is an incredible relief.
A brief closing note: New Hampshire, oddly enough, is also where J.D. Salinger went to disappear. It’s fitting, considering that he is the prophet of the Catcher in the Rye, that bible of younth angst, alienation and disillusionment. But that’s the bible of some previous generations. The Great Generation, The Lost Generation, the Me Generation: they’re either gone or on the way out. We can leave all the all the angst and disillusionment behind in New Hampshire with J.D. It’s time for something new.
No comments:
Post a Comment