PROVIDENCE, R.I. -- I got a text message from a friend the morning after Tuesday’s primaries. The newly politicized young, Latino Obama supporter asked me, “Should I be concerned?"
To be honest, I didn’t know what to say to him. I have been swept up in the romance of the Obama campaign since Iowa, not because I specifically support him, but because I’ve never in my life seen my generation take an active and enthusiastic role in the political process, discard cynicism and embrace a person and an idea like this. As a result, I suppose that romance tainted my perception of the Hillary campaign, equating in my mind with stagnation and old, tired and dirty politics. Maybe that’s fair, maybe it’s not.
I would go so far as to say that if Hillary pulls off the upset and gets the nomination, it's going to alienate the generation that finally cared.
I can say with certainty that it would alienate me and I’m scared because I can see the clouds of Hillary’s perfect storm in the sky starting to form. The dirty trick of trying to include Florida and Michigan’s delegates, where Obama’s name wasn’t even on the ballot, is one aspect. The absurd attack ads as part of her kitchen sink strategy, is another. And looking forward past the next six weeks or so, when she’ll phone in enough favors to take Pennsylvania, it looks like she could do it.
If these legions of young believers are slain by the machine, I wouldn’t blame any of them for turning away from politics altogether. It’s almost as if Hillary’s nomination would confirm the validity of apathy.
I spent the day of the primaries in Rhode Island, a politically curious but largely ignored state. I covered a lot of ground in one day, from college campuses to a proverbial “smoke-filled room” and on to the after parties. At every step, I saw examples of enthusiastic young people who believed for the first time that they were having a political impact. By the end of the night, I saw confused faces and heard the voices of people who felt betrayed.
Monday evening, I walked into Providence from the train station and headed directly across the street to Uno’s. I struck up a conversation with my pregnant bartender Jesse and tried to explain what I was doing there. I told her, “It’s such a critical day and nobody seems to be paying any attention to Rhode Island.” She just smiled and said, “Nobody ever pays attention to Rhode Island.”
And it’s true. This state is the birthplace of the industrial revolution in the United States; it was the first colony to denounce allegiance to Great Britain; and it’s where much of Jim Carrey’s epic buffoonery in “Dumb and Dumber” took place. And yet, it escaped national attention on a day when the Democratic nomination could have been decided.
After some time at Uno’s, my host Joe came in and met me, walking in to familiar welcomes. He tried to explain the less-than complex political process here. “Rhode Island is a fiercely Democratic state. People go in the booth and they just pull the Democrat lever.” (Though he pronounces it “leh-vah”).
That’s fine, except in this case, those fiercely Democratic voters are choosing between two Democrats.
Joe works in construction in Providence, so he gave me a tour of a block in his neighborhood where he’s fixed, built and sold several homes. It’s jokingly referred to as the futuristic district. (The fyoo-cha is now!) The surrounding neighborhood is mixed-income, largely working-class and it sits in the shadow of the state building, a marvelous white marble domed structure topped with a bronze statue of “Independent Man,” a representation of the state’s historically independent nature. If Rhode Island had a super hero, it would be him. And rightly so. As “fiercely Democratic” as they may be, the majority of voters here are registered independents.
Somehow Joe manages to get me out of bed before 8:30 the morning of election day. We head to the Capital Hill Diner for egg sandwiches and coffee. There I meet Will, a young electrical contractor who has already voted. Will, who is black, explains to me, “Too many of my ancestors died so I could vote. I have to.”
Leaving the diner, I pass Carol Tower, the polling place for the neighborhood. One older woman walks out smiling, wearing a t-shirt that reads, “Obama is my homeboy.”
The rain starts coming down pretty heavily and I head back to the futuristic district to visit with Chris, a young carpenter who lives in one of the houses there. I walk with him over to the Carol Towers to cast his vote. He tells me his mom has been calling him all day, reminding him to vote and specifically, to vote for Obama. He says, “Our parents are realizing they messed everything up and now they’re desperate, telling us it’s our job to fix it.” Chris makes it to the Tower a couple of minutes before the polls close and walks in smiling.
Across the street, I meet up with Lisa, a local organizer who has agreed to give me a tour of some of Providence’s back rooms. She drives out to the waterfront, where we go to the Fabre Line club to have a drink while we watch some of the results trickle in on TV. The club got its name from the boat that carried immigrants around the turn of the century from Ellis Island over to Providence for processing. Now the club is a shining example of America’s promise: the descendants of those immigrants gather here to make deals and rub elbows.
In a back room, some of these guys — older, heavy set — are sitting around a board table in leather swivel chairs, watching MSNBC. One of them is literally chomping on a cigar nub. Rhode Island is the first state to be called for Hillary, and everyone just seems stunned. Even most of these old, white Democrats have bought into the Obama movement.
From there, we head over to a bar called McKellans, where Hillary’s supporters have gathered to celebrate. It’s pretty tame, however enthusiastic the crowd, and it’s a good place to meet women, as out of the 100 or so people there, a striking majority is female. Most of the men are older guys in sharp suits. I see a girl with platinum blonde hair, wearing red pumps and a miniskirt made out of a Hillary campaign poster. She’s getting a lot of attention and people are calling out to her, addressing her as Hillary. I ask if that’s her real name and she tells me, “No, but I seem to be responding to it.” Clinton is way ahead in Ohio at this point and we decide to head over to the Obama party before it becomes bummertime.
The Obama gathering, not surprisingly, is a lot younger and decidedly more festive. As I walk in, there is a goofy drum and brass band performing, kind of a hip marching band that doesn’t march. The mood is still upbeat, despite Rhode Island being called for Clinton. Then, halfway through one of the band's more exuberant songs, the giant television behind them shows the news that Hillary has taken Ohio. Unaware, the band plays on, but the crowd wilts. They’re still trying to be upbeat, have a good time, but they’re visibly stunned. A young woman next to me shakes her head with a half laugh and asks, “How is this even possible?”
Moments later, the band stops and the volume is turned up on the television, which is playing Hillary’s acceptance speech. People start to trickle out; somebody boos. The party is over. Nobody wants to talk. I go home and refresh my computer until it tells me Texas has been called for Hillary as well.
A man named Chris Redfern, who is the Democratic Party Chairman in Ohio and has remained neutral, had a quote in the paper the other day, highlighting the difference between Clinton and Obama supporters. He said, “The Obama army is larger, more enthusiastic, more confident and they are young and naïve enough to think they can win.”
I don’t know what it means when a party insider says the enthusiastic supporters of the leading candidate must be naïve to believe in their man. It’s disheartening and a little scary. It’s sad to think that the race that made little Rhody voters turn out in record numbers might in some way be fixed. It’s enough to say that cynicism might be on its way back into fashion.
1 comment:
oh, how i look forward to providence.
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