The Chicago Chronicles: Entry 3
November 4, 2008
I am sitting in the living room of my Chicago apartment, planted in a hand-me-down recliner. Despite the unseasonable warmth of the evening, I am draped in an old, ratty, Chicago Bulls blanket I have cherished since childhood. Despite the chair’s reclining capabilities, I am literally on the edge of my seat, leaning forward and staring, transfixed, at my television. Despite having heard for weeks that it was likely to occur, I struggle to comprehend the magnitude of what is taking place. I am witnessing live the most momentous speech delivered on American soil since Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. marched on Washington nearly half a century ago and proclaimed, “I have a dream.”
My jaw hangs slack with sheer awe at the man who now delivers an equally simple, powerful message. The cameras cut to a crowd of well over a hundred thousand people—people of all ages and colors—who have gathered in Chicago’s Grant Park to hear his words. They stare up at him with the kind of wonder one would expect to see on the faces of children if they caught Santa Claus emerging from their chimney late on Christmas Eve. As the cameras pan across the sea of humanity, many people have tears streaming from their wide eyes as the man in whom a nation has placed its hopes speaks to them the three simple words a terrified nation so desperately needs to hear.
Elsewhere, people who had taken to the streets in droves presently cease their jubilant noisemaking and stand as if rooted immovably to the very earth to hear his message. Some are too young to understand what they are witnessing. Others are too old and have seen too much to have allowed themselves to believe this day could ever come. At this moment, they are all joined in reverent silence, gazing into the sincere eyes of a man who is telling the story of one woman from Atlanta, Georgia.
“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.”
As I hear him speak anew the words he has spoken countless times throughout his campaign, this time they are more than just a slogan. This time, they seem to emanate from somewhere deep in our nation’s tumultuous past. From the very roots of the American dream and struggles of the revolution they originate, and come rushing forth, echoing through the halls of history, until they fall upon my ears with a force that sends chills shooting down my spine.
“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, a new sense of common purpose. Yes we can.”
At once, without prompting, the audience of 125,000 answers him just once, in unison, “Yes we can.” They do not shout, they do not chant. Their words are spoken with the tranquil conviction of a congregation that closes a prayer by saying, “Amen.”
“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.”
Another chill washes over my body, and my eyes begin to well up with tears. Though I am alone in my apartment, I find myself murmuring in response....
“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.”
“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.”
“Yes we can.”
Tears stream down my cheeks. Every time he speaks these words, I find something within me brightening that had been dark, and something becoming emboldened that had been fearful.
“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 doubts 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.”
These have been the words of the first African-American President of the United States of America on the night of his election. In New York, people laugh and embrace in Times Square and Harlem. In front of the White House, they cheer boisterously. Here in Chicago, my upstairs neighbors are applauding in their living room. All around America, people are smiling and dancing in the streets. The network cuts to a live shot of Kenya. People there, too, are dancing and cheering. From my living room, I watch a world united in celebration and realize that I just witnessed one of the single most profound events in American history. Many years from now I will be able to tell my grandchildren that I was alive on this day, and that I was among those who turned out in record numbers to help write the next chapter in our nation’s story.
Although I am only 26 years old, and although I had hoped to be wrong, I had long doubted I would live to see an African-American elected president. Tonight, Barack Obama has shown me that I was wrong to be doubtful, for the reasons that we are the same far outweigh the reasons that we are different, and that the reasons to give up pale in comparison to the reasons to persevere. He has won in a landslide; judged not by the color of his skin but by the content of his character; not rejected for who he is not, but embraced for who he is.
He is a man who sees a country sick of being divided and reminds us that, “out of many, we are one.” He is a man who hears the fears of the people and reminds us that, “while we breathe, we hope.” Mostly, at a time when millions are realizing the American dream has been rapidly turning into a nightmare, we need to know that we can still be the nation that battles tirelessly against injustice, that we can still be the nation that never stops fighting when times are tough, and that we can still be the nation that bands together to help one another in times of despair.
With confidence in his gaze and conviction in his voice, assures us, “Yes, we can.”
All over the country, people of all ages and races stand shoulder to shoulder with tears in their eyes and faith in their voices and reply in unison, "Yes, we can."
I am sitting in the living room of my Chicago apartment, planted in a hand-me-down recliner. Despite the unseasonable warmth of the evening, I am draped in an old, ratty, Chicago Bulls blanket I have cherished since childhood. Despite the chair’s reclining capabilities, I am literally on the edge of my seat, leaning forward and staring, transfixed, at my television. Despite having heard for weeks that it was likely to occur, I struggle to comprehend the magnitude of what is taking place. I am witnessing live the most momentous speech delivered on American soil since Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. marched on Washington nearly half a century ago and proclaimed, “I have a dream.”
My jaw hangs slack with sheer awe at the man who now delivers an equally simple, powerful message. The cameras cut to a crowd of well over a hundred thousand people—people of all ages and colors—who have gathered in Chicago’s Grant Park to hear his words. They stare up at him with the kind of wonder one would expect to see on the faces of children if they caught Santa Claus emerging from their chimney late on Christmas Eve. As the cameras pan across the sea of humanity, many people have tears streaming from their wide eyes as the man in whom a nation has placed its hopes speaks to them the three simple words a terrified nation so desperately needs to hear.
Elsewhere, people who had taken to the streets in droves presently cease their jubilant noisemaking and stand as if rooted immovably to the very earth to hear his message. Some are too young to understand what they are witnessing. Others are too old and have seen too much to have allowed themselves to believe this day could ever come. At this moment, they are all joined in reverent silence, gazing into the sincere eyes of a man who is telling the story of one woman from Atlanta, Georgia.
“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.”
As I hear him speak anew the words he has spoken countless times throughout his campaign, this time they are more than just a slogan. This time, they seem to emanate from somewhere deep in our nation’s tumultuous past. From the very roots of the American dream and struggles of the revolution they originate, and come rushing forth, echoing through the halls of history, until they fall upon my ears with a force that sends chills shooting down my spine.
“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, a new sense of common purpose. Yes we can.”
At once, without prompting, the audience of 125,000 answers him just once, in unison, “Yes we can.” They do not shout, they do not chant. Their words are spoken with the tranquil conviction of a congregation that closes a prayer by saying, “Amen.”
“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.”
Another chill washes over my body, and my eyes begin to well up with tears. Though I am alone in my apartment, I find myself murmuring in response....
“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.”
“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.”
“Yes we can.”
Tears stream down my cheeks. Every time he speaks these words, I find something within me brightening that had been dark, and something becoming emboldened that had been fearful.
“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 doubts 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.”
These have been the words of the first African-American President of the United States of America on the night of his election. In New York, people laugh and embrace in Times Square and Harlem. In front of the White House, they cheer boisterously. Here in Chicago, my upstairs neighbors are applauding in their living room. All around America, people are smiling and dancing in the streets. The network cuts to a live shot of Kenya. People there, too, are dancing and cheering. From my living room, I watch a world united in celebration and realize that I just witnessed one of the single most profound events in American history. Many years from now I will be able to tell my grandchildren that I was alive on this day, and that I was among those who turned out in record numbers to help write the next chapter in our nation’s story.
Although I am only 26 years old, and although I had hoped to be wrong, I had long doubted I would live to see an African-American elected president. Tonight, Barack Obama has shown me that I was wrong to be doubtful, for the reasons that we are the same far outweigh the reasons that we are different, and that the reasons to give up pale in comparison to the reasons to persevere. He has won in a landslide; judged not by the color of his skin but by the content of his character; not rejected for who he is not, but embraced for who he is.
He is a man who sees a country sick of being divided and reminds us that, “out of many, we are one.” He is a man who hears the fears of the people and reminds us that, “while we breathe, we hope.” Mostly, at a time when millions are realizing the American dream has been rapidly turning into a nightmare, we need to know that we can still be the nation that battles tirelessly against injustice, that we can still be the nation that never stops fighting when times are tough, and that we can still be the nation that bands together to help one another in times of despair.
With confidence in his gaze and conviction in his voice, assures us, “Yes, we can.”
All over the country, people of all ages and races stand shoulder to shoulder with tears in their eyes and faith in their voices and reply in unison, "Yes, we can."
posted by Beav at 3:56 AM
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