Reflections on the Inauguration

 All the photographs in this article are by J.; please visit his slideshow portfolios, washington 1 and washington 2, to see images from the entire day.

Tuesday morning, we left Alexandria, Virginia at 7:30 am and took a bus – the only allowed road traffic on the highways and bridges - into Washington. The driver let us off at 14th and C. Walking with a gathering multitude -- families and friends holding onto each other’s coats to avoid being separated,  elderly people, some clearly very poor, wrapped in blankets; disabled people in wheelchairs decorated with flags and Obama paraphernalia -- we made our way to the Mall and the security checkpoint, where we were scanned, patted down apologetically, and waved through by cheerful officers.

For the next couple of hours, Jonathan took photographs from a vantage point on one of the huge stands that held an array of loudspeakers. People with cameras approached his coveted perch and asked if they could switch with him for a few minutes, or if he’d take a photo of them with the flag-draped Capitol behind them. I helped one elderly black gentleman climb up the slippery metal, and held his feet while he snapped a few photographs. Back on the frozen ground, he thanked me, and said he was from New York City. “That’s my grandson,” he told me, gesturing proudly toward a boy who stood near us. “I’m going to be 80 this year – the same age as Dr. King.”

“Did you march with him?” I asked.

“I certainly did.”

“He’d be happy today,” I said.

 He nodded gravely: “That he would.”

On the huge video monitors on the edges of the Mall, members of a children's choir recited bits of American poetry. One of them spoke the words of Emma Lazarus’s poem engraved on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty: “Give me your tired, your poor/ Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free...”

That’s who we are today, I thought. Tired, many of us poor, and all of us yearning to breathe free.  I looked around and smiled: but if we’re huddled, it’s only against the cold. The people thronging the Mall were not giddy, as on the night of the election. Now they waited patiently, with a certain soberness – the daunting reality facing the new president had sunk in over the intervening weeks - but there was definitely joy, anticipation, and a sense of shared witness and shared pilgrimage: the constant question was "where are you from?" and the answer, "Los Angeles," "Iowa," "Memphis," was often followed by the words, "I just had to be here."

Near me, a burly first aid worker knelt in front of an elderly woman in a wheelchair and massaged her frigid feet before putting thermal packs in her shoes. "Is that better, dear?" I heard him ask. The choir began singing "Amazing Grace," and a lot of the people around me joined in. I did too, and suddenly found myself wiping my eyes.

The crowd was patient, but they were alert and reactive. When Ted Kennedy appeared on the TV screens, everyone cheered. Senator Joe Lieberman was hissed. John McCain and the past presidents, including George Bush, Sr., were greeted with polite applause. The biggest cheers of the day, other than those for the Obamas, were for Bill Clinton. But when George Bush, Jr.  and Dick Cheney made their entrances, loud boos swept the Mall – unreported by the television media, but certainly heard by everyone on the podium.  The lack of reporting about the size of demonstrations,  and the depth of American dissatisfaction and dissent, had been among the most frustrating facts of the past eight years, while the administration’s appearances in front of dwindling audiences were carefully-orchestrated and televised. On this day, however, that dissatisfaction was going to be heard.

So, too, was the crowd’s overflowing joy. When the caravan of Secret Service vans and Obama’s limousine drew into sight, cheers rippled all along Pennsylvania Avenue up to the Capitol, and people ran forward to try to catch a glimpse.  The cheers for the Obama children, the new First Lady, and the President-elect were deafening.

Somewhat reluctantly, people bowed their heads during Rev. Rick Warren’s prayer; some even turned their backs, protesting this nod to the Religious Right.

But everyone was riveted during the oath of office. Afterwards, the young black woman in front of me turned to her companion, tears running down her cheeks, crying, “At last! Finally I can say President Obama!” We all turned and hugged our neighbours, crying and laughing in relief, happiness, and incredulity: the country had its first black President - a man who was about to pledge to turn the country around.

During the President’s address the crowd listened attentively.  The comments near me were soft: “He’s got a good heart;” a few “Amen, brother”s; a surprised “He’s really giving it to him!” when Obama repudiated the past administration’s policies. The speech signalled a clear break with the past; the difficulty of the task ahead; the need for all of us to contribute; and the desire to extend America’s hands in friendship and peace toward the world. “For all his oratorical skills, I think Obama ultimately wants to be known as a doer, not a speaker,” reflected one observer afterwards. The new President's inaugural address – simple and direct, without many rhetorical flourishes, would seem to back that up.

There was no question about the historical significance of the day in the struggle for racial equality, and the high number of gay and lesbian couples, people of other ethnic groups, Native Americans, and women in the crowd indicated how much this milestone meant to other minorities. But it was also the end of eight devastating years. The moment when Bush's helicopter lifted off and the cry went up from all those throats was something I'll never forget. It wasn't until later that I realized, bizarrely, that it had reminded me of that endlessly-replayed moment of toppling the statue of Saddam Hussein. In that case, still photographs later revealed that what had looked like an enormous crowd had actually been a staged event. But on Tuesday, the jubilation and relief couldn’t have been more real. As the departing helicopter flew down the length of the National Mall, millions and millions of people cheered, jeered, danced, sang, and raised their arms wide in a universal gesture of freedom. This president who, with his colleagues, had betrayed America’s core values at home and abroad, was finally leaving and we, the people, had replaced him with someone who felt like one of us.  Everywhere, the same phrase was repeated, "Finally -- I can breathe again! I can breathe!"

The crush of people leaving the Mall and trying to get home or to the parade route was even greater than in the morning. The buses back to Alexandria weren’t running yet at all, so we decided to walk. Somewhere on the bridge over the icy, wide Potomac we walked for a while with an older black man. He limped and carried a cane, and told us he was a cab driver. “I mean no disrespect,” he said, “but I am glad to see these men gone. They’ve done so much damage; I really feel they should go to jail for what they’ve done.” His gentle voice deepened: “They did it for their own profit... and were arrogant about it, while ordinary people lost everything, including their hope.”

It was a long drive back to Montreal. About halfway up, outside New York City, we stopped at a highway  service area. In the large fluorescent-lit restroom, hung with warning signs like ‘Ladies, Watch your Pocketbooks!”, and “All Employees Must Wash Hands!” a middle-aged black woman, stooped beyond her years, shuffled across the floor, sweeping bits of paper into a long-handled dustpan.  I went out and approached one of the fast-food counters, where another woman, only twenty or so, stood waiting for customers. “Could you make a latte that’s half regular and half decaf?” I asked.

“No,” she replied, in the defeated low voice I’ve sadly heard in poor black workers all my life. “We can’t do that.”

“I’ll have a tea then,” I said. “Small is fine.” My chest constricted as she turned away to fill my order. I wanted so badly to give her some of what I'd received, and had no idea how.

“That’ll be a dollar-thirty” she said.

I pulled out a bill and the change and handed it to her. “I’m on my way back from Washington,” I tried, the words tumbling out into the space between us. “From the inauguration yesterday.” She looked at me, startled, the recognition dawning that I was trying to tell her something.  I met her eyes and said, “It was a wonderful day.”

Slowly, shyly, she broke into a broad smile. “Yes,” she said, finally, but in a much stronger voice, “Yesterday was a really good day.”

“For all of us, I hope,” I said firmly.

She handed me the tea across the counter, and for a moment we locked eyes.

“Thanks very much,” I said, nodding, and turned to go, my eyes suddenly brimming with tears.

Comments

[Chris Clarke]

Lovely, Beth.

[Marja-Leena]

Fantastic story, Beth and photos, J! Really made me feel like I was right there, along with the tears in my eyes too! Being present at this historic event must be a highlight in your life. Thank you for sharing it all in this lovely series!

[mary mccloskey]

the story about the young girl with your tea was so telling. somehow, we need to reach each other, need to be able to look into one another's eyes with recognition just as you did. I'm praying Obama can help us do that.

[EJ]

Why are some people called black, others no color, in your story?
If skin color is important should it not be assigned to everyone?
Otherwise the otherness of color keeps being perpetuated as color is only mentioned when it is different (black in this case).

[Diana]

Beth, so moving. Thank you. The photos are amazing and give such a sense of the incredible numbers of people and what you all went through to get there and away again. The TV coverage did not reflect this at all; we were so removed from the action (at least CNN sure didn't go among the crowds--it was all about the platform). Such a joyful joyful day; thank you for bringing it to us.

I do wonder what the very last photographic image is? So mysterious!

[Ivy]

Thanks for this, Beth. Beautiful reportage. :-)

[Natalie]

What they all said, doubled. The photos are....can't find enopugh superlatives....absolutely stunning. Could they be exhibited somewhere? They should be widely seen - a book? A slideshow? A magazine special issue?

[beth]

Chris, thank you. I would have liked to hear what you would have written about the event if you'd been there, too.

Marja-Leena, yes, it will be one of those memorable life experiences, for sure - Jonathan was at the March on Washington during Vietnam, too, and the comparison was significant for him. I am not really an Obama crusader; I strongly support him and wish him well, but he's not, and can't be, the messiah some people are making him out to be. For me it was about the historical significance, and relief about the end of the Bush years.What we must remember though is that American politics tends to move in pendulum swings. Obama's election doesn't mean the conservative point of view is gone, or even defeated, except temporarily. That's another reason the stakes are so high right now.

Mary, I hope so too. It has to help.

EJ, basically I agree with you but it is pretty difficult to do. (I hope my intent is clear and that's not part of your criticism.) Nearly everyone described in my story *was* black, but I certainly didn't say "a white man", etc. It is a story about race, so the word is hard to avoid, and "black" seems to be the preferred term in American English usage among blacks themselves, so this is the word I have used. I think there's a difference between describing people in general by their skin color, when the color isn't an issue at all, and using the terms because it is necessary - for instance, sometimes it is politically uncorrect to use gender-specific language, but in an essay or in fiction, it would be ridiculous not to distinguish between male and female characters. If you have suggestions for how to write a story like this in a different way, please recast a few of my sentences and share them here, I'm very open to hearing more.

Diana - thanks - you've pointed out one of the most striking things for us. "On the ground", so to speak, it was so much about the crowd. But on TV, and in the video clips I've seen afterwards, you'd hardly know who the people were, individually. yes, the size of the multitude made news and made for some good pictures, but who were the people in that unprecedented crowd, and what were their stories?

The last picture is of the (relatively new) Pentagon Memorial, and the building beside it is the Pentagon - you're seeing one of the five faces. I'll write a little more about this in my next post.

Thank, Ivy. If you had been there we'd have a fine poem about it now!

Natalie, thank you, I'm sure J. will be very happy to read your comments! He's working on them and I hope he'll find a way to exhibit some of these images, because, like Diana said above, they do tell a different story.

[Wendy]

This was a lovely story to read - it brought tears to my eyes - even days after the event - it still moves me to think about it.

[Kaycie]

The words and the pictures are lovely. The two of you have such good hearts. I love seeing the inauguration through your eyes.

[David@Montreal]

Beth
what a wonderful account of an extraordinary day
Jonathan's photos are eqaully wonderful.
Thank-you both for being so generous in sharing with us

For EJ, I'd suggest that you've only specified the race on an individual in your account when it was contextual to either the feeling they were expressing or the one it invoked in you. Similar to your mention to the 'age' of the woman having her feet massaged. Race, like age is a qualifier in this account, I'd suggest.

[anasalwa]

beth,
thank you for sharing your moving experience with us.

[zuleme]

The photos are wonderful and make me feel (almost) as if I were there. I wonder who cleaned up all the papers I see on the ground. It seems like there was quite a mess afterwards.

[Cat B]

Thanks for this fantastic eyewitness report. The Bush jeers didn't make it onto the newscast we were watching—rather alarming. Guess we haven't elected new media. Here's to the internet! I loved J's photos—a poignant and personal view. An online gallery perhaps...

[Anne Gibert]

A beautiful account, and a great read. My daughter, who lives in England, says that suddenly America is popular again in the wider world. But I fear that Bush has left his legacy. The right has gone back immediately to the tired old slogans (for example, "The worst of the worst" about Guantanamo.) It will take a lot of undoing to reverse the harm that the right has done to this country. It wasn't just Bush and Cheney. There are a lot of their henchmen left.