It's November 9, 2016.
Is it always this grim at the Maplewood Station, I wonder?
People are silent this morning. Their heads tilted toward their screens, where
most, I imagine, are reading analysis of what went wrong yesterday. The overcast sky begins to drizzle.
I open my red umbrella hoping no one misinterprets the color
for a political point of view. But how can they? The “I’m with her” sticker remains
proudly on my right lapel.
There’s still water in the South Orange swimming pools. They
never empty them in off-season as Maplewood does. Yellow leaves leave the
trees, red ones cling, greens peep through. The hillsides of the Reservation
haven’t changed. Cars jam the Garden State Parkway. I remembered my computer
charger. The conductor clicks through tickets.
Life goes on.
There’s the blessing of democracy: the day after an
election, civil society proceeds in peace. Whether your candidate won or not.
“This is our democracy," an Iranian parliamentarian told me in an interview in Tehran in 1999. "You go into office alive and you leave office alive.” For Americans that may be a low bar; for Iran, 20 years after revolution,
it was high. Egypt can’t claim that, although Morsi is not dead, yet. Saddam
Hussein is dead. Muammar Qadaffi. I imagine the bull’s eye on Bashar al Assad’s
forehead. God Save King Abdullah of Jordan. And God’s will be done in the
Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.
Peace on the day after Election Day is one of the reasons my
dad loved this country. I sit on the NJ Transit train heading into NYC (where
yesterday there was apparently a serious uptick in security, police presence,
and precaution), wanting to appreciate the miracle of democracy as he did; also
the resounding wisdom of Pirkei Avot: Yours is not to complete the task, but
you must strive toward its success. This is "jihad." I go to the banner at which "the wise
and honest may repair," held aloft by George Washington himself, who added, "The rest is up to God."
We exchange power with a handshake in this great nation. That's a miracle.
God help the poor and the meek Americans, for they may lose
their health care.
God help those in prison, for their numbers may rise if they
are black, brown, Mexican or Muslim.
God help the theaters, museums and orchestras, for there may
go the National Endowment for the Arts.
God save our native populations from pipelines that may
flatten their homelands.
God protect our forests, parks and fresh waterways from the
devastation of commerce.
Save us from the new leaders of the (not-so-free) world,
because we are no longer #1.
But he will have only four years to try and re-make America’s
greatness. I predict he will fail.
Yesterday’s choice by a slim majority of American citizens
speeds a trajectory already in motion. Our time of triumph has turned. The
cycle of civilizational strength orbits on. To China. To India. To Brazil. To
Southern Europe, again. To Baghdad, again, when it’s recovered hundreds of years hence, and American citizens
blithely manufacture widgets for holograms, looking forward to synthesized
alcohol at the end of a work day to numb the pain of unenlightened life. What a
wretched scenario.
Can I imagine another? Another into which my
great-grandchildren’s grandchildren will emerge and flourish?
I can!
But not today.
Yesterday Katie Turner and I cast our votes; I for a fellow alumna. Hillary Clinton's acknowlegement speech is gracious and filled with hope. Maybe it will cheer you, too: http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2016/11/hillary-clinton-concession-speech-loss-donald-trump-president
