Yesterday, the world changed forever. Yes—the world. The unbelievable happened and a forty-five-year-old dream became reality. America, a nation built on the blood and backs of African slaves, swore in an African-American as the leader of the free world and our president.
In 1963, a great civil rights leader gave the speech of a century, and far away in Hawaii an unknowing two-year-old African-American boy would later be the president of his country. Racism, of course, is not over, but we have broken the sound barrier. Martin Luther King, Jr. would be proud of us.
Here in the little town of Wilmore on the western edge of Eastern Kentucky at Asbury Theological Seminary, a few of us congregated around the new flat screen television in our student center and watched history be made. I’d been looking forward to this since the night of November 4th, but all MLK weekend my excitement mounted. Obama’s speech wasn’t to be until noon, but I was going to be up and in the student center before nine to watch all of the morning events. I went to bed late, but it didn’t matter. I set my alarm and got ready as quickly as I could.
Asbury Theological Seminary is not particularly known for its leftist politics. Democrats do not outnumber republicans by any scale. And West Coasters (especially anyone from Oregon and above)? We’re so rare it’s almost like a freak show. It doesn’t help if you’re a recycling, pacifistic vegan…who’s Quaker. Just put me up on display. But yesterday, I had my day, and even better—I had at least one person to share my enthusiasm with.
As I sat at the table, glued to the events being broadcasted from the capital, not long after arriving, Marilyn, our chaplain, suddenly appeared from around the corner. In her hands were one pan and one plateful of homemade wonder. In celebration of the inauguration of Barack Obama, Marilyn baked inter-racial cupcakes: chocolate with chocolate frosting and carrot cake with vanilla frosting. And she was excited. The six foot tall, free standing flag was retrieved from the cafeteria and placed next to the television, and the “dream” sign that usually sits high on the wall of the only cubicle space in the room was brought down to eye level and placed on a table along with a miniature flag and eventually the pan of cupcakes.
It’s fair to say, I think, that Marilyn’s excitement over this event was the only one that rivaled mine. This is not a surprise when you take into account that she considers herself a West Coaster and aligns herself with our common way of thinking (we crazy liberals). This past semester, Marilyn was a big advocate to us all for voting. It was important that our voice be heard and that we understand the responsibility and awe of being able to choose the leader of the most powerful country on Earth and not fear any retribution for disagreeing with the other side. She pushed us to do our research and read up on the facts, and while she didn’t shout it from the street or the Estes podium, you could guess what her opinion was if you were at all interested in knowing. I add this bit of information because of this. Marilyn, our chaplain, was more excited than just about any other person in that room. And she had no say in who got to be our president. Marilyn is Canadian by citizenship and heritage. And as legal as you may be, if you are not an American citizen, you have no voice in the vote.* So she pushed us to share ours.
And yesterday, we got to watch as, for the first time, America’s voice changed history not just forever, but for the good. For the first time in America’s history, an entire race of people received a paradigm shift in role models. They began to believe in themselves. Really believe. Children dreamed what their parents would not have dared and what their grandparents would not have thought possible. Beauty replaced bitterness and loss gave way to hope.
Race was not a factor in my opinion toward Obama, but as I watched from little Wilmore the same events that people all over the world were pausing to witness, I couldn’t deny the power and healing that was beautifully enmeshed in this day of celebration.
I was, admittedly, surprised at how many Asburyians gathered around the student center by the time Obama’s speech came on. Hardly a seat was open and all of us watched that television with great intent and silence. We held our breath in anticipation, waiting and listening. No one dared to exhale, because who would want to miss a word?
Here are just a few pictures of our enwrapped attention and the deliciousness of the morning.
The cupcakes
The Canadian
The crowd*For those of you who are unaware and wondering why she doesn’t just become an American citizen, it is American law that to become a citizen, you may not be a citizen of any other country and so consequently would lose the citizenship of the home in which you were born and raised.
2 comments:
you're right - i did like this post. :)
on election day, i found myself wishing i had grown up here, and had a more personal knowledge - by which i mean *felt* knowledge - of the racial history of america. being canadian myself, i grew up without the particular brand of black vs. white in my history, and watching the inauguration, seeing the faces of the people of all races, and the wonderment and joy and peace, i wished i could have felt that more deeply, because i know that it is something that overcomes decades of abuses. that might make no sense at all, but there you have it. :)
Makes perfect sense. :)
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