Historic Celebration

An email from my dear friend Julian on November 5th:

So. I watched the election with a few dozen queers at a bar down in Ghent. Every time a state popped up blue, we cheered, and every time a state popped up red, we booed. Fabulous local lesbian musician Narissa Bond played a set, and I had to start the applause every time a song ended, because everyone was paying attention to the televisions instead of her. (But I think Narissa understood.) When it got to a certain hour, the DJs set up and played awesome, indie political music.

Every so often, one would get on the mic to announce, "Newport News confirmed for Obama!" And everyone would cheer and bang on the tables. "Hampton went Obama!" More cheering. When they announced, "Norfolk for Obama!", I screamed at the top of my lungs and threw my fists into the air. Because that's my city, my home, and I helped do that. For hours, of course, Virginia hovered in the yellow--undetermined, too close to tell. We bit our nails as the percentages fluctuated, with McCain being 100,000 votes ahead. Then 10,000. Then 5,000 ... But other states? Oh, those other states! Ohio ... Pennsylvania ... Florida ... FLORIDA! New Mexico! And we couldn't stop cheering. And we were dancing, and we were drinking, and we were just so damn happy I can't even begin to describe it.

When Elizabeth Dole lost her Senate race, Don Davis started crying. He never really stopped for the rest of the night. Then finally--finally!--the West Coast hippies' votes were tallied at last, and the entire West Coast got washed in blue, and suddenly OBAMA HAD OVER 300 ELECTORAL VOTES, and pandemonium broke out. Everyone screamed, everyone hugged, some of us danced. I think I hugged just about every person in that bar. And Don Davis started crying even harder. There was a bit of booing during McCain's acceptance speech, but really not that much. Because, really, what would be the point? We won. WE WON. McCain had ceased to matter, had ceased to be a threat. And then the music kicked back on, and we were dancing again and hugging again and drinking again. And at some point--I don't remember exactly when--I glanced up at the television screen, and Virginia wasn't yellow any more.

Virginia was blue. Virginia was blue. VIRGINIA WAS BLUE. I screamed my head off, and jumped up and down, and I threw my arms around The Physicist and yanked on hir to get hir attention and pointed to the t.v. "Look! Look, look, look!" And for the next half hour, I would just sort of smile dazedly and mutter to myself, "Virginia went blue ... Virginia went blue? Virginia went blue ..."

And that's my state, my home, and I helped do that. Then Barack Hussein Obama appeared on the television screen, approaching the podium, and we SCREAMED hysterically at the DJs to cut the music and frantically pointed at the television. They managed to shut it off just in time for Obama to speak. And I know you've seen the speech, either last night or some time today, but you didn't see it in that bar with me. And that's a shame, because it was A Moment. There were shades of FDR and JFK and MLK, of course, and lots of wonderful rhetoric (meant in the good sense, not the empty sense), and when Obama spoke of being the president of those who didn't vote for him too, it felt like maybe he, unlike others, actually could be a uniter and not a divider. But you all know that already.

What you don't know is how the room reacted when Obama spoke of white people and black people, gays and straights-- --and I thought I hadn't heard him correctly at first. But I looked around, and it wasn't just Don Davis crying--it was EVERY DAMN QUEER in the bar. Every. Single. One. My president--my president!--spoke about me in his acceptance speech. Not to use me as a political tool to scare conservatives, not to juxtapose me against what a Real American looks like, but to include me. To recognize me as a part of this country. I yelled something at this point, to the effect of "I'm America too!", but I don't recall exactly what. It was rather loud, though, and a few folks turned around and looked amused.

There was a small group of African-American women standing near us, including some lesbians, and I cannot describe to you the look on their faces. They were crying, not the streaming tears that Don was, but their eyes were wet and glistening. And it was beautiful.

Oh God, it was so beautiful. They were so happy. After Obama finished his speech, we screamed our heads off again, and then the DJs threw on "We Are Family." And then EVERYONE danced, danced while hugging, and most of us were still crying.

Last night, we were family. All of us. As Obama said, white and black, gay and straight, we really did feel like family. And it was right about then that I realized what a terrible toll the last eight years has taken. It was only after I felt this burden lifted that I realized just how heavy it's been I have spent my entire politically-active life feeling powerless and defeated and abused. Bush in 2000 ... September 11th ... the election where there WERE no Democrats on the ballot, in that hellhole district of my parents ... Iraq, even though we all fought against it so hard ... Bush in 2004, even though we all fought against it so hard ... the Marshall-Newman Amendment, even though I fought it with every fiber of my being ... and on, and on, and ... But the morning has come, after a long, dark night.

I don't believe President Obama can be everything we've projected onto him--no human being possibly can--but I do believe he is the right man at the right moment. I do believe that something incredible has happened and is STILL happening. Virginia went blue. We have an African-American president. And, for the first time in my entire life, I really feel as though I might be able to be a part of America too.

YES, WE CAN.

Thanks, Julian. Thank you.