Turn, turn, turn

The past week has been strange. I celebrated Halloween in a country where it is nothing more than a novelty, not a nationally accepted holiday. It was odd - seeing the random handfuls of Americans walking around dressed up, juxtaposed with the random handfuls of French children with their parents. I guess it was stranger just being somewhere that does not fully acknowledge an annual institution as Halloween. As long as I can remember I have known it, celebrated it in someway - and then, here, it was barely a blip on the social register.

Of much more importance, obviously, was the election. I am actually happy that I was in Paris to see it happen, where my inherent American difference is immediately more defined and more known to me - and where I would feel firsthand the world's opinion. It's no secret that Obama was "the world candidate", and I was a little frightened of what might be my reception in public the next day should McCain have been elected. The fact that I had to stay up the entire night to see the results come in, rather than just watch the prime time news, gave things an added flare of drama.

The café on campus was open all night, so I went there at about 9:30 after seeing the poet Linda Robertson read her excellent essay "Disquiet." It was packed from wall to wall. They were out of beer by midnight. As the results rolled in, the political orientation of the crowd was exceedingly obvious. Each time Obama claimed a state, the roars hit the rafters. Each time McCain got a state, there was a wave of raised middle fingers and boos. I was in the right place.

For most of the night I milled from group to group, talking to people, meeting people. The crowd was truly international - there were French, Arab, Spanish, African, and of course American students all together, all backing the same candidate. Some people, many of them not American, were very optimistic - one friend of mine never doubted once that Obama would win. Others, like myself, had been a bundle of nerves since Monday.

The hours crawled by, the polls closed in giant chunks, and the outcome was getting clearer and clearer. Around 3:00am, many students went home. Most of us had class the next day, after all. I thought about it. But then Obama won Pennsylvannia, and the joy that swept over the bar was incredible. I had to stay to see the finish.

Around 4:50am, the exhausted bartenders starting handing out glasses of champagne. The West coast polls were closing at 5am Paris time. The entire bar stared at the televisions at either end of the room, and the collective anticipation was tangible.

5AM came, the numbers flashed across the screen, and then my heart flooded with a joy and relief that I had never known. Barack Obama had been elected President of the United States of America. The room exploded. People were cheering and screaming. Others were crying. Everyone was hugging, no matter if they knew who they hugged or not. One guy kissed everyone in a ten foot radius on the cheek. And then, all of us together broke out into an off-key rendition of the Star Spangled Banner. Chills went up my back, and I could feel my face glowing. I was surprised to find myself proud to be an American.

The bar closed directly after this, and the crowd spilled out into the street. We must have woken up the entire neighborhood with our rapturous and celebratory screaming. Cars and motorcycles rode by, honking their horns.

A few random people and I decided to go to Harry's New York Bar to see Obama's acceptance speech. It had begun to rain as we ran into the metro station, screaming and cheering. A group of Frenchmen gave us high fives. When we boarded the train, shaking with excitement, the Parisians on their way to work stared at us with equal confusion and annoyance. One woman yelled that she had a headache. We didn't care. The reign of the Neo-Cons is over.8 years of shame - over.

We ran through the station we got off in, cheering still. We got lost trying to find the bar, but we still managed to get there in time to catch about half of the speech. The crowd had filled the bar and come well out into the street. It was equal parts European and American, but it was all for Obama. I stood, crammed against the doorway, cold and wet, watching history change before my eyes, which were quickly filling with tears. God forbid that I should ever forget that moment.

Unfortunately, I won't forget something else about that moment. The French have been complaining about George Bush for 8 years, and now that they are seeing a change, what do they do? In the case of the 20 somethings near me, they stood in a circle and talked loudly the entire length of Obama's speech. Another small group stood by the bar and did not seem remotely interested. Then there were the people on the subway, annoyed that history had ruined their quiet commute. I'm afraid my opinion, at least of the Parisians, has been permanently settled on the negative. I've written a few more vindictive things about the French in my diary - words about their obsolete culture, senseless arrogance and cruelty, etc - but I'll stow those now. This is a time of celebration.

The next day I read the French newspapers to get their reaction. Of course Obama was their candidate, but they seemed more focused on the long, ugly path ahead. Still, some of the news blurbs - simple headlines such as An Historic Moment or Everything is Changing - brought the tears back to my eyes. I've been listening to the Byrds a lot lately.

Tomorrow I head to Barcelona for the weekend. I'm glad I will not have to worry about being heckled over the election results. In closing, I shall leave a quote from one of my favorite movies which I think applies a lot to the past few days...

"Everybody loves a hero. People line up for them, cheer them, scream their names. And years later, they'll tell how they stood in the rain for hours just to get a glimpse of the one who taught them how to hold on a second longer."