The Vast Spoils of America

The best way to see this country is on a Greyhound Bus. I boarded one early in the morning in Chicago, rode it through the South Side and looked out at the streets, the power lines, the houses, if you can call them that. Boarded up businesses, broken down cars, little kids walking to school. Tired quiet people waiting for their trains to come, still at the station with lanes of traffic blurring past on either side. We picked up two kids at Dan Ryan and 95th, they headed toward the back rows, pulling up their pants. They fell asleep almost immediately, sprawled out across the seats with their legs in the aisle. The man across from me told his story, though no one had asked him. His daughter had nearly been killed in a crash with a semi, she was clinging to life in Indianapolis. He'd nearly reached Omaha when he got the news, turned his own semi around and grabbed the first Greyhound home to Indiana. He lapsed into the details of the trucking world, I turned my head toward the window.

I could see the city fly past, the parts no one ever takes time to look at, the most interesting parts. I could see the face of the man in front of me reflected in the window, dark eyelashes and calm skin, and we watched the world and pondered our separate thoughts. Then he began to cry, and at first I wondered if he was crying for the neighborhoods, for the people who used to live here and work in meat packing plants, for the people who live here and have no jobs, for the babies crying and the old people dying. It was finally summer, and things were green, but this part of town would look better in winter, more in place with the sooty snow and grey skies than under the hazy May sun. He cried all the way to Calumet, sobs that shook his large shoulders. He covered his mouth with his hands and faced forward, his reflection gone from the window. I sat in silence and turned my music down, out of respect. I wanted to tell him to keep his lip stiff, keep his fists clenched, that sometimes you gotta kick your way through this bitch. But I couldn't say it like Brother Ali.

The truck driver was repeating his story to another uninterested listener, giving the gory details of the way they found his daughter with all four limbs broken. Nearly everyone else was out, the blacktop singing them to sleep. In Calumet a family got on. They talked in Spanish, too fast for me to understand, and their voices hurt my ears. They talked about Chicago, and I looked back down the highway toward the city we had left behind. Indiana welcomed us with black smoke blocking out the sunshine. Downtown Gary, likely the saddest city in America, was void of life and grim. The weeds and smog seem to choke out all happiness. Then the rain came. It didn't let up until we got to Indianapolis. Behind me I heard someone ask "Estamos en Chicago?" After much confusion the Spanish-speaking family realized that they were not on the bus to Chicago, that they were now miles away from their destination. They were silent for a while, as the feeling of lostness settled in.

In Indianapolis I sat on the church pew benches of the station and ate my lunch. I read. I waited. A florescent light buzzed. An old man in a hat offered me a religious flier. I shook my head. I didn't need to find God. I went back to my book, passing the time til I made it to Cincinnati, wondering just what this thing they call the Midwest really is.

Yes We Can Change The World

Today is the greatest day I've ever known, can't wait for tomorrow.

I'm sitting here in a cold spanish apartment surrounded by the smells of onions cooking in butter. I'm listening to Nas's "Black President", staring out the window at the blue sky between the clouds as the daylight draws to an end. I pray we're ready to have a black president. I pray we can change the world. I wish that TuPac and Martin Luther King could have lived to see this moment. It's wonderful to think that everyone who is alive today has lived to witness such a wonderful thing occur.

"All my life, there's trouble in America. All my life, there's panic in America. All my life, so stressed in America." -Razorlight, America

I found five euro on the ground this morning, I sensed it was a good sign. Liverpool scored a penalty kick in the last few minutes of their game against Atletico, tying the score. Another good sign in my twisted mind where the fate of the world can be left in the hands of a piece of monetary currency or an English soccer team.

Spent my lunch break today chatting with Brits, Australians, Germans, and Americans about the election. "It's enough to make me go to church" said an Aussie. We're all praying. Trying not to admit to our immense inner fears that what we dream cannot come true.

"In America... but when the president is never black, female, or gay, and until that day, you got nothing to say to me to make me believe." -Morrissey, America is Not the World

"It's bound to crumble, isn't it," an Australian said to me today. I nodded silently. If we can't get our act together, yes. Every empire has fallen.

Stopped at an Irish pub to ask if they'd play coverage of the election. O'Connell Street, it's called. The Spanish barman said he'd play it if we wanted to see it. Overjoyed, we left the pub and stood outside making plans for the evening. The barman ran back out and asked "Wait, are you for McCain or Obama?" "OBAMA!" we cheered. "Ok, then we'll play it!" he said.

"Don't wanna be an American idiot!!!" -Green Day, American Idiot

Met four lads from Northern Ireland in the pub who were watching the Liverpool-Atletico game. They stayed on to watch a bit of the election coverage, then left to go to a different pub, then returned to join in our joy over the election. Three were Catholic, one was Protestant. Three supported Obama, the other couldn't give a shite. The other three told me not to listen to him, but he cornered me in a different pub and asked me why the election was so important.

"I'll be perfectly honest with you, it's not that I have anything aginst you, its just that the way your counry is run is counterproductive..." he began...
"Wait, let me finish that," I said, "I know, its wastefull, its unsustainable, its hypocritical, its violent... you're completely correct." He nodded, and said, "I'm glad you understand." I nodded and said "Thank you for being honest." "Obama won't change a thing," he warned. "It's not Obama I beleive in," I said, "It's the people who support Obama. They have the power to change the world, they are the ones who should have the power to change the world. Its been too long that they haven't had power in our country, and that is wrong. That's what I believe, I hope you understand that."

"I do," he said. And we left it at that.

But really, it is the American people who win today. It is the children of immigrants, the great grandchildren of slaves, the decendents of Native Americans, who have fought for their freedoms in this country for far too long and been given nothing in return but a housing voucher or a bottle of whiskey. That is a terrible thing to do to a people, and Obama, ojala, will fix that. First, I declare that we need to chagne the electoral system. Election day should be a holiday, or a Sunday, as it is in every other democratic nation in the world. And we should have the right to vote, not for a party, not for some mysterious person who "promises" to vote for a party's candidate, but for the person we believe should be granted the power to make descisions for us. Because that is what a democracy is. And we are not NOT a democracy until a system like that is in place.

This is what I tried to explain to my Northern Irish, British, Australian, and Scottish friends I met today. Its been grand, being with the rest of the Englsih speaking world. We forget about them, don't we. Well we musn't in the future. We really musn't. They are our brothers and sisters in language. They can support us in ways we never knew possible. We just must learn to listen.

On the way home from the Irish pub, as Obama had just taken Ohio and was ahead in Indiana (to my complete and utter surprise!) and I could hear on the taxi radio the name "Obama!" over and over again and something about the king of Spain supporting him, I began to cry. I cannot believe this is really happening. Its so unbelievably glorious, can it really be true?? Has our country finally become the country I always believed it was? Can I finally be proud to call myself an American? Because that is all I ask. That I can take pride in my homeland and not be ashamed to say that I am from the United States of America, to not have to prove that I am competent everytime I meet someone from a different place. To be happy in my own shoes, in my own home, in my own place. That is all I ask. Obama will grant us that wish.

All over the world, people are beautiful and they want to unite together. We shall overcome, someday.