Hope is Not Enough

My vote, here in the red belly of Georgia, didn't help
elect him, and I doubt that my urging others to vote
for Barack Obama had much effect. No one
seemed impressed by my Obama/Biden buttons,
nor indeed seemed even to notice that I wore them.
The signs I placed in my yard near the road were
only there for three days before they were stolen.

I didn't get to Chicago for the mass ceremony in
Grant Park where I participated in the protests
against the Vietnam War forty years ago. I have
no television reception, but I did get to watch on
my computer as people came into the park, and
the park filled until faces stretched far into the
distance and still there were people coming down
the sidewalks, then after the speech the great
surging mass moved slowly toward the exits until
little clumps of people could break away and
start walking back along the sidewalks. And I was
deeply moved, especially by all the beautiful young
people, but also by those of all ages who had been
told by the leader they elected that he believed in
them. America can be rebuilt. he told them, repeat-
ing several times the phrase they would echo back:
"Yes we can".

I hope they will still be able to believe in themselves
at the end of the next four years. I hope they aren't
counting on recovering the way of life they once had,
for no leader, no matter how qualified, is going to be
able to more than leverage a few speed bumps into
the downward spiral of a morbid and decaying system.