The Politics of Hope and the Politics of Fear (and Loathing)

After making 118 calls to Rhode Island, Ohio, and Texas yesterday, I'd say that I'm (literally and figuratively) still bushed, but, by george, I don't have the energy—or any sense, at all, of hillary-ity.

Still, I’ll comment on two calls that truly were amazing, both for what they reveal about about the potential power of a single phone call and the fragility of the hope that unites us all.

The first revelation came during my last call of the day to Ohio, just before the 9 p.m. cutoff, and it centered around a wonderful 85-year old woman in Ohio named Mary, who admitted at the outset that she just couldn't make up her mind between HRC and Barack.

I asked if I might be able to help her sort through her feelings about the relative merits of each candidate, and a half hour or so later, a brand-new Obamacrat was born!

The call was so special, and touched upon so many of our mutual dreams, that I almost hated for it to end, and Mary seemed in no real hurry to end it, either. Still, we both knew our long-distance relationship couldn't last—especially when I pointed out that it was only 8 p.m. in Texas, and another difference might be there to be made in our now-mutual cause of cultural liberation and societal transformation.

So after Mary assured me that she does, indeed, have a ride to the polls today (with her son, whom she pledged to deliver for Obama, too), and she thanked me for my time, I told her that the appreciation was mutual and the honor had been all mine: “In fact, Mary,” I told her, “you just made my whole day.”

Then, I told her something else that might sound corny or silly in the retelling, but which seemed true then and still seems true now: “I’m going to miss you, Mary.” Pause. Heartbeat. Drumroll. “But we’ve got to win this thing.”

An hour or so later, a second revelation popped up during my last call of the evening, this time involving Michael, an African-American Obama supporter in Houston.

Michael told me that he and his wife had already cast their ballots for Barack, and had even taken their daughter along so she could bear witness to the role their family would play in selecting America’s first African-American major-party candidate. (“I told her, Jim, that voting is, like, holy," he told me, “that men have died...” Then his voice trailed off.)

So I reminded Michael how important it is to participate in tonight’s caucuses, and he assured me that they’d all be standing up for Obama there, too.

And even though he told me his dinner was getting cold, Michael was only warming up to the topic he really wanted to talk about: The role of superdelegates, and whether or not they might eventually be arm-twisted into denying the nomination to Barack and handing it to Hillary.

I explained that superdelegates are elected Democrats and party officials, and pointed out that they’d have to be crazy and stupid to let themselves be used that way.

Still, Michael reminded me that stranger things have happened, and Barack is running against a Clinton.

And even though we both agreed that Billary’s already had eight years in the White House—a time during which, not uncoincidentally, the Democrats lost control of both houses of Congress and had to suffer through an impeachment process that, to Bill Clinton, centered mostly around what the definition of is was—they're still around, and still mostly focused on what's good for Hillary and Bill.

We both had to admit the real risk that undeniable state of affairs represents, especially given the shrill, slimeball, “kitchen-sink” campaign they’ve hurled at Barack in Texas and Ohio and Rhode Island over the past few weeks.

Maybe the Clintons really do have no shame, we seem to decide mutually, right then and there. And maybe they really won’t stop at anything to tear Barack Obama down and put themselves back on top and aboard Air Force One for another victory lap or two, crassness and divisiveness be damned.

That’s when I told Michael that, should Hillary “win” at the convention the same way that George W. Bush “won” the elections of 2000 and 2004, the nomination wouldn’t be worth having.

Then I even surprised myself by saying what I said next, which I hadn’t known until that minute might actually be true: “If that's the way it goes down, I won’t vote for her.”

That’s when the revelation came, when I realized that—this time, the way this campaign is playing out (and no matter what your definition of is, is)—I’m actually capable of doing something I've never done in my whole life: Voting for a Republican for President of the United States.

We were both aware of the strange turn the conversation had taken, but Michael only agreed. A dream deferred does offer all sorts of advantages over a dream destroyed—especially when the dream in question has been denied, as ours has been, for nearly 40 years, since the 1968 murders of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert Kennedy nearly erased it altogether.

I could almost feel Michael's head nodding assent through the long-distance connection, when he seemed to decide for both of us: “I mean, we’ve waited this long. If we have to, we might as well wait four more years. I mean, if we have to...”

His voice trailed off at that point, and Michael told me that his wife was hollering at him to get off the phone so I could make some more calls, and maybe rustle up some more votes for Barack Obama.

I told him that he was my last call of the night, anyway, but his dinner was probably getting cold, maybe even as cold as Hillary Clinton’s heart—or, at least, her brain.

We both laughed and started our goodbyes, but then I remembered that I’d just threatened to do something I now realized was plainly impossible: vote for John McCain.

I felt obligated to point out that impossibility to Michael and emphasize the need for us both to hope — especially in a campaign as tacky and tragic as the one that's being waged against Barack Obama.

“We’re gonna win, Michael. This time we have to.” Pause. Heartbeat. Drumroll. “And don’t forget to caucus.”

As I put down the phone, I felt myself cringe inside at the thought of voting for John McCain and four more years of war and occupation in Iraq.

Still, I also noticed that I didn’t cringe (or feel any real self-loathing) at the prospect of voting for (and, maybe, even actively supporting) Ralph Nader, should Michael’s fear of yet another “political fix” turn out eventually to come true.

Let’s all hope it doesn’t.

And speaking of hope, I’ve gotta run. I’ve got more calls to make.