One of my readers (my daughter) had some suggestions about the first little scene in the description of my afternoon under the El. I told her in more detail what I actually saw:
It was a whole little drama, in a way: The young woman was skinny with a blond pony tail pulled back tightly from her sharp-boned face. Her hooked nose was strangely red and her mouth tense as she smoked. She sat with her legs tightly crossed, and her friend, a softer, rounder build and more relaxed, stood while they talked. I was too far away to hear much, because the smoke was killing me, but I heard "the welfare" and "she says to him" in an angry tone and such snippets. At one point a wiry, banty rooster of a guy wearing a cap turned backwards with the logo "Trojan" stopped to chat. I wondered if he used them. A blond little boy of two or so sat beside her in full smoke, drinking a soda. They were there at least ten minutes, and then a muscular, hostile man with a shaved head and many tattoos on his bare arms strode up the street. He glanced over at her with a slight nod of his head and kept walking. She jumped up quickly and caught up with him. He leaned in toward her, she leaned away from him, then they hurried away.
That's more what it really was like.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Under the El
On Monday I picked up a table and a box of registration forms at the Obama headquarters and met another volunteer who helped me set up at the foot of the stairway for the El at Front and Girard in Philadelphia. It was the last day to register to vote and I had a four hour slot asking passersby "Are you registered? Is your address up to date?" It was not, strictly speaking, a time to sway voters, and I don't have the temperament to "sell", but the table did have Obama literature and a few posters and stickers. The other volunteer, an enthusiastic suburbanite (she warned me to lock my car) moved to another corner and I began to watch the human scene.
It was one o'clock, a quiet time, a few locals going in and out of the corner convenience store, a transit employee sweeping up litter. I soon discovered that the concrete bench we had set up beside is a favorite place for a smoke, before or after the train. A tough looking girl with a sharply hooked red nose sat there with her little boy, having a long discussion with a hefty woman friend about "the welfare" and various failing relationships among their acquantances. When a tatooed skinhead man came up, she hurried away with him.
I had my first customer who needed to change his address, an older man with an Indian name which he spelled very clearly for me. He proudly declared himself a citizen. A few people who hadn't received a card yet came up to do another form, just to make sure. One old fellow with oily hands and very few teeth said this was his fourth try: "I don't want to miss this one. It's been a long time, but I want to be part of things."
Everyone took the process very seriously. One 18 year old said his grandma told him to sign up, another got a text message from her mother as she was filling out the form saying "Vote!" A couple of men, one Hispanic, stopped to register and firmly checked Republican beside the party affiliation. A few headscarved women and their husbands from the nearby Albanian neighborhood looked at us curiously. A young man from Ecuador stopped to chat about the electoral process. He had come to the US at the age of five, had a strongly American accent, but various complications in the citizenship process ( including being given a work visa at age seven to avoid deportation away from his family) have kept him in limbo. Most people had already registered; I began to know who would return my smile: the young arty folks who look like my daughters' friends, in thrift shop clothes, the African Americans with a look of pride and possesion.
Overhead the train roared by every ten minutes, a jackhammer was at work from time to time, trucks rumbled past on the street, the trolley clanked along Girard. People came home from work, nurses and aides, men in suits and in overalls, mothers with strollers, old people with shopping bags, white, black and tan. From three to four o'clock there were floods of students in uniforms, laughing and bumping along in small packs. It's your world now, I thought; we've messed it up pretty well, as usual, and, luckily, you have a lot of energy and might be able to save it again.
A middle aged black man in a transit iniform sat down, waiting for his shift, and we struck up a conversation. "Honestly," he said at one point, "I never thought I'd see the day an African American could run for President." He was a gentle man, talking carefully about the issues, finally hinting at the subject of racism. "I hate to say it, but there are some people,,,
I think about Martin Luther King and I worry about his security." I have felt since the primaries that this is a healing time for everyone, even if one disagrees with Obama's policies. The fact that he is running and very few people find that strange has made a permanent shift. I grew up in a town with very few black people, and in spite of our "tolerance", as we called it, there was little socializing. When I went to Oberlin, they asked my permission to give me an African American roommate. My daughters already grew up in a much more diverse community. Interracial marriage is commonplace. Obama is the face of the country- and of the world. World events have knocked down any possibility of isolationism- we are all interdependant.
Watching a slice of it walk by, I felt pride in our democracy that accomodates so many different cultures and opinions. The last interchange of the day, as I was turning the table over to a high school girl and a twenty something man with an Irish accent, was a perfect example of the seriousness of people's attitudes and the diversity of ideas in this election. A young white man, thirty or so, came up to the three of us saying, "I have a real dilemma and I wonder if you can help me with it." He said he liked almost all of Obama's positions and wanted to vote for him, except for one big thing: Obama is pro-choice and the young man was "religiously and ethically against it." He was not combative; he seemed in genuine anguish. The male volunteer said he respected his dilemma, and could he see that no one would be forced to have an abortion, that everyone would have a choice, and Obama wants to do all he can to prevent the conditions that lead to unwanted pregnancies. The girl asked if he would allow for rape, but, after hesitating, he said, "No, life is life, from conception." I didn't say anything- it seemed futile- and I left it to the young people to politely try a few more arguments. The young man mentioned the likely Supreme Court appointments , and I thought: the very reason I am behind the Democrats. If "liberal" judges are replaced with "liberals", the balance will be the same as now. If the court is all Scalias, as McCain has promised, radical reinterpretation of the Constitution is at stake. But I can't argue with a man's heart-deep conviction, and the young volunteers wisely held back. He took a brochure and thanked them.
I maybe should have said, and do say now: Democracy is messy and complicated and full of compromises. That is its beauty. It is trying to do its best and must change all the time to fit the needs of different circumstances. No one will be entirely happy and it will feel uncomfortable and unpredictable. But at its best, it will balance. Like my family, some of us see things from another perspective, but we all want the same good for our country and the world.
It was one o'clock, a quiet time, a few locals going in and out of the corner convenience store, a transit employee sweeping up litter. I soon discovered that the concrete bench we had set up beside is a favorite place for a smoke, before or after the train. A tough looking girl with a sharply hooked red nose sat there with her little boy, having a long discussion with a hefty woman friend about "the welfare" and various failing relationships among their acquantances. When a tatooed skinhead man came up, she hurried away with him.
I had my first customer who needed to change his address, an older man with an Indian name which he spelled very clearly for me. He proudly declared himself a citizen. A few people who hadn't received a card yet came up to do another form, just to make sure. One old fellow with oily hands and very few teeth said this was his fourth try: "I don't want to miss this one. It's been a long time, but I want to be part of things."
Everyone took the process very seriously. One 18 year old said his grandma told him to sign up, another got a text message from her mother as she was filling out the form saying "Vote!" A couple of men, one Hispanic, stopped to register and firmly checked Republican beside the party affiliation. A few headscarved women and their husbands from the nearby Albanian neighborhood looked at us curiously. A young man from Ecuador stopped to chat about the electoral process. He had come to the US at the age of five, had a strongly American accent, but various complications in the citizenship process ( including being given a work visa at age seven to avoid deportation away from his family) have kept him in limbo. Most people had already registered; I began to know who would return my smile: the young arty folks who look like my daughters' friends, in thrift shop clothes, the African Americans with a look of pride and possesion.
Overhead the train roared by every ten minutes, a jackhammer was at work from time to time, trucks rumbled past on the street, the trolley clanked along Girard. People came home from work, nurses and aides, men in suits and in overalls, mothers with strollers, old people with shopping bags, white, black and tan. From three to four o'clock there were floods of students in uniforms, laughing and bumping along in small packs. It's your world now, I thought; we've messed it up pretty well, as usual, and, luckily, you have a lot of energy and might be able to save it again.
A middle aged black man in a transit iniform sat down, waiting for his shift, and we struck up a conversation. "Honestly," he said at one point, "I never thought I'd see the day an African American could run for President." He was a gentle man, talking carefully about the issues, finally hinting at the subject of racism. "I hate to say it, but there are some people,,,
I think about Martin Luther King and I worry about his security." I have felt since the primaries that this is a healing time for everyone, even if one disagrees with Obama's policies. The fact that he is running and very few people find that strange has made a permanent shift. I grew up in a town with very few black people, and in spite of our "tolerance", as we called it, there was little socializing. When I went to Oberlin, they asked my permission to give me an African American roommate. My daughters already grew up in a much more diverse community. Interracial marriage is commonplace. Obama is the face of the country- and of the world. World events have knocked down any possibility of isolationism- we are all interdependant.
Watching a slice of it walk by, I felt pride in our democracy that accomodates so many different cultures and opinions. The last interchange of the day, as I was turning the table over to a high school girl and a twenty something man with an Irish accent, was a perfect example of the seriousness of people's attitudes and the diversity of ideas in this election. A young white man, thirty or so, came up to the three of us saying, "I have a real dilemma and I wonder if you can help me with it." He said he liked almost all of Obama's positions and wanted to vote for him, except for one big thing: Obama is pro-choice and the young man was "religiously and ethically against it." He was not combative; he seemed in genuine anguish. The male volunteer said he respected his dilemma, and could he see that no one would be forced to have an abortion, that everyone would have a choice, and Obama wants to do all he can to prevent the conditions that lead to unwanted pregnancies. The girl asked if he would allow for rape, but, after hesitating, he said, "No, life is life, from conception." I didn't say anything- it seemed futile- and I left it to the young people to politely try a few more arguments. The young man mentioned the likely Supreme Court appointments , and I thought: the very reason I am behind the Democrats. If "liberal" judges are replaced with "liberals", the balance will be the same as now. If the court is all Scalias, as McCain has promised, radical reinterpretation of the Constitution is at stake. But I can't argue with a man's heart-deep conviction, and the young volunteers wisely held back. He took a brochure and thanked them.
I maybe should have said, and do say now: Democracy is messy and complicated and full of compromises. That is its beauty. It is trying to do its best and must change all the time to fit the needs of different circumstances. No one will be entirely happy and it will feel uncomfortable and unpredictable. But at its best, it will balance. Like my family, some of us see things from another perspective, but we all want the same good for our country and the world.
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