The Exhaustion and Rebirth of Hope

When I first moved to Delaware in the early 60s, it felt like we had landed in a dark and malevolent place. Schools, parks, restrooms, movie theaters, and other public places were segregated. Corporal punishment was celebrated: teachers mounted wooden paddles above their desks and the town green had a whipping post. Once, after a weekend cross-burning, I asked one of the participants why they'd done it and the guy dissolved in laughter, saying " it was just a joke."

Even at 12 years old, I had lived in many culturally divergent places. Like most military kids, I had learned that the local residents in every new place believed that their customs and traditions were the best, if not only, way to live. We had learned to go with the flow and keep our judgments to ourselves, but usually the matters in question involved clothing, food, or language. This time it meant swimming in a stew of fear and hate that was so omnipresent it was invisible to long-time residents. Legal integration came to Delaware mid-way through my high school years. Real integration was still a work in progress when I left the state a few years later.

I left right after the election of '72. With George McGovern running for President and Joe Biden running for the Senate, hope was intoxicating. The Pentagon Papers had been published and it was impossible to imagine that Nixon would be reelected. But he was, and then things got really bad (Watergate, another Middle East War, an oil embargo, the U.S. backed coup in Chile.)

It seemed like the whole world was going to hell in a hand-basket, so I retreated to upstate New York to homestead on 21 acres, withdraw from the world, eschew nationalism, and become a citizen of planet Earth. The Carter and Reagan years zipped by without much engagement from me. I spent my time working on organic food production, alternative energy, recycling, and pondering the meaning of life. It was a fifteen year self-study program.

After a meandering cross-country road trip, San Francisco became my true home in the fall of '87. Surrounded by like-minded people, I was sucked back into civic engagement. I loved living in this polyglot community where people from wildly differing cultures keep trying to figure out how to get along. But national politics were still depressing: unchecked greed, hubris, careless disregard for the Constitution, and a distinct lack of empathy created a rising tide of cynicism and nothing good ever trickled down. When the national electorate brought Bush back for a second term, I was convinced that that things were going to keep on getting worse, that human civilization was an oxymoron.

This election has changed things. And I'm not talking about what may or may not happen in the next four years. Just the fact that so many people overcame their prejudices and chose intelligence, enlightenment and hope over fear, suspicion and anger has given me a brand new view of the world.

Meanwhile, here at home, Californians passed a cruel, divisive amendment to the California constitution, banning marriage between same sex couples (it was roundly defeated in San Francisco.) But it's not over, yet.

Photo by David W. Sumner