Witnessing History, One Way or Another

The Capital two days before the festivities...

And on January 20, 2009.


Exiting towards the Purple Gate.



Karen and I holding our Purple Passes as seen through the eyes of a drunken Jamaican photographer.

Our view during the Inauguration. Photo taken by Karen Farquharson.


The famous Purple Ticket along with the much more effective Marc Train ticket.

Eight years ago, I was invited to one of the official Presidential Inauguration Balls. I gave it some thought, reasoning that it was a historic event that I may never have another chance at, my friends were going and someone else was footing the bill, so why not? The problem was that my rage at the outcome of that election was so raw and so visceral and my self-control so completely lacking that I could not envision an end to the evening that did not involve the Secret Service dragging me away as I screamed "Hail to the Thief", "Cheater" or just plain "Asshole" in the direction of the guest of "honor". I could not bear to think about celebrating a buffoon's rise to power, so I wisely stayed home .

Fast forward eight long, long years. Finally a candidate that I'd campaigned for, that I'd invested so much hope and energy into had come out on top. And not just any candidate, but one that displays such passion, intelligence and thoughtfulness that I'd seen voters move past the cynicism that normally accompanies elections, not just here but all over the world. I was one of the 200,000 people who stood in the Tiergarten in Berlin listening to then Senator Obama address the world and witnessed Europeans enthusiastically waving American flags, cheering at the possibility of the US finally reversing its disastrous course. Now we had and I wanted nothing more than to be there to see this transfer of power take place. I tried every connection I could think of to get tickets, good liberal that I am, but in the end it was my very Republican mother who came through. After some phone calls, she managed to get me a pair of the most sought-after tickets in the land (a fact I learned while I was in Buenos Aires, a fact I have no doubt everyone in my hostel was sick of hearing about). Over the weeks that followed, I learned that my lovely, eternally-loyal friend and Obama supporter, Karen would be able to join me. Equally exciting, my brilliant, long-time friends, Francisco and Dan, who I never see enough of, had not rented out any of the rooms in their beautiful Baltimore home (aka "the Manor") for thousands and thousands of dollars (as I would've done) so now we had tickets and a place to sleep!

The evening prior to the big day, Francisco and Dan very graciously threw a party in my honor, so that I could meet their friends and we could all celebrate this magical weekend together. It was a lovely evening filled with yummy vegetarian food, good wine and great conversation. Peggy, the sister of Francisco's co-worker spoke of the need to keep one's cool when small things start going wrong by remembering that, in the end, "everything will be ok". It wasn't long until we would be quoting her extensively. It did not happen at 5 am, which is the time I set my alarm for so that we could make our 6:30 train. It was closer to 8:o0 am when Karen burst into my room to inform me that we had overslept. We had now missed our train into DC, but we immediately proclaimed that everything was going to be ok. We woke up Francisco, who rushed us to the train station, only to learn that we had not just missed our train, we had missed all the trains going into DC that day. No problem, we could handle this, we got a cab, to a metro, to a dead sprint that led us past all the signs pointing towards the purple gate, where we would be admitted into the West standing section. By this time it was almost 10:00 am. We were soon face-to-face with the now infamous purple gate fiasco. We never saw the tunnel that has gotten most of the press (where many people got stuck for hours on end), but we were thick in the midst of a mob pressed a half-mile deep against a retaining fence. There were rumors circulating of a security breech; there was talk about the gate being shut and there were tall people besieged for reports as to what they could see. Most of the folks we spoke to had been trying to get in since 5 am, all of them holding purple tickets, even if we would have woken up on time, we would have been in the same exact predicament! As the time of the actual inauguration approached, people starting abandoning their spots to seek out a bar or jumbo tron to watch history being made. We were not making any progress and people were getting restless and impatient, yet, and this is what was amazing, there was this kind, generous feeling among the crowd that we were all in this together. As the surge pushed neighbor upon neighbor, there were apologies heard all around. A woman behind me was praying aloud, hoping to get past the gate. Without even thinking, I grabbed her hand and told her everything was going to be ok. At precisely 11:30am, we did make it past the gate, where security had all but abandoned the pretense of checking tickets or even proper screenings. This still left us at some distance from the stands, but we were now free to run and run we did. We got as far as the steps leading up to the stands, only to discover that they were full and we were not going to be able to see anything. Then we heard the gunfire and knew that Barack Obama was the 44th President of the United States. We heard his speech, where he so eloquently outlined a better future for all the world's citizens. We were there. Sure, we were disappointed at being denied entrance to our rightful spot, but the sense of sight does not solely define a moment. We heard the President's oration, we felt the magical feeling in the air, we froze our asses off. It was more than ok. And unless I grossly misread the crowd, I think most of the folks around us would have agreed. Certainly, the patrons of the Irish Bar we went to afterwards, crowded with holders of purple tickets who had either seen nothing or watched the proceedings on tv, would agree. The prevailing mood was one of joy and relief albeit tinged with aggravation at the poorly organized purple section. Now, I am reading purple ticket holders' reports of "the worst day of their lives" and am saddened to think that hindsight has tarnished such a special day for some people. Would I have preferred to view my President sworn in? Of course. But I would rather not see this President sworn in than drink and dance in celebration of his predecessor, any day.

After defrosting and commiserating in the Irish Bar for awhile, we headed towards the parade route, passing countless vendors selling everything from Obama t-shirts to watches to bobble heads to yes, even hot sauce. As expected, we eventually got stuck in a mob waiting to get through security. We waited for about an hour and right as we made it through, we heard a cheer go through the crowd, so we ran at an angle to catch the procession a bit further down. We had not been at our post for more than a few minutes when we saw a resplendent Barack and Michelle Obama walk past. We cheered, we woo-hooed, we forgot we had cameras. And in the words of Peggy, everything was ok.