BY YOSHI JOHNSON

In print | Published April 17, 2008

Come April 22nd, I will not be casting a ballot for Pennsylvania’s Democratic primary, as I am a registered independent. Fortunately for me, then, I will not be forced to weigh in with my vote just yet and will instead nurse my electoral indecision a few months longer. That is not to say, however, that I am not fraught with anxiety over this November’s election, since I cannot help but draw parallels between the contemporary moment and another moment, the country’s transition into the 1970s.

That period saw the country mired in a hapless, imperialistic war abroad; the election of a power-driven, pro-business president, and for two consecutive terms (although this time around, we have not been graced with a resignation, unfortunately); the precipitous rise of oil prices; and a financial system, already on shaky foundations, showing signs of breaking down. What that time in the early 1970s heralded, we now know, was an era marked by the tyranny of big business and an erosion of democratic government’s role in a variety of areas.

I do not confuse this short column for my thesis, but suffice it to say that the twilight of the previous era of social change gave way to the long, dark night of a world where expanding the range of human possibility was abandoned for neoliberalism and the reckless pursuit of wealth it enabled. The magnitude of the choice before us in this election cycle, thus, has me paralyzed. (“Tyranny of choice,” anyone?)

Plus, I can ill afford to have such a hefty electoral question weighing onerous and undecided upon my soul for so long. I am thus quite anxious to be done with it all. It was in this spirit that I attended the rally with Michelle Obama at Haverford College on Tuesday. Now, it’s no secret to my friends that I like Michelle a lot more than I like her husband. Naturally, then, I was quite excited to see her for that pleasure alone. More importantly for the matter at hand, though, I was eager for Michelle to somehow convince me that the man she thought was good enough to father her children was also good enough to be my president. And surprisingly, Michelle did almost exactly that. (Yes, I refer to her as Michelle, because in my gut it feels like the only appropriate moniker for such a formidable figure, as if she somehow transcends the belittling ‘Mrs. Obama’ referential and the masculine corollary to which it binds her. Yeah, uh huh – she’s that bangin’.)

In her speech, there was focused language, entirely expected, that emphasized her husband’s deep-seated connections to the blue-collar experience so common in Pennsylvania, where the issues of “regular folk” are paramount. Her larger story, however, I felt transcended a mere campaign-trail stump speech, amounting to an eloquently conveyed narrative that recounted how we have all lived the dark historical epoch I painted in broad strokes earlier. She spoke of an ever-shifting bar that made it hard for regular Americans from all backgrounds to secure a life for themselves and their families, and how the cynicism that resulted from this condition crowded out dreams and left us with our fears, isolated as individuals and lost as a country. I don’t know how her husband could ever be thought out of touch with regular folk with someone like her by his side.

In any case, she said a great many things during her hour-long speech, the entirety of which, I’m sure, can be found somewhere on the internet. What struck me, however, was not anything in particular that she said, but rather what reverberated in the air, unspoken and not quite knowable. There really was that “something in the air” oft-reported, a “something” which Michelle partly spoke into existence, yes, but which we also individually carried with us, throughout our storied lives and into that space; a “something” made whole by our coming together and our sharing, through Michelle’s story, our own vulnerabilities and aspirations. It can be named (I think Michelle’s husband calls it hope?) but I prefer instead inciting you to action, to experience an Obama rally for yourself, that you might know this feeling for yourself, without naming it. I haven’t had my cathartic “leap of faith” just yet, but for the skeptical and the wary, I know this necessary experience brings us closer to that moment.

I am not sold on Barack as he’s been billed, at least not quite yet. He may be a great man, but the creatures produced by the Washington machine – like Clinton and McCain – are foes not easily dismissed. If Michelle were the candidate, I’d be sold, but she’s not, and that’s probably the greatest testament to her virtue. But it does comfort me to know that each night, before Barack can rest easy and, god forbid, forget about the world he’s been elected to save, he has to answer to Michelle to earn that sweet kiss goodnight.

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