Commie Bastards!

The afternoon of the Presidential debate at Hofstra University, there was a rally for Obama scheduled at nearby Eisenhower Park. Since this election has had history written all over it, and since I happened to be in NY, ten minutes from the park, and Hofstra, and the cradle of aviation, I decided to go and see how history looked live and up close.

As the debate was about to begin, there was an altercation between protesters and mounted police officers right by the entrance to the campus. I'd never seen police in full riot armor. Plexiglass shields. I had the disconnected impression that I could just walk calmly through the fray, explaining politely that I had no part in the mayhem, and was merely heading into the grounds to get as close to the Hardball tent as possible. (I hoped to meet Chris Matthews and watch the live broadcast.)

A good looking young guy named James stopped me before I got too close. He had been to the tent, had met Chris, had narrowly escaped the clash between protesters and police. He proved extremely helpful. Following his instructions, I was able to accomplish what I had hoped, and watched the debate on a plasma screen under the Hardball tent. It was a great vantage point, and I was fascinated to see how demonstrative Chris was while off camera. Not only were his opinions of the candidates crystal clear, but several of his guests that night shared his views, and were equally free in expressing them.

There was much shaking of heads over the notion of palin, and much grimacing at every comment from mcCain. Combined with the almost unanimous support of Obama from the college students, the impression that history and Obama were destined for one another was practically palatable.

History from both sides. One candidate carrying around history. Trapped by it. Held captive by the past. The other candidate with pen in steady hand, ready to write history himself.

The most startling and memorable moment of the night came before it began. As I was waiting for the traffic light to grant me entrance to Eisenhower Park, two young ladies walked by holding Obama signs. They smiled sweetly and waved at the people in the stopped cars.

An angry old man rolled down his window and yelled "Commie Bastards!!!" Shaking his fist in the air. No, really. He did. The young ladies were taken aback, but kept smiling and walked on unbothered. The old guy repeated his shout "Commie Bastards!"

At first, I laughed, but then rolled down my window and politely pointed out that he was addressing two ladies. He said he did not care, and then screamed that I was also a "Commie Bastard!"

It was strange. His rage seemed unfocused. His choice of insults, antique. It reminded me of a scene in a Hepburn/Tracy film. The cantankerous old fellow gets into a fender bender with some hippy kids in a parking lot, and his anger at being out of touch with the world is in itself touching.

Here is this old white man. Representing much of the nation, raging against the fact that history is about to place a black man in a white house. They feel helpless. Infuriated. Desperate. How can this be happening? McCain, one of them, gives voice to this ugly and petulant emotion. As his campaign nears its end, he is holding nothing back. He and his running mate are playing into that rage and anger for all it's worth.

What gives me hope for our nation, is that the rage and fury does not seem to be worth very much. A feeble shout from a car window "Commie Bastards!"

McCain wanders around the stage looking lost. He has no clue. No language to address the reality in which he finds himself. Internets. Emails. Global warming. He dredges up the only cliches he knows. Archaic references to cold wars and red scares. He mocks environmentalists who are concerned about the dangers involved in resurrecting the wisely abandoned nuclear power industry. He represents not just another decade, but another century.

He chooses as his running mate a relic from the golden age of television. A feisty, attractive "modern" version of Florence Henderson. She does not emasculate, like say, Hilary Clinton, who was criticized for being cold and steely. Hated, even, for demonstrating what a smart and powerful woman can do.

No, this safer, non-threatening, modern woman from Alaska seems to know her place. She'll talk about raising kids with special needs. She'll be folksy and charming and make a man feel like a man. She's a mid century stereotype, dressed up in trappings which suggest cutting edge, but only dully. Safely. Progression, but the kind firmly rooted in the good book.

The combined ticket screams the past. It's almost farcical. Look at how mavericky we are. We'll bring about change, but nothing too scary.

On the other side, and for the first time in a long time, the contrast could not be more stark.

Obama represents the future. The changing times. The world moving on. The difference is that he is not frightening at all. He has demonstrated himself not to be the lesser of two evils. Not the same old thing in new packaging. Not just another unwanted option for which we will all have to settle. He truly does seem to be a figure worthy of history. Perhaps it has been so long since FDR, or even Kennedy, that we as a people have forgotten what it is like to witness history being written. Not in Nadirs, but in Zeniths.