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As for Hanna, a single word stood out for me from Obama's inaugural address. But it wasn't curiosity. It was nonbelievers. Atheists are among the U.S.'s most distrusted minorities, and a full 53 percent of Americans would not vote for an atheist candidate for president. Here's the context of Obama's atheist mention:
For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus—and nonbelievers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth, and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass. ...
There's been much talk of Obama's ushering in a "post-racial" America, but will he also be welcoming a post-religion America? Doubtful, but at least it's a step in the right direction.
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Thanks to Dahlia for just forwarding around a clip of Beyoncé singing "At Last" as the first couple had their first dance at the Inaugural Ball last night. First of all: Wow. What a fantastic performance of a great song, even more beautifully delivered than when Beyoncé belted it in character as Etta James in the recent Cadillac Records. But second: Did it strike anyone else how perfectly chosen the song was for that moment, for our moment as a nation? As Beyoncé stood there, not onstage but as a member of the audience, looking the first couple in the eyes and singing directly to them, it was as if her words could have come from all of us: At last. The slow-motion nightmare of the Bush years is over. The longest campaign since Caesar divided Gaul has finally come to an end. And the centuries of racial discrimination that have been our greatest shame—well, let's not get ahead of ourselves yet, but something significant has started to shift there, too. At last.
On a less metaphorical level, "At Last" is as romantic as love songs get, and the sight of the handsome first couple alone on a stage, she in a long white gown and he in a tux, smiling at each other with embarrassed but genuine happiness, couldn't help but evoke the first dance at a wedding. Of course, it's after the wedding that things get real, and given the state of the world right now, our honeymoon with the Obamas is likely to be even shorter than most. But for that moment at least (and you could tell from her performance that Beyoncé felt this too) our lonely days were over, our hearts were wrapped in clover, and life was like a song.
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Sorry, Sam. You should have come down to the Mall. It unfolded just like a movie about a civil rights march, even a Ron Howard movie. Me and some friends and our many children followed a Kenyan band from Brooklyn down to the Washington monument.They played "We Shall Overcome" over and over and over and no one really seemedto mind. We ran over many ankles with our motorcade of strollers and people smiledgraciously and told us the kids were cute. Along the way, we met people from all four quadrants of D.C. - first time that's ever happened to me. It was freezing cold and scary crowded and still, I was complaint and irony free for several hours.
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I was out on the Mall today, freezing and not minding a bit, with two great women named Betty. Here's more.
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To Eve and the others who were there: Tell me everything! Did you make, like, a million friends with fellow inauguration observers? Were there sweet-faced octogenarians telling you about how they never thought this day would come? California hippies who had driven across the country in the same beat-up VW bus they took to Woodstock, just to be there?
I had told myself it would be too chaotic and cold and crammed in D.C. to be worth making the trip down there, but from my silent office desk right now I can't help but wonder if I made a mistake. I already missed the glowing camaraderie of election night—I was working at Newsweek then, and I knew when I received the e-mail about the Nov. 4 food schedule (dinner at 7 p.m., sandwiches at 1 a.m., breakfast at 7 a.m.) that the night wasn't going to end as I had pictured. For me, there was no hugging strangers in the streets of Brooklyn, no stopping traffic with our impromptu dance party. Just fluorescent office lights, crusty early-morning sandwiches, and the faint screams from Columbus Circle wafting in the open windows.
As it turns out, that's basically what I got today, too. A small gathering of co-workers watching the screen, trying to ignore the sounds of the printer (what could possibly be worth printing during a moment of freakin' historic proportions?), each other's frantic BlackBerrying, and the TV in some office down the hall that broadcast everything about three seconds before ours did, resulting in a dizzying echo, especially during what were supposed to be dramatic silences. So please, give me something I can vicariously hold onto, that makes me feel like I am a woman of the people, not a slave to my office building.
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To all you lady reporters who were up front underneath the stage in the press seating (hey hey, Dayo!), did you ever find yourself wishing you had braved the unticketed masses out on the Mall instead?
Joseph Lowery's benediction was still breathtaking and Obama's speech still powerful, but the mood up front was less once-in-a-lifetime historic moment and more, well, office party. On the right side of the Capitol steps, where members of the House of Representatives were seated, a mustached rep in a long camel-hair coat—I think it was Jose Serrano of New York—led others standing on his riser in drunken-sounding chants like "Rahmbo! Rahmbo! Rahmbo!" [referring to badass Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel] and "Hey, Steny [that's Steny Hoyer, the House Majority Leader], we love ya!"
Meanwhile, on the Senate side of the Capitol steps, practically every failed presidential hopeful—John Kerry, Joe Lieberman, Arlen Specter, a regally smiling Chris Dodd—casually meandered as close as possible to the coveted presidential podium, acting out their commander-in-chief fantasies by gripping the white railing tightly and waving at nobody in particular.
There was one thrilling, if short, moment. At one point, maybe half an hour before the inauguration began, people began standing up on their chairs down in the press section. The reporters all turned backward to gaze out at the thronged Mall and started to pull out cameras. I stood up on my seat, too, and felt suddenly moved: Here was the supposedly cynical press corps, turning en masse to face the American people and revere the awesome sight of millions gathered in the chill to see the first black man become president.
Then I realized everybody was taking a photo of Jay-Z.
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I had a bad feeling when I saw Chief Justice John Roberts was not reading the oath but was going to show off that he had memorized it—it's like the waiter who won't write down your order, then brings you steak instead of duck. The chief justice misplaced his faithfully, and you could see Obama looking at him wondering whether he should correct the oath or repeat the mistake. Well, it doesn't matter. As CNN helpfully pointed out, even though the inaugural was running late, Obama became president at noon anyway, oath or no oath. I have the feeling that for the rest of his life Roberts will awake from a recurring nightmare in which he says, "Repeat after me: I, Saddam Hussein Obama do solemnly ..."
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Did anyone else catch the incredibly sour looks on their faces as they walked past CNN's cameras? They do think it should be her day. But I'm with you, Eve. What an incredible day. I wish my father were alive to see an African-American being sworn in as president. He wasn't in love with Obama—and he died before the Florida primary last year, although I am quite sure he would have voted for Hillary and might even have voted for McCain in the general election, because he so admired his military service—but he would be so proud to see this today.
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Emily Bazelon is out braving the cold on this inauguration day, and she sent us this photo capturing the calm before the crowds. Photo by Rachel Gross.
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While you in D.C. worry about what the temporary influx of celebrities into your city, the rest of us can only look on with envy. Stuck in Dallas, I might as well be in Siberia as far as the inauguration is concerned. Actually, it's the bizarro inauguration here. While the rest of the world will be getting rid of George W. Bush as of tomorrow, he is coming to Dallas to stay. Permanently. His new home is just a few miles from my apartment, SMU (where the Bush Library will also reside), and the President George Bush Turnpike. Here, there's no escaping the guy. (Can't we vote him off the island?) It was thus heartening this weekend to happen into a Bed, Bath, and Beyond and discover an unexpectedly huge display, right as you walked in, of Obama inaugural memorabilia. For a second, I thought I'd fallen into a worm hole and popped up, along with Hanna and Beyoncé, at Tyson's Corner. One expects to find such displays on the mall in D.C., but at a strip mall in historically right-wing Dallas? The only thing I could liken it to was the nationwide outpouring of kitsch that greeted Lady Di and Charles' wedding. (I was in England that summer and still have a campy Charles and Diana ashtray from that trip.) Indeed, such trinkets may inadvertently turn out to be the first installment of Obama's stimulus package. As Tina Brown noted in The Diana Chronicles: "In the 184 days between the February engagement and the July wedding, $800 million of royal wedding souvenirs overflowed in the red, white and blue windows of British stores." Obama, of course, is a democratically elected royal and hasn't had as much time to work with. But in my current mood of patriotic fervor, it was admittedly all I could do to resist the symbolism of buying—in Dallas, no less—a plate with Obama's image and the words "Change Has Come!"
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Speaking of Obama's hands, I picked up this tidbit from a friend who was getting a manicure at a Northwest Washington nail salon a couple of days ago. As my friend was getting her final coat, her manicurist leaned in and pointed to another manicurist in the salon and said that woman—who does the nails of one of Michelle's assistants—had been driven to Blair House to do Michelle's nails for the inaugural. Michelle was so pleased with the result that the woman got a call shortly afterward: Come back to Blair House and do Obama's nails. The manicurist reported that the president-elect was very nice and that as she was buffing his nails, he looked at them and said, "Not too shiny, please." As we put our nation in his hands, it's reassuring that he knows where to draw the line, metrosexually speaking.
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The one thing you can always count on Washington for is a certain stubborn blindness to cool. There are plenty of bars and restaurants, but they never quite add up to a "scene." Trends arrive at least two or three years late—witness the recent excitement over cupcakes and tangy yogurt. In New York, young fashion designers come and go. But in D.C., Ann Taylor will always occupy a special place on Connecticut Avenue.
That was true until Friday. Now, witness some scenes from the new pimped-up city that is Washington in the Obama years
- Tom Hanks standing outside the virtual rope line at Maureen Dowd's party, unable to get in.
- Larry David and Ron Howard yukking it up inside.
- A variety show on the mall, which, let's be frank, felt a lot more like the Oscars than anything having to do with politics.
- Several motorcades NOT carrying George Bush or Dick Cheney. (We know this because the cars were white and studded with lights.)
- Several lost denizens of Park Slope wandering the city with big, long dry cleaning bags.
- Caught in the Metro doors last night: one white mink, one sparkly mermaid tail of a ball gown, one rhinestone glove.
- Overheard on the Metro: "I just had to run inside and get some pasties."
- Overheard in the office: "Oprah called."
Like many transplanted New Yorkers, I have always complained about D.C.'s dowdiness. Now, I realize there are things I will miss. A city like this is relatively good for women since it prizes intelligence and hard work above all. Unlike in N.Y. or L.A., my friends here do not spend their late 30s contemplating Botox and lifts. How long will that last if Beyoncé keeps visiting?
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Last night's party gossip deepened the "I live in L.A. now" feeling. Someone had spotted Jay-Z and Beyoncé shopping at the Pentagon City Mall. Someone else saw Stevie Wonder at Mazza Gallery.
On second thought, though, L.A. is not the correct analogy. Those are two generic malls. They are the kinds of places I go when I need a new pair of running shoes or maybe some luggage. I mean, I realize that D.C. has no equivalent of Fifth Avenue, or Melrose. But the fact that somebody told Jay-Z to go to a suburban mall for reliable bling makes me feel like I live in Peoria.
Clearly, this celebrity influx is making me anxious. A few people last night thought it might be temporary, but somehow I don't think so. I think they will be visiting a lot more often now that we have the Ur-Celebrity in the White House. Note to Washington: The Power and the Glitter are closer than ever. Must work out new dynamic with Hollywood.
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This is where I draw the line. Yesterday I opened my daughter's Friday folder, usually filled with school news, permission slips, that sort of thing. This time there was an announcement that Shakira—the hottie Colombian pop star—is singing in school on Monday. My daughter does not go to Sidwell Friends or GDS or one of the private schools Sasha and Malia were looking at. She goes to our local public school. But these days in Washington, you never know where you might bump into a star. Hey, maybe we'll get lucky and Britney Spears will do an inauguration concert at the Cleveland Park public library.
There is a convention between Washington and Hollywood, worked out over many years. They come here to be boring, and we pretend they're not famous. Angelina Jolie gives a presentation to some subcommittee about AIDS relief. The congressmen nod soberly, like it's just another Tuesday, and then afterward snap a photo "for the grandkids." Now that dynamic is out of whack, and everyone's fawning all over everyone.
First it was just Bono and Bruce Springsteen coming to sing at the mall. Fine, they always do this kind of thing. But Mary J. Blige? Beyoncé? What could they possibly want with the Lincoln Memorial? The Huffington party list so far includes: Tom Hanks, Steven Spielberg, Jon Bon Jovi, Denzel Washington, Halle Berry, Marisa Tomei, Demi Moore, and Ashton Kutcher. Denzel Washington? Where am I living? Is this a movie about Washington or the real thing?
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If Bill "the First Black President" Clinton was the segue to our first actual black president, maybe Barack "This Is What Feminism Looks Like" Obama will make way for our first female one? That'd be super!
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Emily, I also agree with the Obama ban on strollers at the inauguration, but not because the crowd needs to be protected from babies (and their means of transportation). Here I am wondering whether it will be safe to take newly minted teenagers into the crowds that day—most parents I know are leaning against it—and toddlers would surely be at risk, no?
Update: Oops, now that I have read Hanna's post, I take it back: I'm sure it will be fine!
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Emily, I, like you, am long past the days when I think I am entitled to bring my baby absolutely everywhere. I, too, have embarrassing memories of nicking ankles on the streets of San Francisco, or Brooklyn, or downtown D.C. and blithely walking on by as the offended pedestrians burned holes in my back with their eyes. But here is my current reality: I live here. I have three children, one of them an infant. I feel like missing the opportunity to witness this moment because of some small, boring concerns (he needs to nap, she will get tired, blah blah blah) is pretty depressing. And frankly, a stroller will make all the difference. There are only so many hours on a winter day you can hold a baby and satisfy two other children. With a stroller, I can just shove the baby in and the snacks on the bottom and be on my merry way. So yes, the Park Service is probably right, but they are seriously ruining my day.
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Well, Hanna, I don't think anyone is advocating censoring Warren. He has the same freedom to speak as does every other American, and certainly far more access to public forums. Nor do I think that failing to ask him to give the inaugural prayer would have been equivalent to pretending that evangelicals don't exist, any more than Reagan's failing to invite the late Rebbe Schneerson to give an inaugural prayer was equivalent to pretending that the Lubavitcher Chassidim didn't exist. Or more to Melinda's point, that Obama's failing to ask Christopher Hitchens to give the inaugural antiprayer is equivalent to pretending that atheists exist. Of course they exist. Of course they are free to preach, evangelize (which Hitchens does with particular enthusiasm), organize, and speak in the public square. Go forth. Multiply. Knock yourselves out in the marketplace of theological ideas.
The objection has been to giving an extremist-someone who thinks women who've had abortions were running concentration camps in their wombs, as Katha Pollitt put it so brilliantly in the L.A. Times-the honorary job of saying the nation's prayer over the presidency.
That said, over the course of this discussion, I have somehow talked myself into the other point of view. (Or maybe spending a weekend-long blizzard locked in the house with an energetic 5-year-old has just worn me down, and I'm willing to give in on anything that doesn't involve screechy toys. Is there a special circle of hell for screechy toy manufacturers and for "friends" who give said toys? This is my prayer: Please, God, let it be so!) Giving Rick Warren the temporary job of preacher-in-chief is an entirely symbolic scrap thrown to the right-wing evangelicals. In more important news, Obama appears to be ready to launch a reality-based science policy, to authorize stem-cell research, to lift the global gag rule on family planning services, to roll back Don't Ask Don't Tell, and to take similar actions on truly urgent issues. Warren's prayer won't actually have much particular public effect-except to give Obama his reverse "Sister Souljah" moment and the cover of appearing inclusive. Fine. Fine. Prez-elect, go play with whatever preacher you want to play with. I don't care, so long as I don't have to listen to the screechy toys.
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Melinda, you are precisely right that extreme right/left black/white thinking got us into this polarized, judgmental 2008 mess, and that Obama’s willingness to get beyond such thinking is exactly why so many of us were attracted to him. But isn’t the argument that Rick Warren must be a great man because he reverse tithes just as absolutist? Nobody (except maybe Hitchens) is suggesting that Warren hasn’t done extraordinary work toward relieving AIDS and poverty and global warming. But that doesn’t change the fact that not only does he not speak for all Americans, he also expressly rejects some of their very basic rights. We can debate about whether the right to marry someone you love constitutes a basic right. But—and here is where Hanna and I probably differ—I don’t think Warren is really interested in having that kind of argument.
I also think it’s not quite fair to claim that any criticism of Warren represents some kind of generalized anti-religious bias. Too many people of very deep faith don’t make Warren’s cut. That doesn’t make us religion-haters. It just means that you can’t call it “bringing people together” if you are honoring one group’s message while denigrating another’s.
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A post from Hanna Rosin, en route to parts tropical:
I have to take a break from my vacation to object to this liberal groupthink. We elected Obama partly because he is able to talk to people with different views. Our standards for hearing out a religious leader should not be: Does he believe everything we believe? It should be: Is he willing to talk to the other side? Many months ago, Rick Warren gave the stage over to Obama—showing a form of open-mindedness from an evangelical leader we haven't seen since Billy Graham. Now it's Obama's turn to reciprocate. Your strategy—E.J. and others—would involve pretending evangelicals don't exist. And what good would that do?