Artist's Statement
If all goes according to plan like it
never does, this will be my last overtly political
cartoon.
I just got back from Inauguration last
night. That crowd you saw on TV, filling the Mall from
the Capitol to the Washington Monument? That was me!
Through her unparalleled interpersonal and bartending
skills my friend Melissa scored tickets to the inauguration
for our whole group of friends. We left our HQ in Maclean,
Virginia (thanks, Kristie and T.L., for your extravagant
hospitality) at 5:15 A.M. to get the Metro into the
District, and it was a good thing we did--we later
ran into people who’d gotten into D.C. at 5 AM
and still didn’t get into the inauguration. We
spent several hours trapped in a vast, immobile crowd,
waiting to get into the designated gate for purple
tickets. At one point we saw Jesse Jackson and his
entourage up ahead of us, trying to make their way
through the crowd, on foot and just as fucked as the
rest of us. I remembered then how he’d been overheard
saying he was going to “cut [Obama’s] balls
off” during the campaign, and I thought, Well,
that’s what you get for talking shit about Obama—the
same color ticket as Tim Kreider. (I read later that
Jackson never got into the inauguration at all. Neither
did Mariah Carey.)
Later an ambulance needed to get through
the intersection, and the crowd, already packed as
densely as a New York subway at rush hour, was pressed
even more tightly against the barricades that hemmed
us in. This was the only point at which we felt there
might be even the slightest possibility of being maybe
a little bit crushed to death. It was then that Melissa,
who was raised to believe that there is always a way
to sneak around the rules and avoid getting screwed
along with the rubes, struck out away from the crowd
and led us all to another approach to the gate, one
where the crowd, though just as dense, was indeed shuffling
slowly, intermittently forward. Despite the interminable
wait, the frustrating absence of any communication
or direction from anyone in charge, the agoraphobic
closeness and toe-numbing cold, the people in D.C.
that day were (a little halfhearted and desultory chanting
aside) not ill-tempered or impatient but calm and friendly
and humorous, joined together in a spirit of commiseration
and fellow-feeling. I heard later that even with a
crowd of almost two million people—the largest
assembly in the history of Washington, D.C.—there
was not one arrest. Melissa gave our extra ticket to
a guy hawking Presidential T-shirts.
We did finally get into the Inaugural
area, where every monument was coated and dripping
with people. [Photos of the event, courtesy of Sarah
Glidden, are posted on our photos
page.] The trees were full of people, too, at whom
the cops would periodically yell to get down. And the
tree people would sullenly clamber down only to be
replaced by more climbers five minutes later. I was
reminded of Zacchæus, the short tax collector
who climbed a sycamore to see Jesus preach. Never in
my lifetime have I seen so many people strain with
such intensity and passion to see a single man. (And
when have you ever seen sportswear emblazoned with
the name and face of a U.S. President?) It was a racially
mixed, polyglot crowd, like a New York City street
scene, strikingly unlike the homogenous mob of cruel-faced,
desiccated coots in cowboy boots and their powdered,
mink-enshrouded wives I saw at Bush’s first inaugural.
Older black women were weeping openly, their faces
embarrassingly beautiful to see; happy Asian couples
were taking photos of themselves against the background
of the crowd. All our trials were worth it to me to
know that one of the millions of boos George Bush heard
when his name was announced was my own. The most air-stillingly
beautiful moment of the day was Aretha Franklin’s “My
Country ‘Tis of Thee.” When she sang the
line, “Land where our fathers died” a voice
behind me shouted, “Yes, they did!” in
churchly call-and response. Melissa and Sarah were
weeping. I kept laughing for happiness. Obama’s
speech was the only one we could hear well, so clear
and resonant was his voice. I uttered a feeble “h’raay” when
he mentioned “non-believers” (despite the
incorrect nomenclature—we prefer to be called “The
Damned”). It was a gesture of inclusion as unexpected
and as moving, in its way, as his speaking the word “gay” in
his acceptance speech. In the pause after an especially
welcome or inspiring line, because of the sheer expanse
of the crowd and the slow travel time of sound, you
could hear the roar of cheers and applause rolling
in oceanic waves two miles down the mall, like thunder
or the sea.
After the inauguration I retreated to
a mobbed and raucous Irish bar catty-wampus from Union
Station where Van Halen was playing real loud and I
scarfed down a plate of chicken wings and drank Jack
Daniels out of a plastic cup for the first time in
many years. It was there that I watched George W. Bush
leave Washington, D.C. in disgrace. When he ascended
the stairway to his plane the whole bar erupted with
jeers and hurrahs. Everyone waved Good riddance, fuckboy,
and raised their beers in ferocious toast. I gave the
finger to the screen.
That night my friends and I retired
to my Undisclosed Location on the Chesapeake Bay, well
north of D.C. I built a fire in the woodstove and we
all drank wine and made baked brie and salad and mushroom
risotto. Late that night I put an episode of The
Shadow on the turntable and we all passed out
within minutes. The next morning, after breakfast,
we all went for a walk on the beach, where we saw a
couple of bald eagles flapping over the frozen cove.
I played the Star-Spangled Banner on my pump organ
before we left the cabin and headed back up 95 to New
York City and home.
This morning I overcame my post-election
indifference to politics, which borders on an active
antipathy, and forced myself to read the Times,
figuring that after eight years of relentlessly ghastly
and depressing affronts to human decency I owed myself
a little good news. I almost couldn’t take it.
Already President Obama has signed executive orders
closing down Guantanamo and the CIA’s secret
prisons and overturning Bush’s efforts to block
access to government records. Dennis Blair, Obama’s
appointee for national director of intelligence, called
for oversight and transparency in intelligence and
said that counterterrorism must be consistent with
American law and the Geneva conventions. He actually
used the phrase “speak truth to power.” It
is such a profound and pathetic relief just to hear
anyone in the government say anything sane or reasonable
or obviously true. Can it all really be this easy?
As my cartoon illustrates, I know that the Bush administration
has left the country a shambles, and it’s not
just a matter of repair but of rebuilding, from the
ground up, and it’ll take a long time. But it
means so much just to know that the people in charge
are smart and responsible and in touch with reality,
listening to their soldiers and their spies and their
scientists instead of plugging their ears and praying,
that they respect the law and believe in democracy.
It feels like the Dark Tower toppling, the statue of
the Emperor pulled down, the snow melting and rumors
of Aslan returned.
Most amazing of all, in a way, was the
simple photo of President Obama sitting at the desk
in the Oval Office. I looked at it for a long time.
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