Late last Friday, we soothed our grammar-weary minds with margaritas and the company of a few fellow teachers.
We realized all five of us were American–an anomaly in this profession–and soon, inevitably, our talk turned to the election.
It’s tough to vote here. Confusing. How do you get your ballot? How do you send it? We got ours from our Florida mailbox and eventually sent it free through FedEx, but between those two steps, we suffered hours of trekking–to the American Consulate, to the FedEx office, no: that’s the wrong office, go around the corner–before finally spotting that familiar logo and sending our votes across the ocean.
We griped about misinformation and deadlines and the cab rides into the city to do our civic duty, and then–of course–about the reason we endured it. The hope. The thrill we’ll feel if things go our way. President Obama. Imagine.
But I didn’t speak for everyone at the table. As I sipped and formed wistful sentences, I heard my friend Sara whispering a confession.
“McCain,” she answered someone quickly. “Don’t tell Heather.”
Don’t tell Heather.
Suddenly I was in college again, when I’d been the conservative in the mass of hip liberals. Had I persecuted this poor girl? Made her feel outcast? Had my Obamamania marginalized the Republicans in our office?
I told Sara I’d heard her whisper, and promised I loved her anyway. I told her my college story–I’d been in her shoes. “Don’t worry,” I said, “I respect your choice.”
And I do.
Not because I think it’s a good choice. I think it’s a terrible mistake–one that, if enough people make it–will send this country into perpetual war, ensure a Greater Depression, and sacrifice any remaining credibility we might have had with the outside world.
But democracy gives her a right to choose, and besides: we’re friends. Friendship should trump politics. Family should trump politics. Even if each of us is instigating the other’s version of doom.
When I’m chatting with other Obama fans, handwringing over McCain’s latest mudsling or undressing the easily undressable Sarah Palin, sometimes a face of a loved one flashes before me, and I remember that people I love love these people.
That they love them doesn’t make me love them, just as me loving Obama probably won’t sway the readers of our little blog.
But if you’re on the fence, if you’re still not sure which circle you’ll ink next week, please know that our light postings of late don’t mean we’ve cooled to Obama. Our silence hasn’t been due to apathy, but respect. The respect I should have shown to Sara; the respect I didn’t always give you, in conversations before we left.
Since we came out as Obama fans last year, we’ve received some interesting e-mails. Some people found it necessary to “inform” us of “news” that hasn’t been picked up by the real media–that Obama is either: 1. A terrorist, 2. A socialist, 3. A covert Islamic extremist, or 4. A really bad guy. (Read his website to meet the real him.)
Others shared thoughts ranging from the reasoned to the inane (“Life on Earth must get worse pre-Rapture, so it’s heresy to try to improve things”; “The only foreign country we should care about is Israel–Obama’s too diplomatic”; and–truly nauseating–”Sarah Palin scares liberal feminists because she beats them at their own game.” (No, we’re scared of her because she’s a corrupt, unqualified whack job.)
Sorry. See how hard it is for me to be respectful?
In a few days, it’ll all be over, and some of us will be licking our wounds. No matter what, I look forward to talking to you about other things again. I’ll tell you about our new apartment, you can tell me about the cute things little children did, and we can all breathe deeply and take a break from politics.
In five days, that’ll happen. For now, I’m focused. We’ve made three more donations since arriving in Vietnam, joined Obama’s e-mail campaign and made ourselves sick with anticipation. In five days, we’ll have an answer!
We love and respect you regardless of your political affiliation. Have a great week!
Heather
