Today, I read Jill Lepore discussing the history of the Presidential Inaugural in the New Yorker (from a few weeks ago).  She points out that much of what we associate with the inaugural is new, developing only since the birth of mass communication methods.  Some believe, she explains, that presidential addresses have become increasingly anti-intellectual and inane, formulated by committees to be as popular as possible.  Pauses for applause are the measure for success.  I remembered noticing how long Obama would speak in-between people breaking into applause and how short the applause usually lasted; I worried about how the listeners were reacting to his words.  Checking back at the transcript, he was interrupted for applause only 10 times.

I realized that the speechwriters were concerned and disappointed because he didn’t give people many reasons or opportunities to applause his words, and so judged it a failure as a speech.  But I think that Obama had a different audience and a different purpose in mind.  He was writing both for posterity and for the moment.  He wanted people to understand that this was a time for shared sacrifice and bold action.  He was trying to gird the people for the trying times ahead, knowing that the worst was yet to come, by drawing upon the strength and pride of their collective past.  He wanted to inspire people, not to feel good but to feel determined, so that the changes we all know must be are not only possible but within our reach.

His speech then was not a speechwriter’s speech.  Instead, it was a statesman’s.

On election day, I finally had the opportunity to read David Lipsky’s profile of David Foster Wallace in Rolling Stone.  The depth of his depression, the severity of the despair that he knew that final year was simultaneously devastating and heartening.  Devasting because the portrait was vivid enough to allow one to experience one’s own despair and sadness, one’s own insecurities and recriminations along with Foster Wallace’s own.  But this same vividness provides some solace for those of us who were, mysteriously, moved by David Foster Wallace’s suicide.  He did what he thought was best to end his suffering.  It wasn’t an irrational, impetuous act.  Rather, it was the rational decision of someone who, having tried everything, could see no other end to the pain.  I came away from reading this feeling emptied and ennervated.

The next morning, as the returns began to be counted, I learned that Obama had won the election.  For the first time in my life, the person I wanted for President won.  I have only lived within the confines of the Republican ascendancy, by which I mean the period when they have dominated the public sphere, setting the terms of debate and deciding whose ideas and which ideas are legitimate, which ridiculed.  In every election cycle, the progressive candidate, always my preference, has been rejected.  Obama is the first candidate, and the first President, that I can honestly say shares my values.  Elation should have been my reaction, but I couldn’t quite allow myself into that emotion.  It was a glorious victory, though.