Two steps forward, one step back

I was at the Lookout and in the Castro last night for the election. The feeling was electric, and incredibly exciting. And of course, with all the hope in my heart, I was feeling patriotic for America, and dressed accordingly.

As were the Sisters.

I wasn't expecting the election to be called until much later, but arrived to meet my friends only about ten minutes before they called it for Obama.

Whom I will now probably be calling "The Big O."



Me and Jimbo



Me, Juan Carlos and Stephen
OMG it was exciting. The crowd went wild. And so did people in the streets. By this point I hadn't seen the throngs filling the Castro street behind a giant screen which had been set up for the block. I was confident in an Obama victory, but was completely unprepared for the emotional impact the actual election would have on me.

At first we were all cheering. And kissing. And kissing strangers. There was an enormous rush of endorphins and relief and hope and joy. Everyone was cheering and toasting and hollering. It felt very much like midnight on New Year's Eve. Stephen even turned to me and said, "Why do I feel like I should be making out with someone right now?"

And then came the speeches. It was nice to see McCain capitulate. Especially after such a dirty, despicably, repugnant campaign. They tried every dirty trick in the book, and in the book of politics that is saying something. And Obama held his head high through it all. I wanted to say, "Sling as much shit as you like. It won't stick." And the American people, well, those in the Real America, and not the America of ignorance and fear, could see through the slime. The quality of the McCain supporters was shown in their boos and their slurs (and entirely white faces). Someone remarked to me last week that when McCain supporters were interviewed at rallies, none said anything nice about McCain, just nastiness about Obama (terrorist, socialist, Muslim and often racial slurs). McCain himself was eloquent and gracious in his concession speech. Where was this McCain during the campaign?

And then Obama spoke.

I have never been more proud to be an American.

Earlier I hadn't expect the euphoria of his election announcement. Listening to Obama's acceptance speech—even with the expected references from Lincoln to King—I had not expected I would have such a visceral emotional response.

I wept. As did most of those around me. We held each other in solidarity and hope, and looked to our President-Elect to lead us to the promised land.

And then we had news of Prop 8.

I looked at our new leader and felt some hope. Now, finally, I can cry to my government to respect its own principles. Please, Mr. President: Set my people free.

But sadly, the exuberance of the Obama victory was marred by the Prop 8 returns. Only a fraction of the polls were reporting, but people were calling it for Prop 8. Today, the SF Chronicle called it official, but it is far from over. There are millions of ballots yet to be counted, and the legal fight has just begun. And at 52% in favor to 48% opposed, the vote to discriminate against gays and lesbians is hardly a mandate from the people. (And there will be more on this math later.) But still, the Prop 8 returns cast a pall onto the victory. The presidential victory was not a Pyrrhic one, but it felt empty by the failure of the same voters to say no to the bigotry against the gays. Ironically, witnessing the passing of Prop 8, and the cheering of the haters on television, I felt like a black man witnessing a lynching.

After the speeches, we left the Lookout and joined the dancing in the streets.






We made our way to 440, which had the cautious revelry of Obama Yes and gay equality No. Wonderfully, 440 had a good, strong vibe, was easier to navigate than the street, and had the volume up on the television rather than the asinine house music being cranked outside. Most of the crowd was paying rapt attention to the television, with only a percentage of their attention diverted to drinking and cavorting. A pretty good mix there.



View behind the 440 window
The local news cut to a live shot of the Castro, and they focused on Eyes Met Across a Crowded Room, also a friend of Stephen's in the window of Twin Peaks.

Basically I had come straight from work and so the cocktails and celebratory drinks were on an empty stomach. The exhaustion of the weekend, the mixture of beverages, and the stress over Prop 8 sent me into a downward spiral of not quite despair, but certainly maudlin depression. How could Californians vote to hate me so? I felt abused in my own house.

I take heart today that this is far, far from over. Andy and Joe have that coverage. And see today's Mercury News article on the pending legalities.

Dan Savage made a good if not controversial point in his blog today too. Race did have a major factor against the gays in this election. He's looking into the exit polling statistics, and basically all the gays voted for the black guy for president, but the black vote was overwhelmingly against the gays. MLK Jr. didn't want to leave us behind, but it feels that way today. Interviews and statistics are indicating that now that African Americans can sit at the front of the bus, they feel entitled to throw us under it.

I had more hope than that.

One final note. I thought it was just being in a gay bar that this was a major topic last night, but it was revisited vocally in a meeting at work today: Michelle Obama is super cool, but WTF with that dress?

Flickr set.