11/8/2006 - 4 a.m.
I’m up much further into the wee hours than I’d intended to be. But my one chore - the last mile to go before I sleep - is to respond to a question posed by my internet journalism colleague Chris Lyden and his staff from Radio Open Source.
The election: Was it good for you? What changed for YOU? Is YOUR life better or worse?
Frankly I’d almost decided not to vote. Only the sight of the poll workers looking forlornly at the empty parking lot made me turn in and vote on principle. I live in a congressional district with a preordained winner, and the constitutional amendments make my head hurt. There didn’t seem to be a point.
Control of Congress? Flip a coin. I’m a partisan “atheist.” I don’t believe. The consolidation of power, rather than principles, is the primary motivation of both major parties. And too often, the only party platform plank that really makes a difference is “We’re not them.” Over the past two decades, each party, when out of power, has demonized the other and sought to create gridlock.
My daughter Sarah, still in Katrina exile in Philadelphia, called last night to tell me that she and her friends had gone to the polls to vote against Sen. Rick Santorum. She immediately backpedalled and said, “Oh my god, I didn’t vote FOR someone . . . I just voted against someone.” She’s young. Her second round of voting. “Get used to it,” I said. And cringed at my own cynicism.
But in fact, it’s not baseless. As a country, we have lost faith in our democratic system. We’re poor winners and poor losers . . . in the end, we’re all just losers. Every election, every vote, every malfunctioning air conditioner is now a conspiracy. And both parties spend the two years between election cycles maintaining the anger of their core base as fuel for the next election.
Tonight, I chose to spend the evening at an election watch party of political activists representing an almost perpendicular departure from my personal politics (can’t say “diametric” - I don’t like the other end of that spectrum, either). The hosts were Buddy and Annie Spell - a legendary couple that transcends party politics. Annie, a white woman, is the president of the NAACP in St. Tammany Parish, LA, the most Republican parish in Louisiana. Buddy is the attorney for Cindy Sheehan. Both of the Spells have long records of activism in the left wing of American politics.
I assigned myself to blog from their home as part of my own agenda: To sit with fellow Americans with political views that were possibly significantly different from mine, and watch the country decide its future. In writing from the event, I called their home the tiny blue heart in Louisiana’s deepest red parish. We joked that their house could hold every Democrat in St. Tammany Parish . . . in fact, that a FEMA trailer could hold them all.
Annie sets me up with a TV tray for my laptop and I settle in front of the fireplace. On the mantle, shelves and walls behind me are an array of folk art works of Jesus, lit by rows of flickering religious candles.
I eat their pizza and soak in their unique personalities. Guests wander from the smoking room to the keg on the patio, to settle a few minutes in front of CNN. A woman sits in an easy chair drawing a balcony scene onto a clayboard frame with India ink for an upcoming art benefit. As the early returns come in, there is little reaction . . . the first states offer no surprises. Sen. Joe Lieberman’s election as an independent is met with mixed reactions . . . the consensus is that he votes with the GOP on key issues anyway, so it’s not a net loss for the the Democrats.
Buddy takes me on a tour of his upstairs office, which I call a “museum,” with walls and shelves covered with memorabilia of the history of antiwar, liberal activism, souvenirs he has collected from his long personal journey. I’m particularly fond of the skulls and skeletons mixed in the collection. But the two best items are a WWII Nazi military helmet with an antiwar sticker slapped on the front, and a pig mask. Sometimes, he says, he’s worn them both at the same time. Not tonight, though . . . he’s wearing a Virginia ball cap to hoodoo the close Senate race in that state for the Democrat. He reminds me of Hunter Thompson - a lot. Way gonzo. Stretched across the front of his desk is a full-sized blue flag with a large white star in the middle.
“Kind of ironic,” I say.
(The “Bonnie Blue Flag” was the sentimental favorite of the Confederacy. Even singing the song of the same name was a capital crime under the Civil War occupation of Yankee Gen. William “The Beast” Butler. )
“This is a revolutionary flag,” he says, reminding me that it flew over the Republic of West Florida, which formed after a rebellion against Spain in our North Shore parishes that weren’t included in the Louisiana Purchase. An undertaking more in line with Buddy’s politics than the CSA.
“I’ve just reclaimed it.”
Gonzo.
Back in the living room, results are coming in, and the group erupts in glee at the pronouncement of key victories for the Democrats. Buddy says it’s like watching the Saints score a touchdown. The Democratic takeover of the House, and the presumption that Nancy Pelosi will be the first woman to be House Speaker sparks another round of jubilation.
“It’s about time!” Annie yells, pumping her fist in the air and bouncing in joy. I have to rib her.
“Good Lord, woman, it’s only been 230 years . . . kinda pushy, aren’tcha?”
She laughs more.
A somber mood later, as GOP Rep. Bobby Jindal gives his victory speech after taking the First Congressional District with nearly 90 percent of the vote.
Democratic challenger Stacey Tallitsch watches silent and still from an easy chair near my blogging station. Not much to say - the landslide was expected.
Buddy walks by and pats his arm.
A few minutes earlier, Tallitsch had gotten word on the final results. He told me he didn’t regret running, and that he was satisfied he’d run a clean and honest campaign. He was happy with a system that allows citizens to hold their leader’s feet to the fire. He did note that if he runs again, he wants to have a whole year to organize. He’d been living in Katrina evacuee mode for seven months of the past year, and had only a short time to make his run. He posed for a picture by the snack table decorated with his campaign stickers, and decorated with a hanging George Bush effigy. Then we went into the living room to watch his opponent bask in victory.
The Spells tell great war stories about enduring Texas heat and privation in the camps of protesters backing Sheehan’s antiwar vigil outside Crawford. Buddy stands and does a hilarious reenactment of an in-your-face eating of hot dogs beside a PETA food stand, just to tick them off. Good stuff, Maynard!
PETA wouldn’t like the cowhide serving as a carpet in the Spell’s atrium, either. It was a wedding gift from Buddy, Annie tells me.
We stay until well past midnight, watching the last close races - Virginia, Missouri and Montana. As we leave, the handshakes of strangers have been replaced by the hugs that one gets and gives down here.
And this is what it’s all about. What I want more than anything in American politics is to agree on as many basic values as possible, to have the ability to differ on strategy and tactics in support of those values, and to be able to share pizza, humor and hugs at the end of the day.
Today I’m more confident that our system still works, and that the real power is in the hands of the people. And it’s never been blue states vs. red states . . . from sea to shining sea, the country is shades of purple. That’s the way it should be.
Neither party can afford to forget that. And we, the people, had better not fail to exercise our power.
I’m glad I voted.
As the golden hour gives way to dusk this evening, I visit with the only casualty of Sept. 11, 2001 that I know. I kneel at his feet and say a prayer over his grave. Hozho na'as glih. Hozho na'as glih. In beauty, it is done.
Robert's commanding general from Fort Polk arrives for the funeral with a full honor guard for this, one of the first of his unit to fall in this war set off by 9/11. Outside the church, and at the grave side, television and newspaper photographers use long lenses, so that the mourners will not be disturbed. 
