The Agony and the Ecstasy, or Why I Cried on Election Day 15 comments

By Jessica Mesman Griffith

With this post we welcome a new member of the Good Letters team. See the Contributors page for a bio.

The first time was during a Today Show piece about moving a young family into the White House: an image of the Obamas onstage at the convention last August, arms linked or maybe raised triumphantly, the voiceover describing how Sasha and Malia were excited about getting to redecorate their bedrooms.

It was all very sweet and innocent, and though normally such a saccharine nothing is exactly why I can’t watch the Today Show without making gagging and choking gestures, an activity I very much enjoy, this time I felt an honest to God burning in my chest, kindling hopes for a sweeter, more innocent political experience. Everyone I know has been angry for so long that such a sweet and innocent story was a tonic. So yeah, I shed a tear.

It was a rough day after many rough days (years) for republicans, and I think some of my boohooing was the result of downright exhaustion. I’ve spent the last few months embarrassing either my friends and acquaintances or myself on a daily basis. When you live on a college campus, people tend to make assumptions about your political persuasions. This has resulted in many an awkward silence in my social life. I never quite figured out the best way to respond to friends who, after expressing intense and abiding hatred/disdain/pity for any and all members of the Republican Party, invited me to work the phones for Obama. I took to blurting out “I’m conservative!” if the conversation took a turn toward the political (which, over the last year, it always did), throwing myself on my sword to save all of us further embarrassment. Somehow my name still showed up on lists of potential canvassers.

Sometimes I hid behind my husband. He’s our house democrat (moderate, he’d clarify) and my beard. But I’m ashamed to say that on more than one occasion, rather than having the needle screech from the record and face the agony of all those disappointed faces, I flat-out lied with nods and smiles.

Such supreme acts of cowardice took a lot out of me this election season. But any attempt at bravado left me just as sickened and depleted. At one point, I nearly lost my religion. The economy is in the toilet, the war is expensive and endless, the world hates us; Obama is brilliant, charming, inspirational. Why not give the other guys a whirl? Why cling so stubbornly to the Grand Old Party? More practically, why face another miserable dinner party? I’ve gotten used to sitting at the table with artists and intellectuals, and in my zip code, they vote democrat. I didn’t want to give up my spot.

I was this close to a sign in the yard, but I just couldn’t see it through. Until now I hadn’t considered myself a single-issue voter. I’m a conservative in more ways than one (moderate, Dave would clarify), but this time, my conservative candidate didn’t measure up in any way but one. And it’s the one I can’t compromise, because—and there’s no way to say this without ruining the dinner party, really, so I’m just going to brace myself and say it—I think abortion, for any reason, and at any time, is wrong. And I mean the wrongest of all the wrongs we had to consider this time around.

This election season has been, for me, one overlong examination of conscience, and anyone who’s examined their conscience for more than a few minutes can tell you it’s no fun. In the end, I had to come to terms with voting for the guy who wasn’t cool or beautiful. I’m not merely being facetious; both those characteristics have the potential to influence my decisions on more than just the presidential race. Besides, I’m used to beauty leading me to truth. Voting republican seemed downright ugly in many regards. Except.

After I voted, I took my three-year-old to McDonald’s—figured I might as well give her the quintessential American experience. There, we sat next to a round table of creaky old vets drinking their coffee and grousing about the election. Charlotte had a McCain-Palin sticker on her raincoat, and they applauded her when we walked by. Guess that’s my table now, I thought, and ate another fry. It’s not so bad, right?

When the media called it for Obama later that night, I know I wasn’t alone in my relief that it was finally over. Even on Fox News I got the sense that the entire Republican Party was being put out of its misery. There was nothing left to do but embrace the new President-Elect, and wow—patriotism never felt so good. Conscience served, I got into bed and turned on the TV. What I saw there was beautiful enough to make me cry: Americans, happy. And I was happy too.