Nothing Happened
The last time I wrote about the 2004 U.S. Presidential Election it was in fear. I
thought that our days as Americans could be numbered here, due
to all the bad blood between America and France. However, the day after the
re-election of President George W. Bush, none of my French
friends or French family even called me. No one mentioned it the
next day at the boulangerie (bakery), and no one came to
cart me away. But, there was one person who asked me about
it-and a very dangerous person at that: a dentist with a working drill in his hand.
“Your election for President yesterday-what happened?”
“I-ont-no,” I tried to say with my mouth wide open, eyes too. I didn’t know what to
tell him. Besides, I couldn’t even talk and he had a potential WMD in his hand, for crying out loud! I tried anyway, giving
him my much practiced spiel: “I’m o-‘emocrat.”
“What?” he shouted in my face, taking the plastic thing out of my mouth.
“I’m a democrat.”
“Ah,” he said, and turned on the drill. But he had a smile on his face, so I knew I
was relatively safe.
So, as for Americans in France after the election? So far, so good. (But I am
knocking on wood (my head) as I write this.)
Life on the Other Side
Two days later, after the election, I was on a plane headed back to the states.
I thought it would be most interesting to be there just afterwards, in order to gage
the responses. I spoke to a good friend in New York who assured
me that life would never be the same for us Americans again, and
that I should be glad I’m in France, and not under what she
described as martial law in Manhattan…
My friends in Ohio were busy calling each other, having meetings, and trying to reach Michael Moore…
A friend in Los Angeles, California said that it was over, and now that it was, she had
to get to her hair stylist, nail technician, and dietician…
In Atlanta, Georgia a good friend told me to be careful, because I was in the
South….and that I was deep behind enemy lines. I said
“Surely, you’re overreacting.” His response?
“Trust me. Your fellow Americans can be hostile towards non-believers.”
I soon found out that he was right.
“Bring 'em on!"
I shrugged my shoulders and avowed not to be driven out of my own country and State.
Now, I know that Alabama is a Republican State. I’ve known that
for a long time. But being in Alabama Republican territory just
after what I’d call an historical Presidential Election, well
I’d never experienced that. The atmosphere was indeed a little
different.
I’d journeyed down to Tuscaloosa to visit my kid sister who’s pursuing a Law Degree.
She’s as bright as a morning star, having gone and gotten
herself a full scholarship to the University of Alabama…not to
mention that she already had a Masters Degree. Got to hand it to
her…she’s really going places. Okay, that’s enough. This should
earn me a place in her intimate circle once she’s a big time
fancy-smancy lawyer.
End of digression. Back to the story.
I’d eaten a nice meal with my sister and was trying to leave Roll-Tide land. The
problem was that during this particular weekend, there had been
a huge college football game, and the traffic heading out of the
city was unbelievable. While waiting in it, thinking about all
the things I would do when I finally made it out of Tide
Country, I started noticing something: Mostly all the cars in
front of me and beside me had the letter W on the back window.
Could it be? Nah, I told myself…but I kept looking. Sure enough, one car had gone even
further and erased any doubt I may have had before. His sticker
read W…for President. There it was, and there I
was, trapped in traffic full of W supporters.
As soon as I could, I pulled over and stopped at a gas station. I had to get some
aspirin. Was it the traffic? Was it the stress? Was it the W
stickers? Or was it simply my blue-cheese steak gone terribly wrong?
Five minutes later as I was re-entering my car, another W lover pulled up beside
me. We made eye contact. He looked at my rental car: No W
sticker. I felt like the new girl at band camp: What do I
have to do to fit in here? Quickly, I raised my finger and
on my dirty back window starting tracing a W there, while
the W lover in the Range Rover still eyed me. When I was
almost done I heard a voice from inside my head cry “sell-out.”
I stopped, erased my chagrin and drew a K beside it. The
W lover got out of his Range Rover, looked at it, then
looked at me, and smiled. So did I…and then I got the heck out of dodge.
Almost Forgiven?
Back in France. Life is the same. People are the same. The world continues. We don’t
even see that much of the Iraqi war on television, unlike
before the election. Holidays come and go, and then major
disaster strikes: the Tsunami. Millions of lives are affected,
and everyone in the world appears to come together.
My family and I were watching Tsunami coverage on the 8:00 news, not caring about the
food we were eating or the wine on the table. Our minds were on
the people suffering in Asia and around the world. We watched
the images and fought back tears, probably with thousands of
other families sitting around the dinner table.
The French journalist was reporting on the American Marine effort for the victims in
Banda Ache. He rode with them in their helicopter to distribute
fresh water, food, tents, and medical supplies. The journalist
spoke of how the Marines worked tirelessly to help the people
caught up in this disaster, and how much they are indeed needed.
We were touched. My heart swelled with pride to see my fellow Americans helping out.
I turned to my husband and said “It’s a miracle. The French news is reporting Americans
in a positive light!”
But, just afterwards, we heard the same journalist announce:
The American Government is making every effort to show that in spite of the
war in Iraq, Americans are capable of compassion, as well.
I dropped my fork. My husband dropped his head.
“Ouch! Capable of compassion? Capable?” I said, my head resting in my hands.
And in the infamous words of Don Michael Corleone I declared: “Just when I thought I
was out, they pull me back in!”
through my eyes...
