Two weeks ago, I was in France, perusing the magazine selection at the Marseille train station. Not a single magazine in English. In the political section, Barack Obama’s big shining smile caught my eye from one of the covers. “BARACK OBAMA,” the headline read, “Le Kennedy Black.” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
As an incredibly important election approaches, a war rages and a recession continues to gut the middle class, I’ve been watching from my detached European bubble; the only first-hand affects being the constant rape of my bank account by the worsening euro/dollar ratio and the constant call by Europeans – be they friends, strangers on the train or concession stand vendors – to defend, define or rebuke my country.
“You realizzz,” said my opinionated French roommate Guillaume, “You have to vote for Obama. You need a black president to restore Europe’s faith in you.”
I nodded in agreement, also kind of thinking: you know, it’s not really up to me. He took a drag off his cigarette, shook his head and continued emphatically, “You realizzz, if you fuck this up, we will never trust you again.”
“I know,” I said shaking my head, “God, do I know.”
On the train from Tilburg to Amsterdam, flying past vast green fields, sheep and windmills, my American friend Nate and I were discussing the most recent Democratic presidential debate. Nate is an Obama man, but likes to play devil’s advocate with me in political discussion, mostly to piss me off.
“Excuse me,” said the man in the seat across the aisle, putting down his newspaper. “Where are you from?”
“The States,” I replied. People here get incredibly irritated when you say “America,” as it is a continent not a country. Sigh.
“I couldn’t help but overhear,” he said in perfect English, moving into our side of the train, “But I find this very interesting. My mother and sister live in New Jersey.”
After some brief hating on New Jersey on my part (New York, represent!), he gave us his take on the U.S. elections.
“Hillary, she just seems so…synthetic. Yes, she’s a great lady and she has accomplished much, but there is something tangible about Obama that she just can’t quite reach.”
I told him I agreed completely.
“I hope Obama wins,” he said, “I think it would be good for you, for the world.” He got off at the next stop and said good-bye.
In Europe, I’ve been existing in cultures with thriving, celebrated and powerful middle-classes.
“We don’t have a lot, but everyone has enough,” explained my Danish roommate, Marianne. “I think that’s how it should be. It works for us anyway.”
“Bernanke finally said the ‘R’ word,” said my dad on the phone last week, giving me my U.S. perspective update. “R,” of course, meaning “recession.” The same word that has been sliding across the bottom of my CNN International screen for the past month, accompanied by the words “U.S.” and “economy.” Two months ago, when I was in Vienna, my father, a 52-year old college-educated computer programmer, along with hundreds of his fellow co-workers, was laid off from a large music and entertainment retail corporation he had worked at for over 20 years.
“Don’t worry,” was the response from an international call center after I received a gut-clenching e-mail about the lay off. “I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.” The proverbial rug being pulled out from under the middle-class had hit home, our home.
Later that night, I was wandering the streets of Vienna in search of some comforting falafel with my Russian friend, Max. We settled for a kebab stand with feta sandwiches. It was 2 a.m., we couldn’t really expect much.
“Where are you from?” asked the kebab vendor.
“New York.”
“What are you doing here?” he said jokingly.
“I really don’t know, man. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“You.” He pounded the counter emphatically with his fist. “OBAMA!”
“What?”
“You!” Pound. “Obama!”
“What the fuck is he talking about?” I whispered to Max who shook his head. “Vote?” I asked.
“Yes! Vote! You vote?”
“Yes.”
“Then you vote Obama! For all of us. You must.” Another pound. “OBAMA!” He shouted, raising his fist in the air.
“Ok man, no problem.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.” We took our feta sandwiches and walked back to our hostel.
“That guy was jokes,” said Max through a mouthful of feta.
So here is what I propose: let’s take some advice from Europe. They have a thriving economy. They are happier than us. They are healthier than us. They have no war or Katrina or deficit to be held responsible for. So I am keeping my promise to my roommates, to my European friends, and to the kebab guy. I am voting for Obama. If we plan to restore America in any sense to the rest of the world, we really have no other choice.
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