I was at my desk, doing who knows what on my computer, when I heard the roar of crowds from the streets below. I hope it’s not a protest. My husband sitting across from me on the armchair, heard it too, and knew.
I jumped up to open the window.
He swiped his phone.
“Biden has won!” he said.
He rushed to the TV, I rushed out on the balcony. And there it was: the sounds of cheers: horns honking, people clapping on the streets below, dancing on the rooftops, banging pots. I felt a rush, I called out over and over again: Yoo-hoo. Yoo-hoo. I must have given my husband the tightest of hugs, then grabbing him and my mask and shoes, ran out the door. I have to be out there. I have to join the celebration. Our doorman waved, “You gotta see what’s going on. People are dancing.”
It was like nothing I had ever seen. We were walking on the sidewalks, waving our arms, and shouting with joy, “We did it. We did it.” My parents had raised me to be lady-like. A lady doesn’t scream on the streets. And a 69-year old lady definitely doesn’t. But I believe my mom and dad, smiling from above, were nodding with approval. At the Stop sign, a woman looked at me and said, “I can now breathe.” “Exhale” I said. A truck passed by and started honking and all other cars and buses on cue, joined in as pedestrians clapped and cried with joy. You didn’t need trumpets, drums or trombones, the horns provided the orchestra.
Never had I seen anything like it. Not after the announcement of an election outcome, not ever.
When Nixon won, we spent the evening in our living room, listening to his acceptance speech, while New York remained quiet.
Carter beat Ford, and we caught the news in the early hours of the morning, New York was quiet.
Reagan beat Carter, Bush beat Dukakis, Clinton beat Bush, New York stayed quiet.
Some nail-biting tension over Bush v. Gore, but that was it.
Obama beat McCain, then Romney, and we cheered in silence.
Trump won over Hilary, and I cried, in silence.
But this spontaneous eruption of dancing on the streets! The blowing of the Shofar in Grand Army Plaza! This will go down in history. The last time people came out on the streets to celebrate the moment was when World War II ended. And on November 7, 2020, they were cheering for Joe.
Later I would learn that CNN had called the winner at 11:24 a.m., cell phones dinged the breaking news, and in that second, a spontaneous cheer erupted across New York. In that moment, I realized I wasn’t the only one feeling exhilarated, every man and woman on the street shared my exhilaration, they felt the way I did, they were as ecstatic as I. What a feeling of community. If it wasn’t for COVID, I am sure we’d be hugging every stranger on the sidewalk.
I came home, pulled out my prayer rug, and facing East, said a special Prayer of Thanks. Thank you God! Thank you God! Thank you for saving our nation.
On this Thanksgiving, there will be a lot of thank yous going around our small table, with just a few of us. I am thankful to all those people who made this happen: who campaigned, donated, wrote letters, made phone calls, went door-to-door, registered voters, and got out the vote. Thank you, Stacy Abrams, for giving us Georgia, and Rashida Talib for Michigan. But I am especially grateful to the African American community. They gave us Joe Biden. Let us not forget that. They are our saviors. We owe them big time. President-Elect Biden, please do what it takes to make sure that the African American community is not left behind. My fellow Americans, it’s payback time. Let each of us deploy our resources: time, skill, money, whatever, to de-institutionalize racism, to give the Black community their basic rights; rights we all take for granted. Rights to decent housing, access to healthcare, education, and protection against discrimination and harassment. Yes We Can de-institutionalize racism.
I am rolling up my sleeves, ready to roll.
Meanwhile, savor the moment and have a Happy Thanksgiving.
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