Yes we can?

At first I was not really sure why I wanted to go to Chicago. It was like I was somehow empty and needed to be filled, be a part of something, fill up with that, hang on to that.

Wrigley has stands across the road from the field that sit on the roof; the McDonalds has baseballs at its entrance. Everything in the neighborhood it would seem is made from the same red brick. The railcar moans above the ground in and out of buildings. Subconsciously a pattern begins to develop. Like as a child on my bunk bed the 8pm train, or the “yes we can, yes we can”.


At the corner of Michigan Ave. and Jackson Blvd. revelers begin to congregate, Obama motifs everywhere, discarded, on flat chests, over big bosoms, on top of heads. The crazies are here too calling out for anyone to listen. Merchandise hawkers every ten feet, wary tourists with the careful eye so as not to purchase the wrong part of history. Times are bad economically, the greenback not given out so foolishly to the container ships from China.

“Yes we can, yes we can”, as the railcar clumps off in the distance. We make our way down Michigan Ave. Against the park. Everyone has a camera, a digital camera, a recorder, a zoom. It occurs to me that if the technology is right, in the future they could recreate this whole day exactly as it happened. Perhaps my grandchild could step into this moment and watch me, follow me, but be unable to stop me, or hug me.


People congregate around the giant bean mirror, the television truck generators hum, a space is cornered off for live hits from networks around the world. And we enter some hyper fractal dimension under the bean.

“Yes we can, yes we can”, as the railcar bangs through the last light of the day. We stand on top of the bridge look down into the empty streets guarded by Chicago’s finest proud and dreaming. CNN’s frantic newscast echoes across the open grass, I believe it is Wolf Blitzer’s voice. I’m not sure when he rests. If we were to look left over our back shoulder we would see U-S-A carved into an office tower by shutting off various lights. I am reminded of a display of dead birds, feet cocked up.



Our waiter is from Montreal; he serves me the worst salad amid cheering of victory in Pennsylvania. The moment is ruined. Someone takes a picture of the salad. I have seen my grandmother eat raw hamburger on a buttered cracker, this salad feels similar to that memory.


Outside the temperature has dropped. By sticking to the fence line we move faster through the crowd. I can count on my finger how many people didn’t move out of the way.



“Yes we can, yes we can”, as the railcar waddles through the city like a bad henchman. The crowd begins to bottleneck at the bridge. Just as we break onto it police horses guide across the entrance, butt-to-butt they split our group. One horse in the most polite of horse manners lifts his tail and poops. I look into his eyes, a horse always looks stressed worried. Friends manage to sneak by, but I can’t help wondering how the excrement spread across the park a footstep greener in some parts.


Security is minimal and guns and bombs do cross my mind. I’m not sure if I would have thought of this before 911. We end up by some trees in front of a large screen projecting CNN. The crowd is large the biggest I have ever seen. But we are all watching CNN together. It is at this point I quietly think this would be better in my living room, feet up, cold beer. This all changes when Obama is declared President. The elation folds over me, the soft putter of water, the whole night sky, which turns philosophical questions into hair on ends. This is the event, Jesse cries, McCain squints through an concession speech, we applaud.


CNN flutters off to an empty stage draped with American flags. I briefly think of having a coffee afterward. Obama appears says his speech, I find myself for most of the speech jealous of America. Where is Canada? What is our inspiration? Where is our merchandise? Where is our streets filled? Where is our smile? Where is our challenge? Where is our “yes we can, yes we can”?

A beer after all the song and dance gives way to knowledge of my own primal weakness. Yes it was history! Yes it was a non-violent revolution of supposed change. But what this made me realize more than anything else is how deeply we all feel alone. We are all on each others food chain. For one brief moment we were united by this great man, united by our suffering. It was great, but tomorrow I go back to loneliness until the next brief moment when as a human race we pretend to change together. For as the railcar collides further around the same thought out path, we continue to chant, “yes we can, yes we can”.


Perhaps Canada has it right, in its own modest way. Steady as she goes. Nothing too high, nothing too low.