The Year of the Underdogs

Who could have seen it coming? In 2008 the N.Y. Giants won the Super bowl, the Phillies won The World Series – and Barack Hussein Obama, a lanky African American kid from Hawaii will be the 45th President of the United States – it just goes to show, in America, anything is possible.

Regardless of which candidate folks cheered for to win the White House, after the historic presidential election of 2008, every American can proudly claim victory. For our guiding principle, a creed laid down by great visionaries in their unlikely experiment in Democracy holds true; that in fact we do “hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal.” Although there are times when we might question our adherence to our Founder’s vision – this is not one of those times. And if we have in the past fret over the condition of our Democratic process, the reports are in – our Democracy is alive and well.

All across America, enduring the elements in long lines that wrapped around street corners, waiting eight hours in some places, folks came out to cast their vote like never before in American history. Voters young and old from all backgrounds convened at polling sites, sometimes as early 6:00 in the morning. Some had newspapers and packed lunches by their side. While some pushed strollers, others pushed elderly grandparents or the handicapped. I never witnessed such a voting frenzy to such a degree in America, though I longed to, especially after an enlightening trip two summers ago to Sierra Leone when I volunteered as an international observer of that poor country’s first crack at Democracy. These people were real underdogs – you could usually see it in their somber faces – but not on Election Day.


It was a wonderful spectacle. Watching a country vote for the first time made me appreciate our form of government; and I’ll never forget how outspokenly proud they were to be following the American model of democracy. They were empowered and they looked at us with wordless expressions, like a boy in little league does when he proudly glances at his father in the stands looking for approval after a good play. After a long civil war ripped through their small country on the African shore leaving it battered and before that, living under tyrannical, power hungry tribal rulers, it was the first time the citizen’s voices would be heard.

The sight was sad and astonishing. Lining muddy clay streets that flowed with rusty water from the rain on that humid morning, every fifth voter waiting in those endless lines seemed to be missing at least one appendage from the massacre that took place not long ago. You passed them hobbling in the street all the time. Propping the poor souls up, as they stood in the voting lines, makeshift canes were fashioned from branches or scraps of wood from one of the flattened buildings. Many structures were like that. One questioned the stability of the taller structures that still stood; ripped by shrapnel a few missed entire sections where piles of rubble lay in front. In the heart of Freetown where the streets were paved there was sporadic craters from mortar-fire, creating impossible potholes that slowed careening cabs. A sickening, synthetic-smokiness lingered as the remnants of war filled certain sections of the city, like burnt plastic. But voters stood ecstatic in the middle of it, in chaotic lines that seemed to have no beginning or end of which you couldn’t tell where one began and another ended. After they voted they proudly displayed their purple, ink-stained index finger as evidence of their task completed to the others waiting, who shook their heads in happy affirmation of a hard-fought victory. The place bustled excitedly; it seemed they had total disregard for their hellish surroundings, as if they couldn’t even see or smell it. They came to vote. Where the long lines bottlenecked, I saw two young men hoisting a hefty elderly woman over a porch wall so she could get to the polls. One by one, they helped those that were too weak to fight through the conventional way. Noticing our credentials draped from our necks, nearly every one of them joyfully repeated their honored motto, “Free and Fair – Free and Fair Elections.” Understandably skeptical of their government, they seemed assured by our presents.

Although there were observers from around the world the natives specifically questioned our group from the States about our voting process. They were eager to get it right and seemed to look up to us as the stewards of democracy and freedom. Small friendly groups surrounded us in the streets just to make conversation, as if something about America would rub off on them. This was their endeavor in Democracy. The startling thing was – election observers from other countries stood with them and participated in asking us about our experience. I was proud, humbled and slightly ashamed. Unlike them, I knew Americans lack that degree of gravity concerning our democratic process. These people took nothing for granted. I felt like a spoiled kid. It took two years until our election in 2008 for that remorse to completely subside, replaced by a sense of worthiness. The government “of the people,” of which “all men are created equal” – America, has lived up to its name.