A picture of President-elect Barack Obama found its way onto the wall of an emergency shelter in El Salvador. Photo By Luis Galdamez
I was in El Salvador recently, and the talk was all about elections—ours and theirs. They were preparing for across-the-board voting, from the president down through legislative and municipal offices, the kind of potential housecleaning that comes along only once every 15 years. Read the rest of this entry »
In the past 12 months, as we’ve followed the incredible US presidential campaigns, I have periodically paused to try and “feel” this historical time. I can truly say that November 4, 2008, ranks right up there with other historical moments that I have experienced in my lifetime. A man on the moon, even before I realized the significance of what we were watching on the neighbor’s tiny black and white TV screen. I cried during Nelson Mandela’s inauguration because I truly never believed we would see an independent South Africa in my lifetime. The fall of the Berlin Wall. Who, in the worst of the cold war, would have imagined we would freely travel behind the Iron Curtain? An African woman Nobel Prize winner–despite the odds that place the African woman at the top of the disenfranchised and disadvantaged list. And yesterday, the first African-American President of the world’s slightly-shaky only superpower. I cried again, because–like many others–I never thought I would see this in my lifetime. I can now dare hope that this will not be “only in America,” but that we will see the same sort of unity of purpose–to live democractic ideals–in other lands that we care so deeply about. This is what history feels like: like HOPE!
Muthoni Muriu, director of Oxfam America’s overseas programs, talks about why the US presidential election matters to people around the world—especially those living in poverty:
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Liberty, rights, and democracy: Villagers in the Democratic Republic of Congo embraced those ideals when they turned out to vote in 2006. Photo by Liz Lucas for Oxfam America
At the end of my street, a healthy new fall crop has sprouted—of signs. What’s for sale? Politicians. At least that’s what the disenchanted folks on the other end of the line hinted at Monday night when my husband and I volunteered to work on a phone bank at our local party headquarters. The mission was to call as many unregistered voters as we could in three hours and convince them that signing up to exercise their electoral right was a breeze—and worth the effort.
“I’m not a voter,” said one lady, making her status sound like a badge of honor. “I don’t like anyone.”
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