There are some who don’t much care about the American ideals outlined in President Bush’s speech. But there are also many like me, who believe that if you have the light, it’s not only wrong to keep that light hidden, but risky to do so.
As I drove home from Washington D.C. to Ohio on January 20, the words of George Walker Bush were fresh in my mind and remained so throughout the seven-hour trek. I was returning from the 55th Presidential Inauguration, an experience that I won’t soon forget. The Inaugural Address was an instant hit with me. The President delivered to the world an eloquent, high-minded, revolutionary message that clearly defined the man I already recognized. George W. Bush. A man of power. A man of faith. A man of vision.
The sun was setting and I was heading into the mountains. The roads were wet, and every passing car and truck sprayed my old Dodge Caravan with the muck of the highway — a very bad thing, because the washer fluid nozzle on the driver’s side of my van had given up the ghost on the way down. By the time I had passed Cumberland, the fog was rolling in; then the rains came — a nasty, dispiriting drizzle that glittered with ice crystals when I turned on my brights. I got behind a trucker and stayed there, even when he dropped his rig to a crawl at every ascent, because the spray from his truck served as a better window-wash than the rain itself. I turned on the radio, skipping music in favor of talk. I glided past weather reports — no need to hear what I could see — and finally found some news broadcasts, first Ann Compton, then the BBC, then others. They were already denouncing the speech. No surprises, save for the twists in the road ahead.
Even as I listened to the speech, standing a sea of people away from the Capitol steps, I was stunned by what I was hearing. This was not about America defending its borders, although that very real duty was in there. This was about spreading the American dream. This was about stamping out tyranny around the globe. This was about realizing the grand vision of the Founders. Liberty. Equality. Humanity. How could anyone object?
All who live in tyranny and hopelessness can know: the United States will not ignore your oppression, or excuse your oppressors. When you stand for your liberty, we will stand with you.
I don’t get out much. When I received my commemorative invitation to the Inauguration only two days before the event, it reminded me that this was something I really wanted to see, and perhaps it would be once-in-a-lifetime for me. Not since Reagan — a man whose true nobility eluded me until long after he rode off into the sunset — have I so appreciated a President as I do George W. Bush. I believe in him. I trust him. I connect with him. If in the end I realize I have been duped by a charlatan, then mark me as the greatest of fools. Bush is the reason that I packed my bags on a whim, jumped into my van on January 19, and sped my way to D.C., slowing only for some of that rotten weather in the mountains and the occasional radar gun.
I arrived after midnight at the house of friends who live in Arlington, where I was graciously put up for the night. Worn out from my harrowing journey, I suddenly found myself nestled in B&B-like accommodations, including a sofa bed, television, even a Bible, which I felt compelled to read before nodding off. The next morning, my friends gave me breakfast, keys to their house, and pointers on my next challenge, the roads of D.C. Off I went again, fumbling through the maze of highways and streets to meet more gracious friends, a family who barely knew me but treated me like one of their own. They had also braved the trip from Ohio and were now in Alexandria; this was their third Republican Inauguration.
We boarded the Metro at the end of the yellow line. The crowds were heavy, but well-mannered. Loaded down with cell phone, binoculars and winter wear, and fidgeting constantly with a camera, I dropped one of my gloves at least five times, which was always rescued by strangers. But there I was, at 3rd St. and Independence Ave., where I got through security without incident and arrived at the Mall just in time to see dignitaries walking out of the Capitol Building. The Mall was packed. There was a handful of protestors around, but they were ignored. The crowd was exuberant, even though its applause was muffled by heavy gloves. When Bush appeared, the crowd cheered. When Dick Cheney was sworn in, everyone whooped and hollered. It was that way after each song and prayer, after Bush’s Oath, and throughout his Inaugural Address. I wondered how it would sound on television — or rather, how would it be portrayed on television. (Most Ohioans, contrary to popular belief, know that what comes out of that little box is not quite reality.)
I couldn’t see much from where I stood, but the binoculars allowed me to make out the main players. The giant screen on the lawn was easier viewing, and that was good enough for me. I was already thrilled to be there, but the speech turned excitement and curiosity into a crowning experience. I am always aware that in merely being I am a part of history, but this was history. And for the first time, I was hearing a presidential speech without the immediacy of televised or cyberized commentary. These words were for me to soak in alone, and I had several hours of being alone on the drive home to mull them over.
We will persistently clarify the choice before every ruler and every nation: The moral choice between oppression, which is always wrong, and freedom, which is eternally right. America will not pretend that jailed dissidents prefer their chains, or that women welcome humiliation and servitude, or that any human being aspires to live at the mercy of bullies.
These were my ideals, sensible notions common at home, in church and in school, when I was young. I revered them then, I do so now. When I was growing up, and the whole world was convulsing over the threat of communism and Vietnam, this sort of rhetoric informed my world, small and insulated that it might have been. I sensed during those turbulent times that there were principles bigger than me, bigger than my view from the Midwest, things beyond my limited horizon. Besides God and family, I understood then what I still believe most people understand today: This is where our faith lies, in freedom. It may sound corny at times, even to me, but now, here in front of the Capitol steps, listening to Bush’s lofty words amidst people of every walk of life, it seemed as real and true as my very journey through life, at once provincial, worldly, and other-worldly.
America, in this young century, proclaims liberty throughout all the world, and to all the inhabitants thereof. Renewed in our strength — tested, but not weary — we are ready for the greatest achievements in the history of freedom.
The speech ended on a high note and with a raucous cheer from the crowd. Filled with optimism and a renewed sense of determination, I prepared for my excursion home, while my friends, after seeing me off on the Metro, headed uptown for the parade and a night of ballroom dancing. Soon I was back on the road, trying to keep my mind on the path that would lead me home. My roadmap seemed less than certain — a bit tattered from the trip down — but in America, where there is an abundance of good signage, forward vision and common sense make for sure navigators.
Out of D.C. and well into Maryland’s panhandle, I finally decided to listen in on what the world had to say about Bush’s historic Inaugural Address. Not surprisingly, the commentary on the radio was all bad. Ann Compton covered it well, but not without a parting shot that the President didn’t mention Iraq even once. The Brits seized on Bush’s unapologetic tone (the implication being, he should have been on his knees in penitence) and his "dangerous" rhetoric. One station aired John Kerry’s hollow words, and I couldn’t tell if they had come before or after the speech, but I wondered how they could be more important than the words of the man who actually won the Presidency! And, typically, Air America entertained conspiracy theorists and naysayers who ranted about the Bush administration’s "warmongering."
I turned the radio off, choosing to drive in silence. The prophets of doom threatened to ruin the moment for me, just as one of the protestors nearly did during Rev. Kirbyjon Caldwell’s magnanimous prayer, rudely shoving in people’s faces a flimsy cloth that read, "Bush is lying." Besides, there were treacherous roads ahead. I needed to concentrate on the real world.
And that is the problem, after all. There is a real world — bigger, more complex and more dangerous, than my little piece of America in the heart of Ohio. I realize there are many ways to think about what that means. I have friends who are staunch isolationists, who think that foreign involvement is just another way of saying "empire." I have friends who are idealistic globalists, who think that patriotism is a mental illness. There are some who don’t much care about American ideals, some who haven’t a clue what is going on, and some who just echo whatever’s in vogue. But there are also many like me, who believe that if you have the light, it’s not only wrong to keep that light hidden, "under a bowl," but risky to do so. Fight tyranny? That’s an obvious part of what we do. As Jonah Goldberg pointed out, Bush’s words were not really revolutionary at all. We have been fighting tyranny in all parts of the world — and, yes, at home — since we dared to undertake this monumental experiment. Freedom is what America is all about, and Americans have a solemn duty — a God-given calling — to carry that torch to all parts of the world.
Advancing these ideals is the mission that created our Nation. It is the honorable achievement of our fathers. Now it is the urgent requirement of our nation’s security, and the calling of our time.
President Bush clearly "gets it." That is more apparent to me now than ever. After managing my way from D.C. to familiar territory, rain and snow and ice in tow, I was grateful to be back home, in bed, safe in Ohio, safe — despite what John Kerry and his ilk allege — in the greatest country in the world, under the aegis of a leader who, for the next four years, has matters well in hand.
siriano@amsiriano.com
http://www.amsiriano.com/
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