The night was clear and crisp, as are typical nights during an Arizona autumn. The air was tense with expectation and doubt. Families around the country were glued to their television sets, watching news anchors deliver the same message over and over. It was election night in the United States.
For slightly more than half the country, it was a night of glorious victory, as Republicans knocked off Senate and House of Representatives races from coast to coast; the gay marriage ban passed in every state where it was on the ballot; and our president became president-elect. Champagne corks popped in the homes of those supporting our commander in chief as the results became official.
Unfortunately for the remaining 49.9 percent of the country -- as Election Day 2004 grew older -- it became a night of soul-crushing defeat. As the votes poured in and networks colored the U.S. map a piercing red, those of us in this second group experienced the sharp anguish of disappointment.
Being a rational, centered person, I spent the majority of Tuesday night curled in the fetal position, weeping. Overcome with emotional foolishness, I made idle threats to leave the country for four years, or perhaps forever.
It is easy to run from failures, or to resort to hate, anger and debilitating sadness. The night of Nov. 2, (I am ashamed to say) I cycled through all of these possible reactions before collapsing into bed in a fit of tears.
As Nov. 3 drew to a close, I realized life just might continue.
Those of us on the losing team have a hard job ahead. My natural inclination is to sink into despair; whereas other Democrats I know are already packing their bags for Canada. Yet this is not the proper course of action. Running from the scene of the defeat -- mentally or physically -- does not do a bit of good.
George W. Bush has inherited (for a second term) a nation severed into two nearly equal halves. All we Democrats can reasonably hope is that he recognizes the division and understands he is not just the leader of the half who voted for him.
This is a tenuous hope on which to base the next four years -- which is why Democrats absolutely must pick ourselves off the floor, strap on our Birkenstocks and figure out what to do next. The best way to get over a loss is to get back in and play the game.
The next four years look bleak, especially if, like me, you are in the small slice of Americans who place environmental and women's issues above the war on terror. As tempting as it is to curl up like one of those little gray bugs at which kids like to poke sticks, I know that will never affect results.
To my fellow Democrats: I too made a pledge on Nov. 2 to move to Kyrghizstan and dedicate the rest of my life to despising Bush. What I ask now is that you, like me, break that pledge.
To the Republicans: congratulations. But please, before gloating, pasting every open pole with Bush posters or taunting your Democrat friends, remember we are in mourning. Impassioned fights are the hardest to lose gracefully.
We are all in this together -- Republicans and Democrats alike -- and we must find some common ground. It is tempting to behave like huffy children and insist on pushing our separate, hard-line agendas, but it will benefit no one and will make the division between us insurmountable.
I was angry with Americans on Tuesday night for their decisions at the voting booth. Now, I am angry with myself for resorting to pettiness and blind anger.
Katie Kelberlau is a history and religious studies senior. If you would like to join her to wallow in sorrow, or just taunt her with victorious glee, e-mail katherine.kelberlau@asu.edu.
