On
Tuesday, the American people has spoken. The outcome has been received very differently
throughout the country. I do not want to add to the countless comments on the
election. But how did it feel to be in New York, at the heart of the grand final?
Do
you know these days, which seemingly never end? On which you basically spend your time
waiting and waiting and waiting? On which you are checking your watch every 5
minutes, to realize that only 5 minutes have passed? On which you learn what eternity
must feel like? Well, that day I checked my watch often. Very often.
Election day
started early for me. Triathlon swim training at 6 am. But already there, you
could feel that it was going to be a special day. Tension was in the air and water. The
election was at the center of every conversation. And this should not change the
entire day and night – and not even the entire following week. Classes were taking place.
Yet, most of them were recorded, acknowledging that many students were participating
in voter protection or otherwise engaged in the election process. Hence, law
school was somehow lifeless, not as busy as usual; rather a ghost-town.
Speaking
of ghost-town, finally, when classes ended (early – the professor had an
important appointment – who knows what…) at 6 pm, we headed downtown. Downtown,
where both candidates were holding their election parties less than two miles apart from another.
New York, normally known for its busy and hectic traffic, seemed almost like a
normal city. True, there was probably still as much traffic as in a normal city
during rush hour. But that traffic is probably attributable to the fact that the Rangers were
playing (who went to watch ice hockey on this unique night???). But compared
to New York standards, it was calm and quiet. Calm and quiet, but electric. You could basically
feel the excitement in the air. It was everywhere, despite the lack of the usual crowd. On our way downtown, we were asked multiple times whether we have casted our vote.
Our first stop was the block party in front of Jacob K.
Javits Convention Center, which was hermetically cordoned by the police and
hidden behind several rows of heavy, sand filled dump trucks, provideding protective barriers. Having passed a one-hour labyrinth trough various security
checks, we soon learned that the huge crowd of hungry and nerve-wrecked
Clinton-supporters had already bailed out the few overpriced food trucks and
that there was only a single, but huge screen, with subtitles covering the most recent
polls. The crowd was hence nervously checking the first results and polls on
their mobiles – nervously skimming either New York Times’ live coverage or text messages from home
(in my case Germany and UK!).
Since we were curious about how the rest of New Yorkers experienced the election, we decided
to leave our super comfortable standing spot surrounded - that was by now surrounded by already less optimistic Hilary Clinton supporters – and to head further downtown. The streets were even more deserted than before. Arriving in one of the numerous bars, we realized where everyone was:
inside, eating, drinking, cheering for every vote Hilary Clinton would win, for every
State, which would turn blue on the TV screens. Soon however, as the night wore on, and as the map
turned more and more into red, it became more and more quiet. Eyes turned more and
more red as well. Tears. Silence. Shock. Frustration. Disbelief. Devastation. Angst. And still shock. Yes, New York – and this definitely proved true in the bar and everywhere else I went that night – was clearly in the hand of
Democrats. No-one here had expected this outcome. And no-one here did like this outcome.
The
subway-ride home was even ghostlier than our rides during the preceding hours. Only people wearing blue, wearing Hillary badges, were on the train. Silence. People were staring at their mobiles in disbelief. One man read the Tuesday morning newspaper - it seemed as if it would allow him to deny and ignore what had just become a new reality.
After stepping out of the subway, we passed College Walk on Columbia Campus. In almost every
window, you could still see the flickering of TV screens. There had been still no concession speech. More than 200 Columbia students
had gathered spontaneously at the heart of the Campus, protesting against the outcome, with chants such as “Fuck Trump”. The entire situation felt surreal. Just in this moment a friend texted me: "It's surreal."
The
next morning. Unlike the sunny days before, a grey, rainy, depressing November
day. Class. There was only one topic. THE Election. In Constitutional Law, our
usually lively, energetic, enthusiastic, but now pensive, sad, and depressed professor
dedicated his entire lesson to an ad-hoc hour-long comment on advantages and disadvantages of the American democratic system. The
faculty had organized a joint breakfast, creating a space for informal
discussions. Professors, staff members, students – it was a diverse group, who joint, seeking to understand what this exceptional night meant for America. Fears
were bravely expressed. Thoughts on democracy and our fundamental values were exchanged.
Many important and right words were found. And again, tears were running. It was a moment, in
which you realized what it meant to have a school community. It was a moment,
in which you realized what community means. Student organizations held similar
events throughout the entire week.
On
my way to dinner, back downtown. New York had already shaken of last night's ghostly paralysis. Shock,
frustration and devastation have turned into anger. Anti-Trump protests were clogging the streets of Manhattan. People seemed almost relieved to loudly shout out their
discontent with the president-elect. Again, this is New York.
Now, few days after election. Slowly,
slowly, slowly normality returns. Of course, the election is still omnipresent, yet,
with a slightly less emotional tone. A more rationally motivated search for answers and explanations has begun. And Columbia
University lives up to its ideals and main function: providing a space for
discourse and discussion. Everyone is becoming active. Everyone is getting involved. Even fun
events, like Open Mic, are used to reflect together, to share experiences,
thoughts and feelings about election night, and to revisit values of the American
and the democratic societies.
On
Tuesday, the American people has spoken. Now, the world discusses. New York
discusses. University Columbia discusses. Is this what democracy feels like?
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