By Laurel Mylonas-Orwig
WASHINGTON D.C. — It’s 3:45 A.M. on a Tuesday morning. The temperature outside the Shady Grove Metro Station hovers near 19 degrees; when the wind kicks up, it feels more like 9 degrees. It’s a good morning for any sensible person to be tucked into a toasty bed.
I am a sensible person, but today I’m waiting in the pre-dawn chill, far from my bed. That’s because this Tuesday happens to be Jan. 20, and today, Barack Obama will be worn in as the nation’s first African American president.
I’m not the only one facing the cold this morning. Already, a line of more than 400 extends back from the gated station doors. More people are arriving every minute.
It is this devotion that has fueled the meteoric rise of Barack Obama. From a little-known state senator to President in merely 12 years, his ascent boggles the mind. Yet standing here, surrounded by supporters willing to put their lives on hold to stand in the cold for hours on end, merely to watch the swearing-in on a giant TV screen, I understand. They have come because Obama has sparked something within them that many had forgotten: The hope that change can come.
By 5:15 A.M., I’m in the heart of D.C. If 400 people seemed impressive, that number is nothing compared to the sight that greets me here. Crowds extend literally as far as the eye can see, in every direction, jostling along the sidewalks, jockeying for places in line.
I’m one of the lucky 240,000 ticket holders, and I join the cue for my section several blocks back from where it begins. Those at the front have already been waiting for hours, but no one seems to mind. Strangers squeeze together, shielding each other from the biting wind as they swap stories. One couple tells me how they parked outside the city at midnight and walked several miles to get here. They flip through digital pictures of the throngs already lining the parade route at 2 A.M. It is a surreal sight.
The hours pass fairly quickly, and soon the gates are open to the waves of people waiting to be admitted to the Silver section. At 8:30 A.M., we’re relatively late to the party, though—the length of the Mall, open to the public for the first time in inauguration history, is already near capacity, a sea of fluttering flags.
As the minutes tick by, the anticipation in the crowd grows thick enough to taste. Once politicians begin arriving, they can barely stand it. Cheers of “Obama!” and “Yes we can!” sweep down the Mall, echoing with the power of 2 million excited voices.
At 11:30 A.M., the magic moment arrives. “Ladies and gentlemen…” the announcer intones. That’s all it takes—suddenly, the roar is deafening. A young woman to my left jumps up and down, tears streaming down her cheeks. Behind me, a man clad in an Obama knit cap raises his hands to sky, shouting, “Hallelujah, hallelujah!” A couple in front of me holds hands, swaying back and forth.
It is nearly impossible not to be overwhelmed by the magnitude of the moment, moved by the outpouring of support the new President has elicited. Yet it is almost too much to absorb or understand in a single moment. I imagine this is a mark that all truly historical events carry: only in hindsight can we grasp the enormity of what has taken place. For my part, I am grateful to have been there and been a part of it, and hopeful of what this signifies for the future.
If so many can find one voice for a common goal, it means that President Obama is right: We can change our society, our country, our world. We only need to believe that.
