So… sitting here in the US of A, in California, in particular (gold rich in delegates for both Democrats and Republicans), it’s Super Tuesday. Basically a national primary. When 24 states vote for more than 3,100 convention delegates – the nominated candidates for the parties get directly chosen by these delegates; ‘the people’ cast their preferences – and we might know by the end of the night who the Republican candidate is, though we might not know the Democrat candidate (since Clinton and Obama are so close, it may be finally decided only at the Democratic national convention in August). A strangely confusing process.
Initially, I found the process more than confusing: it felt nasty, brutish and unbearably long (Indian elections might be nasty, brutish and bloody, but at least they don’t sputter on interminably). Candidates were slinging mud at each other, it seemed more like personality clashes rather than ideological debates, and nobody really seemed to define this amorphous word ‘change’ that was being bandied about furiously. Change not just for this country, but irrevocably, intrinsically, for the rest of the world.
It’s felt better over the past few weeks. Clinton and Obama seem to have quietened down their rhetoric against each other, and the Republicans are now busy slanging each other off, a process I enjoy (chuckle).
However, what’s really buoying my spirits as an inveterate politics junkie, is that the spirit of this country seems to be turning political. In a way that I have never seen before in all my trips here, and in ways that American friends themselves are feeling optimistic about. Politics is getting talked about. After all, as the Guardian puts it, this election has created a tableau like no other: those standing for President include a woman, a black man, a Mormon, a one time prisoner of war and a Baptist minister. No matter who wins, history will be made. Particularly if it’s the Democrats.
And here I am, the junkie whose rush comes from my conversations with the passionate auto driver in a dusty ride from MG Road to Koramangala, or the fiery isthri walla down the road, or the feminist panchayat leader in the middle of north Karnataka (who may not know the word but does the deed)… here I am, firm believer in Indian democracy – with all its ills and spills and grease and slime – a believer because my people are political. They care. They care, passionately, fiercely, deeply. Often disastrously and despairingly. But they care.
And finally, I find that we may not be that different from those rushing out to vote here in America, today. Finally, politics matters. It might be time for change. It might even be time for transformation.
Frankly, from the perspective of the rest of the world: it’s about bloody time.