Having just returned from Spain where it has been my pleasure to have formed relationships with my professional colleagues over many years, we speak frequently and candidly of politics.
The project that brings us together for these many years is government-sponsored, surviving changes in both national and regional governments. Many of these colleagues are of the Spanish equivalent of the middle class (albeit with health care); some are life-long civil servants; some have not had their jobs continue when the political winds have changed. Throw in an occasional cultural minister here and there and a regional president or two and these acquaintances span all sides of the political landscape. As the years have gone by, the discussions have become more open, more personal and more difficult.
On 9-11, after the attack on the World Trade Center, the first international call to our office in NYC was from the President of the region where our project is based. Others soon followed: Were we safe? What did we need? Solidarity. We are with you.
And they were with us. Spain knew all too well the carnage of terrorism. ETA, the Basque separatist group, had killed hundreds of Spaniards in politically motivated attacks. They understood the horror; their solidarity was unwavering.
Until Iraq, that is. Until Spanish soldiers were dying in an ill-conceived war that seemed to have little purpose and no end.
I remember talking with a colleague after no WMDs were found yet the war continued to escalate: "So the US wants to be the world’s police and have democracy installed as the only governing system. Fine. Just do it without our soldiers, without Spanish blood. This is not our war; it is yours."
On 3-11, just thirty months later to the day, I would place the calls to Madrid after the bombings at Atocha: Are you safe? What do you need? Solidarity. We are with you.
Only 911 days separated the two incidents.
My reciprocity of support engendered mixed feelings. Personally, the feelings were accepted; politically, they were rejected.
At the time of the attack on Atocha, the conservatives of the Partido Popular (the PP) were in power. Aznar, the Prime Minister, was an ally of Bush and, by all reasonable accounts, well on his way to re-election -- which was in three days. But Aznar made an incredible, if understandable, blunder. Aznar assumed that the bombings were the product of ETA, although the usual warning in advance had not taken place and ETA denied all involvement.
For over a year, ninety percent of the Spaniards had been against the war in Iraq.
Two recent opinion polls show overwhelming Spanish opposition to the war. A poll released on Saturday, taken by Spain's largest-circulation newspaper El Pais, showed 92 percent opposed to the war, with 80 percent rejecting Aznar's stance.
Whether Aznar made a cold political calculation in rushing to blame ETA rather than the possibility of some other terrorist organization or merely based his conclusions on the apparent similarities to previous bombings matters little. His rush to place the blame cost him – and his party – dearly not only nationally but, ultimately, regionally as well.
Using data from postal ballots and computing the results of the last three general elections, researchers at the university have now come to the conclusion that the Partido Popular would have won the elections by between 42 to 45% as opposed to 37% for the socialists if the bombings had not taken place.
Spaniards opposed the war in Iraq and detested being lied to about the consequences of Aznar’s blind support of Bush. And I began to enter my own -- if not cold – then definitely chilly war over America’s policies with my colleagues.
Forward to our election in 2004. The general Spanish sentiment echoed the Daily Mirror headline: How can 59 million people be so dumb? My friends were aghast; how could we reelect this arrogant, imperialistic President? They had rejected their own administration; why couldn’t we? I could offer no reasonable explanation.
Fast forward to 2007. Finally we have (or so I think) gotten resigned to the Bush years and are more focused on my colleagues’ political landscape and less on mine. As usual we have a wonderful Spanish lunch – I recommend training for these lunches, as they are daunting – when one of my friends says, "So, how does it feel to lose your constitution and habeas corpus in one week?"
Trying to make light I responded, "Can you imagine the leader of the free world deciding which torture is appropriate?"
The table fell silent until one person said, "You really don’t understand, do you? You are not the leader of the free world anymore."
Anecdotal, yes. But I think it expressed a global sentiment.
Because of my professional relationships there, I read the local newspapers as well as the national. In October of 2008 I read an op-ed piece in a local paper that basically stated if we Americans didn’t get this election right, it was over. Either we wanted to change our policies or we did not. There were no third chances.
Finally, we got one right. But I didn’t know how right until this last week.
In another wonderful Spanish lunch last Thursday, we talked of Obama. Deprecatingly, but with a true concern, I suggested that the election might not be a reflection of our ability overcome our prejudicial history but, rather, of the abysmal nature of the Bush presidency.
My most respected colleague said, "Even you do not understand how truly transformational this is. France, Spain, England – we all talk of equality but we have yet to truly practice it. As nations we are much more of mixed cultures and races than you and yet we have never, ever come close to what you have done in electing Obama. His intelligence transcends the issue of race and his personal history negates the conventional basis of political power. He is a once in a generation leader who can transform the world. What you have done, whether you know it or not, is the equivalent of the French revolution."
I was stunned. I realized how ordinary people in the larger world want Obama to succeed, want him to be a catalyst for resurrecting our better selves and our better ideals. Yes, my Spanish friends have reservations on our current economic policies and real questions over extending the war in Afghanistan. But, to a person, there were no reservations about Obama’s capacity to be a transformative figure at this moment in time.
At least in Spain, my friends want the US to regain our moral authority, to once again show that liberty, equality and the rule of law is possible. I also realized that their expectations of Obama may be even greater than ours and I was humbled by their hope that with his ready smile and outstretched hand, his commanding intelligence and a willingness to listen, our new President will light the path to the promise of better tomorrows.
Yes, world leaders have scrambled to share in those ready smiles, to stand beside Obama as the photographers take those extraordinary pictures of faces full of hope, respect and camaderie that replace the strained and diffident faces that surrounded the last administration on the world’s stage. As a NYT op-ed piece stated today:
The salutary fact is that when you look at the grinning group photograph, there is only one face you want to see. This conference was about saving the world, but more important for the participants, it was about saving their political lives. Mr. Obama is the only popular politician left in the world. He would win an election in any one of the G-20 countries, and his fellow world leaders will do anything to take home a touch of that reflected popularity.
We may be in the rare position of having an American president who has a deeper mandate among people who could never vote for him than with those who did.
Despite the glibness of the Times piece, that last sentence may be true. My friends would vote for Obama if given the choice and seem genuinely thrilled for – if not a tad envious of – those of us who could.
It feels good to be an American again.