My Last Full Measure of Devotion

Have you ever driven through a thick fog that your sense of direction has been utterly compromised,  when you feel trapped by an unseen hand that hinders your ability to see?  That unsettling, anxious feeling that comes as you are engulfed by that haze of reduced visibility and with that cloud of uncertainty dancing every which way you turn is akin to what awaits us as a nation post election 2012.  Or is it the pessimist in me, that voice of disappointment, that nagging, mournful sense of loss from the suspicious result of the last election intoning my fears?

The stakes posed by Election 2012 were high, too high it seemed, for America.  The country was in the brink of economic disaster, the social and moral decay was apparent everywhere, the corruption in the highest levels of government was unequaled and unheard of in times past, and government dependency of millions of its citizens had aptly earned this generation of Americans the name,  "Entitlement Society".  What happened to "the greatest generation"?  How did we sink this low and at such a rapid pace? How long and how deep had our heads been buried in the sand of apathy? Then in a sudden moment of realization as some of us poked our heads up,  we saw the looming tragedy and knew we needed someone, a safe, dependable anchor, a savior, a leader.

Along came Mitt Romney.  Either as a fortuitous catalyst or from the hand of Providence, we did not know.  A Washington outsider,  his name had already been a byword in certain demographics even before he entered the national scene. A successful businessman and a self-made millionaire, a Salt Lake City Olympics "Knight in Shining Armor", a Republican ex- Massachusetts governor in a heavily Democratic state, he appeaared to be the perfect man for the job, an achiever,  a doer, a rescuer of ailing economies.  We saw hope; he brought hope.  We saw light; he represented that light.  We looked in the horizon of our nation's tomorrows and saw the promise of a clear day despite the darkness of the present... and we smiled, we held our heads high once more for it was safe to dream again... or so we thought.

But we were sensible and realistic even as we inhabited our dreamland, if that is possible.  Early on, we knew we needed to do more than wish and hope.   "The world has need of willing men (women) who wear the worker's seal" became more than the echoing message of a hymn; it was a deliberate and voluntary awakening of the hearts of a noble mass of people who knew the election was crucial to their survival as a society and as a nation and that they needed to take their country back, one vote, one person at a time.  And so the movement began.

I was a part of that movement, of that exciting, full-throttled, whole-hearted, "let's-do-it, we'll-win-America-back"  ground game for Mitt.  We were the volunteers that would save America through a leader that epitomized the kind of people we always aspired to be:  honest, decent, hard-working, God-fearing,  decisive, and imbued with the highest ideals of character and integrity.  For us, Mitt represented the best in America, the America that seemed to move farther and farther from our grasp.  We could not let it slip away without a fight.  That "shining city on a hill" of our golden days needed to be preserved,  not for ourselves but for those we love.   And so we came;  we organized in small groups and scattered ourselves around the whole stretch of the continent, a band of committed and involved citizens  that worked  tirelessly supporting a cause greater than ourselves while also boosting a self-aggrandized need to stand for something and make a difference.  We knocked on doors, sometimes enduring odious responses from the supporters of the other party interspersed with moments of elation and encouragement from those who were tired and disappointed on the performance of the present administration.  Fueled by that sense of patriotism that burned brightly within, we went door after door, neighborhood after neighborhood,  week after week for months under the scorching glare of the relentless Las Vegas sun.  We carried our inexhaustible supply of campaign materials, our survey forms, names,  addresses of strangers that we needed to reach.  We asked questions but most of all, we carried a message;  we offered a promise:   Mitt Romney!   We raised the hopes of those who would join our cause; we shared our resolute conviction  that with Mitt at the nation's helm, we can believe again.   We attended numerous rallies that fanned our enthusiasm and we soaked in the candidate's words as he electrified the audience.  With voices hoarse from cheers of exultation, we buoyed each other up as his speeches elicited a gamut of emotions in all of us.  Those were moments that mobilized and inspired us, moments that we would cherish as a lasting reminder of the bright days filled with hope that never was.

The presidential debates cemented what we had always known about Mitt, that he was strong and capable, that he had the best plan for the country.  The ugly mask from a plethora of lies and half-truths smoothly fashioned by the left started to crumble and the true Mitt emerged before the eyes of his detractors.  His momentum that gained traction from his initial debate performance started to crack the so-called firewall of his adversary and the uncompromising, vicious mud-slinging hurled against him intensified ten-fold.  But Mitt was a class act, the gold standard in decency and honor.  He refused to go down to the level of his opponent and indulge in a tit-for-tat game of small, mindless diatribe on things that did not really matter in the general scheme of the nation's problems.  The underpinnings of his campaign remained focused on restoring our economic might and creating jobs to ease the burden of American families.  That was his sincere resolve, his mantra, the heart of his incisive pledge to the American people.   As the election inched closer, his victory seemed certain as the crowds of engaged, fired up supporters came in enormous numbers - 12,000 in Colorado, 15,000 in Virginia, 35,000 in Ohio.  They chanted his name, their voices fighting for dominance  against the onslaught of the wintry wind.  They walked the dark distance on hilly slopes, the old on arthritic knees, the young couple pushing a stroller with a bundled child, the jobless, the wealthy, the disenfranchised, the undecided, the avid supporter, the white, the black, the hyphenated American.  They all came for the hope and the promise and with eyes burning with optimism, eyes glistening with tears of a rekindled faith in one person who would restore the American dream.  Little did they know the dream would be dashed in such a cruel, callous way.

November 6, Tuesday, Election 2012: my last full measure of devotion to a dream, the day to give my all to an ideal.    There was no cryptic message written ominously in the sky of what lay ahead on this crisp, cloudless Las Vegas morning.  At 6:45, the appointed start of my poll watching duty, I was punctually introducing myself to the team leader of the polling place in the Lone Mountain Service Center.  The precincts (6 in all), promptly opened at 7:00 AM and a steady stream of voters that had been waiting outside occupied the 12 voting machines designated as silent carriers of the will of the American electorate.  My role as a "Project Orca" volunteer, Mitt's task force, was to identify and report any violation of voter laws as well as documenting and reporting those who voted from the list "Project Orca" had provided.  It was a long, twelve hours of observing for possible election anomaly as I sat in a designated area watching like a hawk for a prey.  I filled out two Incident Reports from two unregistered voters that came and voted provisionally,  and turned them over to a volunteer lawyer who came to check on the precinct activity from time to time.  Aside from those two incidents, the day was pretty unremarkable.  Outside the polling place as I was ready to go home at 7 PM, I checked the news from my iPhone and was thrilled to see an electoral vote count: 19 to 3,  for Mitt!  But the initial news, encouraging as it was,  was overshadowed by a gut feeling I could not shake off.

The dreaded result slammed into me like the force of a vicious hurricane.   As the electoral votes tied at 163 around 8:30 PM, I could not stand to watch Fox News any longer so I went to bed ignoring two phone calls from a friend.  I was in pins and needles and did not feel like talking or even thinking,  afraid that the unthinkable would work its way into my consciousness.  After a while, I managed a fitful sleep.  At  past 3:00 AM, hoping against hope, saying a silent prayer, and with my heart in my throat, I went to the family room and turned on the TV.  I caught the tail end of Mitt's concession speech with the electoral votes for both candidates intermittently being flashed on the screen.  The devastating truth was right before my eyes but its nightmarish aura intensified by the darkness around me made it unreal, unacceptable, mendacious, surreal.  "There was no way!  Impossible!", the alter ego cried.  But even as I hid from the murky depths of denial, I knew, and bitter tears of disappointment sprang, not from the eyes that see, but from the hidden recesses of the heart.

I mourned the shattered dream, the hope to resurrect the better America of days gone by when we still valued  the success that came from hard work, the self-respect gained from self-reliance.  I mourned for the death of decency in this country to whom I pledged my loyalty and allegiance.  I grieved for the dying "city on a hill" that was the bastion of freedom to the world.  I ached for a country which was on its way to a complete transformation to something our Founding Fathers fought against and for which our heroes died to prevent, a country where my  grandchildren would be denied the opportunity to fulfill their personal destiny and to dream the same dream that lighted the fire in my heart when I first reached its mighty shores 33 years ago.

But despite the desultory years ahead, I will continue to nurture that ember of hope salvaged from the depths of the spirit which refuses to be extinguished because of my faith in him who said, "Be still, and know that I am God:  I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth" (Psalms 46:10).  Deep within, I know that my last full measure of devotion should not rest on one man, nor the ideal he represents, nor in a country, even one as beloved and as close to my heart as the United States of America.  I know my hope, real, pure, everlasting hope,  should come from a covenant made with a loving Father whose immense blessings are promised to the faithful regardless of the uncertainties the world may bring.  In the end,  that will be my reward, even my vindication.  But for that one brief shining moment of hope for things that could have been, I thank wholeheartedly one special man of courage for giving it his all... for trying, for fighting a good fight.  God bless you,  Mitt Romney!   As I said goodbye to that cause that fueled every patriot's dream for a better America, the wisdom of an old adage seemed to hang heavy within a heart that learned the crushing lesson of defeat: "Of all the sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: "'It could have been'".