From the front lines of Inauguration

I’ve never been part of anything quite like that before, nor do I expect to ever be again, because I wouldn’t go through it for anything less historic. I’ve never seen a crowd so docile in the face of such chaos. We were really operating without a backup plan there, without a safety net – the largest single gathering of people ever in our country, as far as I can tell. Several times yesterday, I looked around to realize that I couldn’t find a single authority figure in the sea of people in every direction.

A particular lowlight came when, on the way down to the Mall some time around 8 am, we (my apocalypse platoon of my sister Becca, her boyfriend Joey, Dan Benaim, and our friend’s neighbor – and now friend in her own right – Sophie) found ourselves quite literally trapped in the L’enfant Metro station. When I say trapped, I mean that the station was packed, they weren’t letting people out (presumably because it was so crowded above-ground, which was the most terrifying thought of all), and they weren’t letting anyone off of the trains that came through the station, from which of course it can be deduced, by the principle of doors being two-way, that we couldn’t get on a train to get out of there. So, trapped. In a Metro station, sweet lord. Joey was pretty cool, but I’d say the rest of us saw panic attacks on the horizon anywhere from 30 to 45 minutes away. Luckily things got moving again in about 30 minutes. Maybe 29.

But more luckily, as the Washington Post editorialized today, everyone was “on their very best behavior.” And how. There were no arrests. Not a single arrest. Are you kidding me? There were 1.8 million people there, and not one arrest. And it’s not like there weren’t a lot of rules that were available for the breaking. It says a lot about the mood of the day. We were put through a lot to be a part of that moment, together with one out of every 160 Americans, but the spirit of the day was palpable, and it reigned.

The event itself was exciting, though if not for the nostalgic coin of having been there, and being able to say I was there, probably not marginally better enough than watching it elsewhere to warrant the crowd and the cold. It certainly was unique and thrilling, to hear the ceremony and the speech echoing down the gauntlet of the assembled, bouncing from massive government building to massive government building, each word reaching us at least a dozen times with varying volume and crispness and distance, none of them loud or crisp or close. It was as if – and after writing this, I realize it’s a perfect description of what I felt at the time, and I hope it conveys the sense of it well – as if it were already history, and we were already just remembering it.

The speech improves as it germinates in my mind. I read it twice on the plane home today. It is, as it struck me when he spoke it, surpassingly simple. But I think its ideas are clear, strong, powerful, and important. The passage with messages for people around the world remains, for me, the best part. The simple deal offered to anti-democratic regimes – “we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist” – re-articulates a vision of broad American leadership for which I, we, the country, and the world have been waiting. It is familiar but new. The speech did not move me like so many of his others did, but after 36 hours, I am starting to fall in love with it.

Finally, I’m very grateful for the shout-out to non-believers. As I’ve often said, nothing makes me feel more alien in America than not believing in God. You know the drill – “No matter what you believe, you can be an American; what makes us so great is the diversity of our beliefs; we are united in faith.” That this moment, of all moments, was the first time I heard a public figure legitimize me as part of the fabric of beliefs of our county was a very appreciated capstone to a day I will never forget.