Wide Awake (9 page)

“I’ll be honest with you: This is not something I say lightly. It would be easy for me to remain silent, to leave the fate of this nation in the hands of two teams of lawyers. But that isn’t what this country is about, and it isn’t what I’m about. You deserve the truth, and we all must fight for it if we must.

“I ask my opponent to concede this election and abide by the independent commission led by former Governor Hopkins, which states clearly and unequivocally that the election results in Kansas are correct as initially reported. Any attempt by the current governor to invalidate these results should be stopped immediately. This is not an election that can be tampered with or questioned. The people have spoken, and now they must be heard. To do otherwise is against everything this country is about. America cannot and will not abide dishonesty, untruths, or the cynical manipulation of the voting process. Our values are much, much stronger than that.”

At a separate news conference, the former governor—a member of the opposition party—verified that his commission had monitored the voting in Kansas, had checked the results, and was satisfied beyond doubt that Stein’s margin of victory was accurate.

Then more troubling news began to come in: A Kansas election official told a reporter that she had been asked to erase some votes from the electronic polling machine in her district. Another person, a college student, volunteered that his name had been on the current governor’s “double-voting” list, proclaimed that he had not filled out an absentee ballot for his home state, and said that if one was discovered, it would be a forgery sent in by someone other than him as a way of disqualifying his vote. The opposition party, he said, could easily obtain green-state students’ home addresses to pull such a stunt.

The opposition candidate held his own press conference, refusing to concede, saying that God wanted him to see this thing through to the end, through any channels and means necessary.

Finally, around eleven o’clock our time, Stein stepped in front of the cameras again.

“I can see which way the wind is being blown in Kansas. And the only way to stop it is to blow back harder. We must let the truth fill our lungs, our purpose fill our hearts and make us strong.

“This is what I say:

“I am going to Kansas.

“And this is what I ask:

“I want you, the American people, the ones who elected me as your next President, to come to Kansas, too. I want you there beside me to prevent an injustice from occurring. I want our opponents to see the faces of all the people they are trying to deceive. I want them to know they will not get away with it.

“Come to Kansas.

“I know this is asking a lot. I know it has never before been asked in these circumstances. But in times of trial, as we have done so often in the past, we must come together as a community. We must be our best selves. We must do what’s right.

“You have made your voice heard by voting for me. Do not let your voice be taken away.

“Ensure democracy.

“Come to Kansas.”

eleven

“Let’s go!” Gus called out.

Sara came running into the room, explaining that she’d been on the phone with someone at national headquarters who said that there was going to be a rally in front of the Kansas statehouse on Sunday afternoon.

“That gives us two and a half days to get there,” another college volunteer, Joe, said.

“How long-distance a drive can it be?” Gus asked. “No more than a day and a half, la.”

“I don’t think we can all fit in your Eco,” Jimmy pointed out.

“No hindrance,” Gus said. “I’m sure I can borrow the church van.”

“No need for that,” Virgil said. “Flora’s son, Clive, has a bus.”

There didn’t seem any doubt that we’d soon be on our way. Virgil wanted us all to go to school on Friday, but we’d head off right after.

“Finally we can do something,” Jimmy said, and I guess that summed up a large part of what we were all feeling.

If Stein needed us, we would go.

“Come to Kansas,
” his voice kept saying on the news. They couldn’t stop showing it.

“Maybe we can share a room,” Jimmy joked with me before we had to go home. This time we kissed good-bye lightly, with less concern.

The opposition candidate clearly hadn’t anticipated Stein’s speech. At first, all he said was, “Don’t come to Kansas.” It took another day for him to ask his supporters to come to Kansas, too.

“This isn’t going to be a vacation,” Virgil warned us. “Don’t think it’s going to be easy.”

On the way home, I listened to some of the commentators commentating. One of them harkened back to the Civil War.

“It’s Bleeding Kansas all over again,” he said.

I didn’t know what he meant. Luckily the host didn’t know, either, so the commentator explained, “Kansas was founded by abolitionists who wanted to prevent slavery from spreading from Missouri. They put their lives on the line for it, and when Missouri invaded to stop the Kansas opposition, it became Bleeding Kansas.

“The same passions,” he went on to say, “exist here.”

It was after midnight when I walked in my front door. I knew my parents would probably still be up, but I wasn’t expecting them to be waiting in the den for me to come home.

“Where’ve you been, Duncan?” my father asked.

“At Stein headquarters, with Jimmy and the others,” I answered. “You knew that.”

“It’s a school night.”

“Sorry.”

I didn’t sound sorry, and he knew it. I started to climb the stairs, but then he said, “Come back down here.” I did, and when he told me to sit down, I did that, too.

My parents had never really been cool parents, but they hadn’t been uncool, either. They were just there, and I loved them, and they loved me, and we didn’t really understand one another at all. I think it had always been clear to them that I was gay, and that hadn’t been much of a problem. When I’d first started dating Jimmy, I’d hesitated a little before bringing him home—not because I was afraid of how they’d react, but more because I liked the idea of keeping my world with him separate from my world with them. When I’d become involved with the Stein campaign, they’d been supportive without being encouraging; as Jews, they were convinced a Jewish candidate would never win, and my father never really bought into the possibility of the Great Community the same way that I did. I was pretty sure my mom had voted for Stein, but she didn’t want to make a big deal about it.

So I was surprised-but-not-completely-surprised when they sat me down and told me I wasn’t going to Kansas.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I’m sure you saw Stein tonight,” my father said. “And I’m sure you and your friends are all ready to go to Kansas to take a stand. When you’re a little bit older and a little bit more mature you’ll be able to do such things, if you still want to. But right now you’re only sixteen and you’re not going to throw yourself into such a volatile situation.”

I could see my mother staring at my not-black-but-kind-of-purple eye. I wanted to cover it, but it was too late.

“What happened to you?” she asked, concerned.

“Nothing. Stupid accident,” I said.

“Oh, honey. Did you put ice on it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want more?”

“I’m okay.”

I realized I was getting distracted from the argument I needed to be making.

“Look,” I said, “I
am
going to Kansas. Flora’s son, Clive, has a bus, and we’re all going to go together. Not just kids, but adults, too. It’ll be fine. I promise.”

“I don’t think you’re hearing me, Duncan,” my father said. “You’re not going. You’re staying here.”

I don’t think
you’re
hearing
me
,
I wanted to say. But I knew that wouldn’t go over well.

“Is that understood?” he prompted.

“Duncan,” my mother said, her voice gentler than my father’s, “I think we need to explain. We’ve always been proud of you for all the work you’ve done for Stein and the dedication that you’ve shown.” This
was
a surprise. I must have looked at her with complete disbelief, because she laughed and said, “Don’t look so shocked. You know I’m not the type to get involved, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be proud of my son for getting involved. We haven’t minded when you’ve come home late, when you’ve gone into some dangerous neighborhoods to talk to strangers, even when you’ve cut school—yes, we know about that, and we’re trusting you not to make it a habit. You seem to forget that your attendance record is online for us to see.

“But this is different, honey. You’re going to want to think that we’re making you stay here for some political reason. You’ll want to think of us as the enemy. But honestly, it’s not that. It’s because we’re your parents and we want you to be safe. You can’t possibly remember what the riots were like. You can’t possibly know how these things can go wrong and become violent. Stein wants you to come to Kansas—fine. But he can’t guarantee that things will remain peaceful. I know he wants them to be. Believe me, Dunc, I know. But this isn’t some picnic. This is a fight—he says so himself—and when you join a fight, you can get really, really hurt. So that’s why I—we—want you to stay here.”

She didn’t say,
Look at your eye,
but she didn’t have to. I thought of a thousand Satches and Jesses heading to Kansas—and millions of the people who’d yelled at me on the phone, who’d been so ready to scald Stein supporters with the power of their despising.

“There must be something you can do here,” my mother went on. “I’ll even help you. If you want. You just can’t go to Kansas.”

I went to my room more confused than ever. Because I hadn’t really been thinking about what would happen when we got to Kansas—I’d been caught up in the excitement of going, of being part of the team, of being on a mission with Jimmy. Maybe none of us had really thought it through. Because what if we were really heading toward another Bleeding Kansas? What if the opponent’s supporters were ready to do anything to throw the election?

I wondered if Stein himself had thought it through. How many people did he really think would come? Was it just a big publicity stunt? Would it spiral out of control?

I pictured millions of people angrily calling me a fag or (even more Decent) a dirty Jew. I imagined crowds and crowds of people overwhelming me. I saw myself losing Jimmy, losing everyone I knew. Riot police pressing in. Gas in the air. Being pushed and grabbed and yelled at.

It wasn’t a nightmare; I wasn’t asleep yet. I was seeing it.

I had to admit: I didn’t want to face it. Not the hostility. Not the chance of my parents being right.

I really had believed I was going to Kansas.

And now I was starting to realize I wasn’t going after all.