20-01-2021 Der König ist tot, es lebe der König

Nun ja, er war mit Sicher­heit kein König und tot ist er auch nicht, aber weg ist er: der ver­mut­lich schlimmste Prä­si­dent der USA. Nicht ohne letz­tes Chaos und weit nach rechts füh­rende Spu­ren zu hin­ter­las­sen, aber den roten Knopf hat er sich dann doch nicht getraut zu drücken.

Jetzt also ein neuer Ver­such, ein neuer Anfang? Es klingt gut, was Joe Biden, der neue Prä­si­dent, in sei­ner Antritts­rede ver­sprach, aber Worte sind immer nur Worte, wenn keine Taten fol­gen und die müs­sen jetzt ganz schnell fol­gen. Immer­hin hat er sich da ein inter­es­san­tes Kabi­nett zusam­men gestellt mit vie­len Frauen, vie­len Natio­na­li­tä­ten, eini­gen rela­tiv jun­gen Minister:innen. Ich bin gespannt.

Und ich gestehe: ich habe die Über­tra­gung der Amts­ein­füh­rung im TV ange­schaut und da kul­ler­ten in ein paar Momen­ten auch mal Trän­chen vor Rüh­rung.
Trump hatte sich schon vor der Feier aus dem Staub gemacht, nur der ehe­ma­lige Vize­prä­si­dent saß dabei. Weit mehr Beach­tung aber beka­men Barack und Michelle Obama und ich weiß nicht, ob es nur mir so ging oder ob es wirk­lich so war, aber ich hatte den Ein­druck, dass da über allem ein ganz gro­ßes Auf­at­men zu spü­ren war. So, als wäre eben erst jetzt die wirk­li­che Nach­folge von Obama gewählt wor­den. Als könnte es jetzt end­lich wie­der zurück zur Nor­ma­li­tät gehen.

Der bewe­gendste Moment der Zere­mo­nie kam mit der jun­gen Poe­tin (und Akti­vis­tin gegen Ras­sis­mus und Poli­zei­ge­walt in den USA) Amanda Gor­man, die ein sehr aktu­el­les, von ihr geschrie­be­nes Gedicht vortrug.

Mr Pre­si­dent, Dr Biden, Madam Vice-Pre­si­dent, Mr Emhoff, Ame­ri­cans and the world.

When day comes we ask our­sel­ves where can we find light in this never-ending shade? The loss we carry asea we must wade. We’ve bra­ved the belly of the beast. We’ve lear­ned that quiet isn’t always peace. In the norms and noti­ons of what just is isn’t always jus­tice. And yet, the dawn is ours before we knew it. Somehow we do it. Somehow we’ve wea­the­red and wit­nessed a nation that isn’t bro­ken, but sim­ply unfi­nis­hed. We, the suc­ces­sors of a coun­try and a time where a skinny Black girl des­cen­ded from slaves and rai­sed by a sin­gle mother can dream of beco­ming pre­si­dent only to find hers­elf reci­ting for one.

And yes, we are far from polished, far from pris­tine, but that doesn’t mean we are stri­ving to form a union that is per­fect. We are stri­ving to forge our union with pur­pose. To com­pose a coun­try com­mit­ted to all cul­tures, colors, cha­rac­ters, and con­di­ti­ons of man. And so we lift our gazes not to what stands bet­ween us, but what stands before us. We close the divide because we know to put our future first, we must first put our dif­fe­ren­ces aside. We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one ano­ther. We seek harm to none and harm­ony for all. Let the globe, if not­hing else, say this is true. That even as we grie­ved, we grew. That even as we hurt, we hoped. That even as we tired, we tried that will fore­ver be tied tog­e­ther vic­to­rious. Not because we will never again know defeat, but because we will never again sow divi­sion.

Scrip­ture tells us to envi­sion that ever­yone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree and no one shall make them afraid. If we’re to live up to her own time, then vic­tory won’t lie in the blade, but in all the bridges we’ve made. That is the pro­mise to glade, the hill we climb if only we dare. It’s because being Ame­ri­can is more than a pride we inhe­rit. It’s the past we step into and how we repair it. We’ve seen a forest that would shat­ter our nation rather than share it. Would des­troy our coun­try if it meant delay­ing demo­cracy. This effort very nearly suc­cee­ded.

But while demo­cracy can be peri­odi­cally delayed, it can never be per­ma­nently defea­ted. In this truth, in this faith we trust for while we have our eyes on the future, history has its eyes on us. This is the era of just redemp­tion. We feared it at its incep­tion. We did not feel pre­pared to be the heirs of such a ter­ri­fy­ing hour, but within it, we found the power to aut­hor a new chap­ter, to offer hope and laugh­ter to our­sel­ves so while once we asked, how could we pos­si­bly pre­vail over cata­stro­phe? Now we assert, how could cata­stro­phe pos­si­bly pre­vail over us?

We will not march back to what was, but move to what shall be a coun­try that is brui­sed, but whole, bene­vo­lent, but bold, fierce, and free. We will not be tur­ned around or inter­rupted by inti­mi­da­tion because we know our inac­tion and iner­tia will be the inhe­ri­tance of the next gene­ra­tion. Our blun­ders become their bur­dens. But one thing is cer­tain, if we merge mercy with might and might with right, then love beco­mes our legacy and change our children’s bir­th­right.

So let us leave behind a coun­try bet­ter than one we were left with. Every breath from my bronze-poun­ded chest we will raise this woun­ded world into a wond­rous one. We will rise from the gold-lim­bed hills of the west. We will rise from the wind-swept north-east where our foref­a­thers first rea­li­zed revo­lu­tion. We will rise from the Lake Rim cities of the mid­wes­tern sta­tes. We will rise from the sun-baked south. We will rebuild, recon­cile and reco­ver in every known nook of our nation, in every cor­ner cal­led our coun­try our peo­ple diverse and beau­tiful will emerge bat­te­red and beau­tiful.

When day comes, we step out of the shade aflame and una­fraid. The new dawn blooms as we free it. For there is always light. If only we’re brave enough to see it. If only we’re brave enough to be it.

https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2021/jan/20/amanda-gorman-poem-biden-inauguration-transcript?CMP=Share_iOSApp_Other