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

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