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Euphoric Over Obama’s Win, Thousands of New Yorkers Converge on Harlem
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125th Street and 8th Ave on Election Night 2008.
Just after 11:00 ET last night, as television screens across the world flashed the news that Barack Obama had won the presidency of the United States, New York City exploded into euphoria. People ran from apartment buildings, and burst out of bars and restaurants. Cars, trucks and taxis honked. Drivers pumped their fists jubilantly, and shouts of “O-BAM-A!” rang from windows all over town.
On upper Broadway, clusters of people ran north and south, shouting, dancing and leaping into the air with glee. A fire engine sped downtown, beeping out the three beat rhythm that had instantly become Morse code for Obama’s name.
At the little neighborhood bar at the Indian Café, on Broadway at 108th Street, where my husband and I were watching the returns on CNN, the customers cheered, hooted, pounded on the counter, cried and hugged each other, while a bartender shook his tambourine. George, a local building superintendent and nattily dressed regular, ordered champagne for everyone and led a toast.
While most customers laughed, cried and pumped their fists in excitement, several continued to stare at the TV screen skeptically. “I’m waiting for McCain’s concession speech,” said one thirty-something woman. “I don’t want to wake up in the morning to hear the election’s been stolen again.”
At the other end of the bar, another woman maintained a stoical expression, waiting for final confirmation. After so many heart-breaking elections in her lifetime, it was hard to believe change could really happen.
But as McCain took the stage to acknowledge defeat, smiles spread over even the most doubtful faces. And just after midnight when Obama concluded his triumphant speech, pandemonium erupted in the bar and across the city.
A half an hour later, as a light rain misted the streets, my husband and I, along with thousands of other New Yorkers, headed to Harlem. On Broadway, teenagers and twenty-somethings were running uptown, hollering and slapping hi-fives with everyone that passed.
“O-bam-A!” and “Yes We Can!” echoed everywhere. Never in my life, have I seen New York so joyful.
At 116th Street, we crossed the Columbia University campus, to find students laughing, hugging and running back and forth, cheering.
At 125th Street, crowds were pouring in from all directions. The faces were black, white and a thousand shades of brown. Cars cruised slowly east and west, their windows rolled down, passengers hanging out, waving and shouting. There were beautiful new cars and dilapidated old ones. Corvettes, SUVs and BMWs. “O-BAM-A! O-BAM-A!” everyone chanted.
“My President is Black,” read a young black boy’s T-shirt.
Into the midst of the hallelujahs, a giant flatbed truck tried to haul a silvery new subway car west on 125th Street. In front of the projects, a small group of residents stood, surveying the scene.
“God d*mn!” shouted one of the men. “Obama’s got us new subway cars already!”
On the southwest corner of 8th Avenue, a jazz combo with congas, sax and base riffed, while a crowd danced in a circle. Up the block, the fuchsia neon lights of the Apollo Theater glowed like the lighthouse of Harlem.
People shimmied up lampposts and sat on each other’s shoulders to get better views of the street. In front of a Duane Reade, a couple of young men climbed on top of a truck, and unfurled American flags and Obama signs. Soon there were half a dozen people up there.
It was getting on toward 2:00 AM, but the crowd was only getting bigger. New York City’s Finest moved up the middle of the street, carrying stretches of bright orange fencing, in an attempt to corral folks into designated areas. Then, suddenly, in an apparent moment of paranoia, they formed a giant V and charged absurdly across 8th Avenue.
“Those guys should chill!” said a South African man at my elbow, who told me he hadn’t seen anything like this night since Nelson Mandela’s election. “This isn’t a riot, it’s a celebration!”
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