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A view from north Georgia

Tom Chatfield  —  5th November 2008

Dixie—has the whistling era passed?

Hindsight is a wonderful thing—but, having spent most of the last fortnight in Georgia, I wasn’t surprised that the state failed to deliver the violent Democratic swing some had been hoping for. With 96 per cent of precincts reporting, it stands at 53/46.3 to McCain—a significant shift from 2004’s 58/41.4 victory for Bush, but far from a return to Clinton’s 43.5/42.9 victory in 1992.

Although I visited both Savannah and Atlanta—both of which have voted overwhelmingly Democrat—I spent most of the time in the rural north, largely in Fannin county, a beautiful, densely-wooded region on the southern tip of the Appalachians. Fannin, like the counties around it, and like most of Georgia’s vast heartland, is overwhelmingly white: 97.9 per cent in the 2000 census. It is also overwhelmingly Republican. 7,799 citizens voted for McCain, against Obama’s 2,606; a shift to the right since 2004, when the vote fell 6,862/2,727 between Bush and Kerry.

While I was there, I don’t think I spoke to a single person who thought McCain was going to win. All the talk was of Obama’s presidency; but the word “hope” wasn’t being used very much. The mood was variously wry, resigned, disenchanted and bewildered. After two solid years of electioneering, and two solid months of economic gloom, faith in government was at a low ebb. Political change of some kind was clearly coming, but it seemed to be trailing in the wake of other, darker changes—in the economy at home; in the security of the nation and its interests abroad.

If there was a consensus, it was that Obama would be elected—and then assassinated. This was an opinion repeated so often it had taken on the status of a fact for some. Among younger people, theories were expounded and elaborated with morbid delight. A few days before voting, I ran into four guys in their 20s and 30s in the town of Blue Ridge, talking gleefully among themselves:

-McCain, he’s an idiot. Saying “I’m gonna be President.” He don’t have a chance, he’s gonna lose.
-Obama, what he needs isn’t votes, it’s a vest [thumping his chest] to stop the bullets.
-He needs full armour.
-He needs the Popemobile, that’s what he needs.
-He should talk to Robert Downey Junior, see if he’s still got that iron man suit.
-Of course, they’ll make it look like a black man did it. Or it’ll be civil war. Black versus white.
-There are people out there who are going to kill him.
Nodding sagely, a lady sitting nearby chipped in:
-In this day and age, it’s a terrible shame.
The nation “out there,” seen from the main streets and failing businesses of the mountain towns, seemed a divided and threatening place. Later that day, a kindly man in his late 50s chatted to me from behind the counter of his store, lowering his voice uneasily to say he hoped Obama would win, even though he wasn’t going to vote for him (voting McCain was almost an act of local solidarity: a done thing for respectable folk).
-Aren’t so many of us old white folks now, and it’s probably a good thing. We had our chance and we blew it. This is a mixed nation, it’s overdue for a a change. Obama will win.
He didn’t look too happy. This wasn’t a change for him, or that he particularly understood. In its way, though, his unease was a mirror-image of the hopes found elsewhere: atavistic, wordless. Rounding a corner on a steep, empty highway, I stopped to read a brightly-lit sign outside the local hunting and shooting shop, its text dazzlingly incongruous with the rows of McCain placards lined up on front lawns further down the hill:
The hated Bush is gone
He’ll soon be at the door
Kneel to the “magic” negro
And suffer never more.

Incantations and conspiracies are part of every election. But in this one they have come into their own. America is awash with its hopes and fears. For those in the UK wondering how 47.7 per cent of those who voted could have decided not to endorse Obama, it’s worth recalling the depths of the feelings that soak the land. It was almost invisible, at least on camera, but Obama gave his speech of acceptance in Chicago flanked by screens of bullet-proof glass two-and-a-half inches thick.

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