By TaRessa Stovall

It wasn’t as I’d expected.

Like my colleagues Stacey Patton and Mel Gagarin, I had gone to Inauguration ’09 in Washington, DC fully planning to send a steady stream of live blog blippets to chronicle the experience as it unfolded.

But for me, the experience did not lend itself to instant impressions and quick communiqués. The two receptions and a ball – the Delaware State Society Ball – which I attended on Monday night with two girlfriends, were fun and exciting, but nothing significantly different from such events in any other context.

The focus was, of course, Inauguration Day. When traveling with my teen son and daughter from northern New Jersey to our former home in the metropolitan Washington, DC area, there had never been plans to join the masses on the National Mall. My soul called for a quieter, more intimate experience, something that grounded the significance of the moment in a deeply spiritual and cultural context. Something where the essence of the moment would not be overshadowed by the logistics of national security and crowd control.

I wanted to be with black people, in a black context, somewhere that felt familial, felt like friendship, felt like home. My dear friend, the Reverend Doctor Susan D. Newman, a native Washingtonian, steered us toward her church, People’s Congregational United Church of Christ, in Upper Northwest DC, where she serves as Adjunct Minister. It was so far from the fray that all streets were open and we were able to drive in from where we were staying in Silver Spring, Maryland, with zero delays, stress or drama. In keeping with my preferences, serenity was definitely the order of the day.

The church was, as many were, open and welcoming. There were mostly black faces, and a few white. There were visitors from a UCC church in Queens, N.Y. About 60 people in all, including two of my dear friends, one from Atlanta, there with her 16-year-old daughter; another from DC with her 13-year-old twin son and daughter. Me with my teen son and daughter as well.

We began with a prayer service, exactly what my soul had been craving. While I am more spiritual than traditionally religious, I always enjoy being in a house of God. The prayers were candid, heartfelt and right on time. The hymns achieved the perfect balance between uplifting and comforting.

The best part for me, though, was when we all moved to the front of the Sanctuary to join hands and sing the Negro National Anthem, “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing.” I needed to be grounded in and fortified with that experience before hearing the “Star Spangled Banner” and the National Anthem. I needed this ritual to connect and embrace my Ancestors and usher them fully into the wonder of the moment. It was glorious being with people who were on the same page.

We moved to the Fellowship Hall, where a large-screen television had been placed on the stage. We sat at round tables covered with white plastic tablecloths. Coffee, tea, juice and donuts were available to all.

Together we watched. We oohed and ahhed, clapped and shouted. We hollered for Queen Aretha and cheered for glorious First Lady Michelle and the beautiful First Daughters. We fell into an awed hush when President Obama walked in, every bit the modern-day King about to ascend his throne.

We felt our Ancestors, smiling and nodding along with us. We let our tears flow, unchecked. We high-fived and hugged each other, sharing a place beyond words. I would not, could not, have shared this with strangers. It was too powerful, too fragile, too precious and significant to trust to those whose souls I did not know.

Observing the faces of those in President Obama’s father’s village of Kogelo, Kenya watching, eyes alight with hope and pride, features wet with tears of joy and wonder, I flashed back to slave castles, doors of no return, the Middle Passage and all that came after, all that brought us to this incomparably powerful moment together, united beyond borders and boundaries, beyond language and nationality, in our humankind.

I had gone, notebook and pen in hand, to gather quotes from others in the Fellowship Hall. I talked to several people, from two white girls, sisters, ages 6 and 8, to a lovely black couple from Queens. They were equally eloquent, with minimal words. All alluded to being happy. Overwhelmed. What we felt, what we had experienced together, was more important than what we could say. This was not a moment for describing; it was a moment for feeling. For letting the experience seep into our souls and become part of us in a communal, yet most private, way.

In the days since, and on the journey home, I spoke with many people, some of whom had been on the Mall. They described the power of the experience, the frigid weather and the maze of logistics. It had been wonderful to observe the multi-hued sea of humanity covering the Mall, but that was just one of many ways of being “there.”

I know folk who were in downtown DC, watching from strategically-placed office buildings and from restaurants with big-screen TVs. Most of the Washingtonians I know watched from their homes, or visited with friends. A New Jersey friend of mine had planned to go, but canceled her Amtrak ticket and went to a dear friend’s birthday/Inauguration viewing party in upstate N.Y. instead.

She enjoyed herself, but still felt sad, she confided, that she hadn’t “been there.”  Her grown daughter had gone down as part of her job and planned to be on the Mall. But the weather deterred her, and said daughter ended up with friends and colleagues in a restaurant, where they were warm and comfortable, with food, beverages and indoor restrooms close by and fully accessible.

This friend, with whom I had shared the Nov. 4 announcement, talked of being with members of her extended family, and what a good time they had enjoyed.

“Then you were there,” I told her. She looked at me, puzzled.

“No I wasn’t,” she said. “And maybe I should have been.”

I shook my head. “Those who were on the Mall exercised that option. There were others who, like your daughter, got there, but left for warmer pastures. Others who said they still couldn’t feel their toes hours after they’d left the Mall. You were with people you love. You shouted and danced and ate and celebrated together. That’s what the spirit of President Obama’s Inauguration was all about, wasn’t it? Love? Community? A sense of oneness beyond anything we’ve ever experienced in the arena of national politics?”

My friend nodded and smiled. She realized that she had been there every bit as much as the children in Obama’s childhood school in Indonesia; every bit as much as the millions who feasted and danced and celebrated throughout Kenya. Every bit as much as President Obama’s parents and grandparents, who were watching from Heaven. Every bit as much as the millions who formed a humongous rainbow to illuminate the National Mall.

Unity is a powerful thing. What was clear to me from my wondrous experience in the Fellowship Hall of People’s Congregational United Church of Christ was that millions around the globe were breathing, watching, cheering, singing and exalting—together. And that our memories of the experience are what we will carry with us for the rest of our lives. As those memories become part of our personal histories, each colored by our own journeys and perspectives, we will recall the many ways in which we were all “there,” all together, celebrating in unison, from wherever we had chosen to be.

TaRessa Stovall is Managing Editor of TheDefendersOnline.