A Canadian living in the U.S. called the morning after the election. He was already working on a list of reasons explaining how George Bush stole this one, too. Another American, long resident here, who steadfastly held onto U.S. citizenship, said she was heading down to apply as a Canadian. And there was Zareh Ouzounian, root-canal specialist. I have always found his office, which he shares with a gum surgeon, a haven of tranquillity in trying times, like a smoky Manhattan bar in the ’60s. Go figure.

“I’m glad about this,” he barked. “You know why? Because Americans will learn a lesson. You know how they used to say Iranians deserved those ayatollahs? They will deserve this. We have all learned that even a father can no longer dictate to his son how to live.” I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I liked his spirit. I asked if he minded being quoted by name. “My name. My address,” he spat. “I’m so mad.”

Spiritedness is all, in moments of defeat and despair. It’s not enough to limply talk about soldiering on in the cause. I liked Jon Stewart on The Daily Show, as the debacle unfolded. He was buoyant, quoting Kentucky Senator and Hall of Fame pitcher Jim Bunning’s demented slurs on his foe, which others referred to only obliquely. “And this is the guy they elected!” he burbled. It’s your tone that lets the other side know you’ll keep fighting. I also liked Slate‘s headline, “Misunderestimated again,” for its feistiness.

That’s way better than Justin Podur on the left-wing Z-net and here on rabble.ca, who said the American people “lined up behind their killer leaders when they could have rejected them.” He sounded so disappointed, as if the voters let him down.

I know it’s hard not to take these losses personally, believe me. Even more so when the whole world, minus Israel and Russia, is grieving the result and pissed off along with you, according to polls. People react to elections or Supreme Court decisions the way they do to their favourite team. It goes beyond any concrete impact; it’s about personal vindication or humiliation. History itself builds you up and lets you down. It’s also full of paradox.

I mean, why should someone who is going to die anyway take comfort from the belief that the human race is choosing the route they personally prefer? And how do you know what reverses may happen after you’re gone? Why invest so much in the outcomes? I used to imagine a Bolshevik who died storming the Winter Palace in 1917, and never learned if his revolution succeeded or failed. What about a true Communist believer who died before the collapse of the Soviet bloc? Or a Boston baseball fan who passed away this year just before the Red Sox beat the curse? Why put your bets on history?

Is it because each individual life is inevitably a failure in major respects, including its unavoidable conclusion, that one seeks a more assured success by identifying with the “life” of the human race, i.e., history? So that history (or politics) becomes our field of dreams, while our individual biographies remain a field of broken-hearted reality? But in history, as in the World Series, there must be a loser for every winner, so you just let yourself in for a double letdown, by placing your hope in politics.

History and politics, in the sense we use the terms, didn’t even exist until a few hundred years ago. Those notions arose as faith and superstition receded under the assault of modern science and reason. Along with history and politics came the belief in progress. Now everyone feels the same pressures. Even born-agains and evangelicals, as we saw in the U.S., are hyperactive in the quest to find vindication in events like elections. There seems no way back to a redemption totally outside politics and history.

It’s exhausting. You put so much effort into the fight or campaign. Then you need to put more into justifying the loss and finding a way to carry on.

“We lost.”

“No, we just haven’t won yet,” I had two doomed Canadian fighters in the rebellion of 1837 say to each other on the scaffold, just before they dangled. It was only a play, but I’m offering the line, gratis, to anyone on any side who finds it comforting.

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Rick Salutin

Rick Salutin is a Canadian novelist, playwright and critic. He is a strong advocate of left wing causes and writes a regular column in the Toronto Star.