The Forum

The decision to attend Cori Bush’s election watch party was made very last-minute. As 7 p.m–the time the polls closed–drew near, Bush posted a public invitation to the event, and I scrambled to RSVP and wrangle other Forum staff members to do so as well. Staff Writer Abigaile Jordan was available.

The party was hosted downtown next to the City Museum. We arrived a few minutes before the 7 p.m. start time, and waited outside with other members of the press. Eventually we were let in, but upon reaching the room where the election watch party was start- ing to take shape, we were approached by a member of Bush’s staff who asked if we were supporters. I replied that we were both “supporters and technically journalists,” not the answer she was looking for.

The staff member kindly and temporarily turned us away, telling us that all journalists needed press passes from a small table that we passed on the way in. We eventually got our press passes, and we headed back in. By this point, there weren’t many people; it was mainly staff, journalists, and a few rappers and musicians that would periodically perform on stage in one of the two rooms at the venue.

As hours passed, more people, now mainly support- ers, began to crowd the small event. By this point, results were coming in and both Abigaile and I were nearly constantly checking our phones for the latest updates. It wasn’t looking good for Cori Bush. Seeing that Bush–one of the only politicians I had ever truly admired–was likely going to lose the election, I headed to the dance floor with Abigaile and decided to simply have a good time for the rest of the night.

Results were continuing to come in, and they weren’t getting much better for Bush. At this point, local elected officials were trickling in and standing by the stage, talking to each other. Suddenly, as we were checking results, the election was called: 

Cori Bush had lost. 

I looked up to see if anyone else had heard the news, but the rest of the attendees were still having a good time. They didn’t seem to know. We immediately went to talk to other members of the press, who seemed equally uneasy with the situation.

Over time, the mood in the room seemed to shift. Jovial faces turned increasingly serious, and the dancing had stopped. Abigaile and I made our way over to Tishaura O. Jones, St. Louis city mayor, who was talking with other guests. We approached and waited for our turn to talk with her.

Fortunately, within a few minutes, she asked us if we could take a picture of her and a few other people, and Abigaile volunteered. After Abigaile took the picture, Mayor Jones asked us if we’d like to talk to her, to which we said yes and explained that we were local student press. Assuming that she probably already knew the outcome of the election, we asked her how she was feeling. She was nervous about the election. She had not yet heard the outcome.

Around the time of Bush’s defeat, the TV stations that were present at the watch party began to broadcast live. Correspondents and technicians for each station were set up on a small makeshift stage in the middle of the room, facing the main stage. They stood above us, the correspondents illuminated by large light fixtures as the cameramen captured them speaking into their microphones while the crowd could be seen standing below and behind them.

Soon enough, a staff member took the stage and spoke into the microphone, announcing the loss. Not long after, Cori Bush and her entourage emerged from a back room to immediate cheers and applause. The people in attendance loved Bush, and the mere sight of her managed to turn a quiet, tragic crowd into a lively fan club. She walked to the stage with her husband, Cortney Merritts, who got on stage first to introduce the now-defeated representative. Merritts gave a sweet speech about his wife and her campaign. Merritts managed to get cheers and chants from the crowd at various points and introduced Bush in a genuinely loving way, welcoming her to the microphone with an embrace and a kiss.

Cori Bush stood at the center of the stage, holding the microphone with a smile on her face as the packed room chanted her name. After waiting for a moment for the chants to dissipate slightly, she began her speech calmly, gathering the crowd’s attention to her words in a low voice. Then, after a few short comments, telling the crowd that she loved them, she adopted a fiery and defiant tone, which would define the rest of her speech.

She continued by telling the now-exuberant crowd that by defeating her in the primary election, her opponents had only taken away her strings and radicalized her. Bush was animated, inspiring, and completely self-confident.She said that everything happens for a reason, and then proceeded to tell AIPAC, the organization likely responsible for her defeat, that she was going to “tear your kingdom down.”

She shifted her speech to her commitments to her community. She expressed frustration that now, her people would not get what they needed. She pledged herself to human rights and resisting genocide–specifically highlighting supporting Palestinians and ending the destruction of Gaza–and challenged her successor, Wesley Bell, to do the same.

Finally, the speech shifted to a quieter, more solemn tone as Bush began talking about a topic that had been looming over the event as much as the Israel-Gaza war: Michael Brown. Days later, Cori Bush said, would be the tenth anniversary of the killing of Michael Brown, an event that devastated Ferguson, North County, St. Louis, and the entire country. She promised to mourn alongside Brown’s family on the day of the anniversary–a promise she kept–while encouraging her supporters to do the same and attend any events dedicated to the tragedy. She also challenged Bell, who her campaign had criticized for not bringing charges against Brown’s killer, to do the same. He didn’t.

Then it was all over. Cori Bush left the room and people began to trickle out of the venue, down the stairs, and into the dark, warm night. Abigaile and I left quite quickly, not staying for any goodbyes, conversations, or interviews. During the drive home we spoke about what we had just experienced and our frustrations at the outcome of the election, and the upcoming march and rally for Michael Brown. It was long past midnight by the time I pulled into the driveway at my house. I was exhausted. Then, I was in bed; the next day came; life went on. So it goes.