It's Sunday....I've already talked to two friends in relation to a summer rental in Sag Harbor for our first family vacation. (To date hubby and I have vacationed alone--- junior stayed with his grandmother). I started tonight's dinner and marinated some chicken in homemade jerk sauce for tomorrow. Now I am reading the New York Times. My husband and 3 year old son are in the playroom where they have begun the process of cutting out kites that will later be painted and maybe flown. The two of them earnestly working together on these kites makes me smile...I feel happy and content. The scenes that I have outlined aren't sexy, but they exude love and commitment and they represent the contours of our family. Now don't get it twisted other Sundays (or other days of the week) have produced less idyllic pictures. We do our share of bickering and finger pointing. However overall, my husband and I have developed a rhythm that allows us to be lovers, friends, parents, and distinct individuals. It ain't easy, but the rewards are worth the effort.
I am not being smug and self-satisfied about my marriage or my family. I freely acknowledge that it took me years to get here and that this is the present---people and circumstances do change, sometimes not for the better. Moreover, my Sunday portrait has nothing to do with our marriage license. Our family is built on the vision that my husband and I regularly work on to re-define and manifest---this includes each of us working on our personal shit that gets in the way. I always said that I would prefer to have a great relationship than simply be married. Other women (and men) I think feel the same way, but they seem to willing to settle for mediocre or downright bad relationships exacerbating the problem by having children.
According to statistics Black women are the least likely group to marry. Morever, Black couples are more likely than others to divorce. However this information is only important as the starting place for a dialogue about creating more empowering family relationships. It doesn't hurt right that Sen. Barack, his wife Michelle Obama and their daughters represent a new portrayal of the "Black" family. Even NYS Governor David Paterson's admission that he and his wife both cheated on each other is refreshing insofar that they sought counseling to deal with the root cause of their actions. Most psychologists will tell you that cheating is usually the result of a personal or relationship problem, but is not the problem itself.
Many people debate whether or not marriage is an anchronism, but maybe if we look at the wider canvass the institution of marriage itself is not that important. Perhaps rather than worrying about improving marriage rates, Black Americans should focus on gaining the necessary tools to sustain healthy, committed relationships, particularly when children are involved. "Committed" in my opinion has less to do with sexual monogamy than it does with being accountable for the obligations and agreements that you voluntarily enter into.
"Family" stands as the foundation for people's understanding of society--it helps to shape our values, belief and priorities. In seems rational to assume that for the masses of Black folks to advance, we need to take concrete steps to strengthen our commitment to respectful and healthy relationships and to conscious parenting. Our families have to be the spaces that nourish us and our children so that we can achieve our personal and societal goals.
In popular culture there have been few examples of a Black woman and a Black man working together to raise their children: Good Times, The Jeffersons, The Cosby Show. One could easily argue that the constantly unemployed father "James" from Good Times was a poor role model, promoting the idea that Black men were incapable of taking care of their families. By the time we get to The Jeffersons, George Jefferson's son Lionel is in college. Consequently the audience doesn't gain much insight about how the family dynamic---as well as George's ambition impacted Lionel and his life choices. The Huxtable family is the only one that on a weekly basis showed a Black couple dealing with the ups and downs of a traditional marriage as well as with the joys and trials of parenting.
It is silly and judgemental to make a blanket judgment that a particular type of family structure is best. However I think that it is reasonable to assume that the best situations are those where the adults have carefully thought about forming a family and voluntarily entered into the arrangement after agreeing (or continually working to reconcile disagreements) about the emotional, time, and financial commitments that are expected---especially as they pertain to their children. While almost anything can work, it sounds like a disaster from the get-go to have children with: 1) someone you don't know well; 2) someone who is not adequately taking care of the children that they already have; 3) someone in order to hold onto a failing relationship; 4) someone already married 5)someone who is perpetually unemployed;
6)someone who is a proven liar and cheat and 7) someone who does not want children
Many of us are immersed in converations about public policy and what Clinton or Obama will do to improve the lives millions of Black Americans who are poor, undereducated and unemployed. I however suggest that in our communities we begin to have some candid conversations about relationships,families and parenting. Not moralizing or trite rhetoric but hardcore conversations about our desires for love, family and children; our current expectations in those areas and the personal baggage that we carry that is getting in way. Right now community centers, churches, mosques, or even people's homes can become venues to discuss and exchange ideas. Moreover these places could become venues to faciliate needed changes. We need year long programs dedicated to this subject.
My husband's aunt and uncle celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary last year. All of their children are successful and seemingly happy. Maybe even more earth-shattering they couple is still very much in love. We need to hear from people like them about how to create love relationships and families that function for the decades and that produce high-achieving children and grandchildren.
Although public policy can make creating a family, parenting children or fostering a love relationship more challenging, we have successfully done it in every era, under every political party. We have to come to the real conclusion that it our responsibility---not Clinton, Obama, McCain or Jesse Ventura (who may be entering the presidential race) whether our children are academically prepared to compete in a 21st century economy, where college is a minium requirement, or understand that they should only become parents after they are financially and emotionally ready to do so or that nothing is free---that includes sex when it is being used to manipulate, control, or to fill an emotional void.
Here's my hope---A year long Campaign to Discuss Relationships, Family and Parenting!
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Finally A Real Speech About Race in the U.S.
Barack Obama in a bold move decided to confront critics of his former pastor, Rev. Jeremiah Wright. While denouncing Wright's inflammatory comments, Obama did not do the expedient thing and denounce Wright. Instead he took the opportunity to have a candid discussion about the frustrations that fuel the racial divide--and inspire comments like Wright's. Obama's words will not be any balm to the folks who are dead set on believing that all Whites are evil racists and that all Blacks are lazy, criminals. However for the vast majority of us in the middle, it was a direct challenge to understand the past as a means toward crafting a more just future. Moreover, it also raises the bar in this election for all candidates to deal with the issues that affect all Americans (healthcare, employment insecurity, crumpling public school, Iraq and the war on terrorism) rather than polling folks to death in order to slice and dicing voting patterns.
Read David Corn's articlePolitics Unusual: Obama Abandons Blame Game in Sophisticated Discussion of Race which appeared on MotherJones.com
The Full Text of Obama's March 18, 2008 Speech on Race in Philadelphia
"We the people, in order to form a more perfect union."
Two hundred and twenty one years ago, in a hall that still stands across the street, a group of men gathered and, with these simple words, launched America's improbable experiment in democracy. Farmers and scholars; statesmen and patriots who had traveled across an ocean to escape tyranny and persecution finally made real their declaration of independence at a Philadelphia convention that lasted through the spring of 1787.
The document they produced was eventually signed but ultimately unfinished. It was stained by this nation's original sin of slavery, a question that divided the colonies and brought the convention to a stalemate until the founders chose to allow the slave trade to continue for at least twenty more years, and to leave any final resolution to future generations.
Of course, the answer to the slavery question was already embedded within our Constitution - a Constitution that had at is very core the ideal of equal citizenship under the law; a Constitution that promised its people liberty, and justice, and a union that could be and should be perfected over time.
And yet words on a parchment would not be enough to deliver slaves from bondage, or provide men and women of every color and creed their full rights and obligations as citizens of the United States. What would be needed were Americans in successive generations who were willing to do their part - through protests and struggle, on the streets and in the courts, through a civil war and civil disobedience and always at great risk - to narrow that gap between the promise of our ideals and the reality of their time.
This was one of the tasks we set forth at the beginning of this campaign - to continue the long march of those who came before us, a march for a more just, more equal, more free, more caring and more prosperous America. I chose to run for the presidency at this moment in history because I believe deeply that we cannot solve the challenges of our time unless we solve them together - unless we perfect our union by understanding that we may have different stories, but we hold common hopes; that we may not look the same and we may not have come from the same place, but we all want to move in the same direction - towards a better future for our children and our grandchildren.
This belief comes from my unyielding faith in the decency and generosity of the American people. But it also comes from my own American story.
I am the son of a black man from Kenya and a white woman from Kansas. I was raised with the help of a white grandfather who survived a Depression to serve in Patton's Army during World War II and a white grandmother who worked on a bomber assembly line at Fort Leavenworth while he was overseas. I've gone to some of the best schools in America and lived in one of the world's poorest nations. I am married to a black American who carries within her the blood of slaves and slaveowners - an inheritance we pass on to our two precious daughters. I have brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, uncles and cousins, of every race and every hue, scattered across three continents, and for as long as I live, I will never forget that in no other country on Earth is my story even possible.
It's a story that hasn't made me the most conventional candidate. But it is a story that has seared into my genetic makeup the idea that this nation is more than the sum of its parts - that out of many, we are truly one.
Throughout the first year of this campaign, against all predictions to the contrary, we saw how hungry the American people were for this message of unity. Despite the temptation to view my candidacy through a purely racial lens, we won commanding victories in states with some of the whitest populations in the country. In South Carolina, where the Confederate Flag still flies, we built a powerful coalition of African Americans and white Americans.
This is not to say that race has not been an issue in the campaign. At various stages in the campaign, some commentators have deemed me either "too black" or "not black enough." We saw racial tensions bubble to the surface during the week before the South Carolina primary. The press has scoured every exit poll for the latest evidence of racial polarization, not just in terms of white and black, but black and brown as well.
And yet, it has only been in the last couple of weeks that the discussion of race in this campaign has taken a particularly divisive turn.
On one end of the spectrum, we've heard the implication that my candidacy is somehow an exercise in affirmative action; that it's based solely on the desire of wide-eyed liberals to purchase racial reconciliation on the cheap. On the other end, we've heard my former pastor, Reverend Jeremiah Wright, use incendiary language to express views that have the potential not only to widen the racial divide, but views that denigrate both the greatness and the goodness of our nation; that rightly offend white and black alike.
I have already condemned, in unequivocal terms, the statements of Reverend Wright that have caused such controversy. For some, nagging questions remain. Did I know him to be an occasionally fierce critic of American domestic and foreign policy? Of course. Did I ever hear him make remarks that could be considered controversial while I sat in church? Yes. Did I strongly disagree with many of his political views? Absolutely - just as I'm sure many of you have heard remarks from your pastors, priests, or rabbis with which you strongly disagreed.
But the remarks that have caused this recent firestorm weren't simply controversial. They weren't simply a religious leader's effort to speak out against perceived injustice. Instead, they expressed a profoundly distorted view of this country - a view that sees white racism as endemic, and that elevates what is wrong with America above all that we know is right with America; a view that sees the conflicts in the Middle East as rooted primarily in the actions of stalwart allies like Israel, instead of emanating from the perverse and hateful ideologies of radical Islam.
As such, Reverend Wright's comments were not only wrong but divisive, divisive at a time when we need unity; racially charged at a time when we need to come together to solve a set of monumental problems - two wars, a terrorist threat, a falling economy, a chronic health care crisis and potentially devastating climate change; problems that are neither black or white or Latino or Asian, but rather problems that confront us all.
Given my background, my politics, and my professed values and ideals, there will no doubt be those for whom my statements of condemnation are not enough. Why associate myself with Reverend Wright in the first place, they may ask? Why not join another church? And I confess that if all that I knew of Reverend Wright were the snippets of those sermons that have run in an endless loop on the television and You Tube, or if Trinity United Church of Christ conformed to the caricatures being peddled by some commentators, there is no doubt that I would react in much the same way
But the truth is, that isn't all that I know of the man. The man I met more than twenty years ago is a man who helped introduce me to my Christian faith, a man who spoke to me about our obligations to love one another; to care for the sick and lift up the poor. He is a man who served his country as a U.S. Marine; who has studied and lectured at some of the finest universities and seminaries in the country, and who for over thirty years led a church that serves the community by doing God's work here on Earth - by housing the homeless, ministering to the needy, providing day care services and scholarships and prison ministries, and reaching out to those suffering from HIV/AIDS.
In my first book, Dreams From My Father, I described the experience of my first service at Trinity:
"People began to shout, to rise from their seats and clap and cry out, a forceful wind carrying the reverend's voice up into the rafters....And in that single note - hope! - I heard something else; at the foot of that cross, inside the thousands of churches across the city, I imagined the stories of ordinary black people merging with the stories of David and Goliath, Moses and Pharaoh, the Christians in the lion's den, Ezekiel's field of dry bones. Those stories - of survival, and freedom, and hope - became our story, my story; the blood that had spilled was our blood, the tears our tears; until this black church, on this bright day, seemed once more a vessel carrying the story of a people into future generations and into a larger world. Our trials and triumphs became at once unique and universal, black and more than black; in chronicling our journey, the stories and songs gave us a means to reclaim memories that we didn't need to feel shame about...memories that all people might study and cherish - and with which we could start to rebuild."
That has been my experience at Trinity. Like other predominantly black churches across the country, Trinity embodies the black community in its entirety - the doctor and the welfare mom, the model student and the former gang-banger. Like other black churches, Trinity's services are full of raucous laughter and sometimes bawdy humor. They are full of dancing, clapping, screaming and shouting that may seem jarring to the untrained ear. The church contains in full the kindness and cruelty, the fierce intelligence and the shocking ignorance, the struggles and successes, the love and yes, the bitterness and bias that make up the black experience in America.
And this helps explain, perhaps, my relationship with Reverend Wright. As imperfect as he may be, he has been like family to me. He strengthened my faith, officiated my wedding, and baptized my children. Not once in my conversations with him have I heard him talk about any ethnic group in derogatory terms, or treat whites with whom he interacted with anything but courtesy and respect. He contains within him the contradictions - the good and the bad - of the community that he has served diligently for so many years.
I can no more disown him than I can disown the black community. I can no more disown him than I can my white grandmother - a woman who helped raise me, a woman who sacrificed again and again for me, a woman who loves me as much as she loves anything in this world, but a woman who once confessed her fear of black men who passed by her on the street, and who on more than one occasion has uttered racial or ethnic stereotypes that made me cringe.
These people are a part of me. And they are a part of America, this country that I love.
Some will see this as an attempt to justify or excuse comments that are simply inexcusable. I can assure you it is not. I suppose the politically safe thing would be to move on from this episode and just hope that it fades into the woodwork. We can dismiss Reverend Wright as a crank or a demagogue, just as some have dismissed Geraldine Ferraro, in the aftermath of her recent statements, as harboring some deep-seated racial bias.
But race is an issue that I believe this nation cannot afford to ignore right now. We would be making the same mistake that Reverend Wright made in his offending sermons about America - to simplify and stereotype and amplify the negative to the point that it distorts reality.
The fact is that the comments that have been made and the issues that have surfaced over the last few weeks reflect the complexities of race in this country that we've never really worked through - a part of our union that we have yet to perfect. And if we walk away now, if we simply retreat into our respective corners, we will never be able to come together and solve challenges like health care, or education, or the need to find good jobs for every American.
Understanding this reality requires a reminder of how we arrived at this point. As William Faulkner once wrote, "The past isn't dead and buried. In fact, it isn't even past." We do not need to recite here the history of racial injustice in this country. But we do need to remind ourselves that so many of the disparities that exist in the African-American community today can be directly traced to inequalities passed on from an earlier generation that suffered under the brutal legacy of slavery and Jim Crow.
Segregated schools were, and are, inferior schools; we still haven't fixed them, fifty years after Brown v. Board of Education, and the inferior education they provided, then and now, helps explain the pervasive achievement gap between today's black and white students.
Legalized discrimination - where blacks were prevented, often through violence, from owning property, or loans were not granted to African-American business owners, or black homeowners could not access FHA mortgages, or blacks were excluded from unions, or the police force, or fire departments - meant that black families could not amass any meaningful wealth to bequeath to future generations. That history helps explain the wealth and income gap between black and white, and the concentrated pockets of poverty that persists in so many of today's urban and rural communities.
A lack of economic opportunity among black men, and the shame and frustration that came from not being able to provide for one's family, contributed to the erosion of black families - a problem that welfare policies for many years may have worsened. And the lack of basic services in so many urban black neighborhoods - parks for kids to play in, police walking the beat, regular garbage pick-up and building code enforcement - all helped create a cycle of violence, blight and neglect that continue to haunt us.
This is the reality in which Reverend Wright and other African-Americans of his generation grew up. They came of age in the late fifties and early sixties, a time when segregation was still the law of the land and opportunity was systematically constricted. What's remarkable is not how many failed in the face of discrimination, but rather how many men and women overcame the odds; how many were able to make a way out of no way for those like me who would come after them.
But for all those who scratched and clawed their way to get a piece of the American Dream, there were many who didn't make it - those who were ultimately defeated, in one way or another, by discrimination. That legacy of defeat was passed on to future generations - those young men and increasingly young women who we see standing on street corners or languishing in our prisons, without hope or prospects for the future. Even for those blacks who did make it, questions of race, and racism, continue to define their worldview in fundamental ways. For the men and women of Reverend Wright's generation, the memories of humiliation and doubt and fear have not gone away; nor has the anger and the bitterness of those years. That anger may not get expressed in public, in front of white co-workers or white friends. But it does find voice in the barbershop or around the kitchen table. At times, that anger is exploited by politicians, to gin up votes along racial lines, or to make up for a politician's own failings.
And occasionally it finds voice in the church on Sunday morning, in the pulpit and in the pews. The fact that so many people are surprised to hear that anger in some of Reverend Wright's sermons simply reminds us of the old truism that the most segregated hour in American life occurs on Sunday morning. That anger is not always productive; indeed, all too often it distracts attention from solving real problems; it keeps us from squarely facing our own complicity in our condition, and prevents the African-American community from forging the alliances it needs to bring about real change. But the anger is real; it is powerful; and to simply wish it away, to condemn it without understanding its roots, only serves to widen the chasm of misunderstanding that exists between the races.
In fact, a similar anger exists within segments of the white community. Most working- and middle-class white Americans don't feel that they have been particularly privileged by their race. Their experience is the immigrant experience - as far as they're concerned, no one's handed them anything, they've built it from scratch. They've worked hard all their lives, many times only to see their jobs shipped overseas or their pension dumped after a lifetime of labor. They are anxious about their futures, and feel their dreams slipping away; in an era of stagnant wages and global competition, opportunity comes to be seen as a zero sum game, in which your dreams come at my expense. So when they are told to bus their children to a school across town; when they hear that an African American is getting an advantage in landing a good job or a spot in a good college because of an injustice that they themselves never committed; when they're told that their fears about crime in urban neighborhoods are somehow prejudiced, resentment builds over time.
Like the anger within the black community, these resentments aren't always expressed in polite company. But they have helped shape the political landscape for at least a generation. Anger over welfare and affirmative action helped forge the Reagan Coalition. Politicians routinely exploited fears of crime for their own electoral ends. Talk show hosts and conservative commentators built entire careers unmasking bogus claims of racism while dismissing legitimate discussions of racial injustice and inequality as mere political correctness or reverse racism.
Just as black anger often proved counterproductive, so have these white resentments distracted attention from the real culprits of the middle class squeeze - a corporate culture rife with inside dealing, questionable accounting practices, and short-term greed; a Washington dominated by lobbyists and special interests; economic policies that favor the few over the many. And yet, to wish away the resentments of white Americans, to label them as misguided or even racist, without recognizing they are grounded in legitimate concerns - this too widens the racial divide, and blocks the path to understanding.
This is where we are right now. It's a racial stalemate we've been stuck in for years. Contrary to the claims of some of my critics, black and white, I have never been so naïve as to believe that we can get beyond our racial divisions in a single election cycle, or with a single candidacy - particularly a candidacy as imperfect as my own.
But I have asserted a firm conviction - a conviction rooted in my faith in God and my faith in the American people - that working together we can move beyond some of our old racial wounds, and that in fact we have no choice if we are to continue on the path of a more perfect union.
For the African-American community, that path means embracing the burdens of our past without becoming victims of our past. It means continuing to insist on a full measure of justice in every aspect of American life. But it also means binding our particular grievances - for better health care, and better schools, and better jobs - to the larger aspirations of all Americans -- the white woman struggling to break the glass ceiling, the white man whose been laid off, the immigrant trying to feed his family. And it means taking full responsibility for own lives - by demanding more from our fathers, and spending more time with our children, and reading to them, and teaching them that while they may face challenges and discrimination in their own lives, they must never succumb to despair or cynicism; they must always believe that they can write their own destiny.
Ironically, this quintessentially American - and yes, conservative - notion of self-help found frequent expression in Reverend Wright's sermons. But what my former pastor too often failed to understand is that embarking on a program of self-help also requires a belief that society can change.
The profound mistake of Reverend Wright's sermons is not that he spoke about racism in our society. It's that he spoke as if our society was static; as if no progress has been made; as if this country - a country that has made it possible for one of his own members to run for the highest office in the land and build a coalition of white and black; Latino and Asian, rich and poor, young and old -- is still irrevocably bound to a tragic past. But what we know -- what we have seen - is that America can change. That is true genius of this nation. What we have already achieved gives us hope - the audacity to hope - for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.
In the white community, the path to a more perfect union means acknowledging that what ails the African-American community does not just exist in the minds of black people; that the legacy of discrimination - and current incidents of discrimination, while less overt than in the past - are real and must be addressed. Not just with words, but with deeds - by investing in our schools and our communities; by enforcing our civil rights laws and ensuring fairness in our criminal justice system; by providing this generation with ladders of opportunity that were unavailable for previous generations. It requires all Americans to realize that your dreams do not have to come at the expense of my dreams; that investing in the health, welfare, and education of black and brown and white children will ultimately help all of America prosper.
In the end, then, what is called for is nothing more, and nothing less, than what all the world's great religions demand - that we do unto others as we would have them do unto us. Let us be our brother's keeper, Scripture tells us. Let us be our sister's keeper. Let us find that common stake we all have in one another, and let our politics reflect that spirit as well.
For we have a choice in this country. We can accept a politics that breeds division, and conflict, and cynicism. We can tackle race only as spectacle - as we did in the OJ trial - or in the wake of tragedy, as we did in the aftermath of Katrina - or as fodder for the nightly news. We can play Reverend Wright's sermons on every channel, every day and talk about them from now until the election, and make the only question in this campaign whether or not the American people think that I somehow believe or sympathize with his most offensive words. We can pounce on some gaffe by a Hillary supporter as evidence that she's playing the race card, or we can speculate on whether white men will all flock to John McCain in the general election regardless of his policies.
We can do that.
But if we do, I can tell you that in the next election, we'll be talking about some other distraction. And then another one. And then another one. And nothing will change.
That is one option. Or, at this moment, in this election, we can come together and say, "Not this time." This time we want to talk about the crumbling schools that are stealing the future of black children and white children and Asian children and Hispanic children and Native American children. This time we want to reject the cynicism that tells us that these kids can't learn; that those kids who don't look like us are somebody else's problem. The children of America are not those kids, they are our kids, and we will not let them fall behind in a 21st century economy. Not this time.
This time we want to talk about how the lines in the Emergency Room are filled with whites and blacks and Hispanics who do not have health care; who don't have the power on their own to overcome the special interests in Washington, but who can take them on if we do it together.
This time we want to talk about the shuttered mills that once provided a decent life for men and women of every race, and the homes for sale that once belonged to Americans from every religion, every region, every walk of life. This time we want to talk about the fact that the real problem is not that someone who doesn't look like you might take your job; it's that the corporation you work for will ship it overseas for nothing more than a profit.
This time we want to talk about the men and women of every color and creed who serve together, and fight together, and bleed together under the same proud flag. We want to talk about how to bring them home from a war that never should've been authorized and never should've been waged, and we want to talk about how we'll show our patriotism by caring for them, and their families, and giving them the benefits they have earned.
I would not be running for President if I didn't believe with all my heart that this is what the vast majority of Americans want for this country. This union may never be perfect, but generation after generation has shown that it can always be perfected. And today, whenever I find myself feeling doubtful or cynical about this possibility, what gives me the most hope is the next generation - the young people whose attitudes and beliefs and openness to change have already made history in this election.
There is one story in particularly that I'd like to leave you with today - a story I told when I had the great honor of speaking on Dr. King's birthday at his home church, Ebenezer Baptist, in Atlanta.
There is a young, twenty-three year old white woman named Ashley Baia who organized for our campaign in Florence, South Carolina. She had been working to organize a mostly African-American community since the beginning of this campaign, and one day she was at a roundtable discussion where everyone went around telling their story and why they were there.
And Ashley said that when she was nine years old, her mother got cancer. And because she had to miss days of work, she was let go and lost her health care. They had to file for bankruptcy, and that's when Ashley decided that she had to do something to help her mom.
She knew that food was one of their most expensive costs, and so Ashley convinced her mother that what she really liked and really wanted to eat more than anything else was mustard and relish sandwiches. Because that was the cheapest way to eat.
She did this for a year until her mom got better, and she told everyone at the roundtable that the reason she joined our campaign was so that she could help the millions of other children in the country who want and need to help their parents too.
Now Ashley might have made a different choice. Perhaps somebody told her along the way that the source of her mother's problems were blacks who were on welfare and too lazy to work, or Hispanics who were coming into the country illegally. But she didn't. She sought out allies in her fight against injustice.
Anyway, Ashley finishes her story and then goes around the room and asks everyone else why they're supporting the campaign. They all have different stories and reasons. Many bring up a specific issue. And finally they come to this elderly black man who's been sitting there quietly the entire time. And Ashley asks him why he's there. And he does not bring up a specific issue. He does not say health care or the economy. He does not say education or the war. He does not say that he was there because of Barack Obama. He simply says to everyone in the room, "I am here because of Ashley."
"I'm here because of Ashley." By itself, that single moment of recognition between that young white girl and that old black man is not enough. It is not enough to give health care to the sick, or jobs to the jobless, or education to our children.
But it is where we start. It is where our union grows stronger. And as so many generations have come to realize over the course of the two-hundred and twenty one years since a band of patriots signed that document in Philadelphia, that is where the perfection begins.
Read David Corn's articlePolitics Unusual: Obama Abandons Blame Game in Sophisticated Discussion of Race which appeared on MotherJones.com
The Full Text of Obama's March 18, 2008 Speech on Race in Philadelphia
"We the people, in order to form a more perfect union."
Two hundred and twenty one years ago, in a hall that still stands across the street, a group of men gathered and, with these simple words, launched America's improbable experiment in democracy. Farmers and scholars; statesmen and patriots who had traveled across an ocean to escape tyranny and persecution finally made real their declaration of independence at a Philadelphia convention that lasted through the spring of 1787.
The document they produced was eventually signed but ultimately unfinished. It was stained by this nation's original sin of slavery, a question that divided the colonies and brought the convention to a stalemate until the founders chose to allow the slave trade to continue for at least twenty more years, and to leave any final resolution to future generations.
Of course, the answer to the slavery question was already embedded within our Constitution - a Constitution that had at is very core the ideal of equal citizenship under the law; a Constitution that promised its people liberty, and justice, and a union that could be and should be perfected over time.
And yet words on a parchment would not be enough to deliver slaves from bondage, or provide men and women of every color and creed their full rights and obligations as citizens of the United States. What would be needed were Americans in successive generations who were willing to do their part - through protests and struggle, on the streets and in the courts, through a civil war and civil disobedience and always at great risk - to narrow that gap between the promise of our ideals and the reality of their time.
This was one of the tasks we set forth at the beginning of this campaign - to continue the long march of those who came before us, a march for a more just, more equal, more free, more caring and more prosperous America. I chose to run for the presidency at this moment in history because I believe deeply that we cannot solve the challenges of our time unless we solve them together - unless we perfect our union by understanding that we may have different stories, but we hold common hopes; that we may not look the same and we may not have come from the same place, but we all want to move in the same direction - towards a better future for our children and our grandchildren.
This belief comes from my unyielding faith in the decency and generosity of the American people. But it also comes from my own American story.
I am the son of a black man from Kenya and a white woman from Kansas. I was raised with the help of a white grandfather who survived a Depression to serve in Patton's Army during World War II and a white grandmother who worked on a bomber assembly line at Fort Leavenworth while he was overseas. I've gone to some of the best schools in America and lived in one of the world's poorest nations. I am married to a black American who carries within her the blood of slaves and slaveowners - an inheritance we pass on to our two precious daughters. I have brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, uncles and cousins, of every race and every hue, scattered across three continents, and for as long as I live, I will never forget that in no other country on Earth is my story even possible.
It's a story that hasn't made me the most conventional candidate. But it is a story that has seared into my genetic makeup the idea that this nation is more than the sum of its parts - that out of many, we are truly one.
Throughout the first year of this campaign, against all predictions to the contrary, we saw how hungry the American people were for this message of unity. Despite the temptation to view my candidacy through a purely racial lens, we won commanding victories in states with some of the whitest populations in the country. In South Carolina, where the Confederate Flag still flies, we built a powerful coalition of African Americans and white Americans.
This is not to say that race has not been an issue in the campaign. At various stages in the campaign, some commentators have deemed me either "too black" or "not black enough." We saw racial tensions bubble to the surface during the week before the South Carolina primary. The press has scoured every exit poll for the latest evidence of racial polarization, not just in terms of white and black, but black and brown as well.
And yet, it has only been in the last couple of weeks that the discussion of race in this campaign has taken a particularly divisive turn.
On one end of the spectrum, we've heard the implication that my candidacy is somehow an exercise in affirmative action; that it's based solely on the desire of wide-eyed liberals to purchase racial reconciliation on the cheap. On the other end, we've heard my former pastor, Reverend Jeremiah Wright, use incendiary language to express views that have the potential not only to widen the racial divide, but views that denigrate both the greatness and the goodness of our nation; that rightly offend white and black alike.
I have already condemned, in unequivocal terms, the statements of Reverend Wright that have caused such controversy. For some, nagging questions remain. Did I know him to be an occasionally fierce critic of American domestic and foreign policy? Of course. Did I ever hear him make remarks that could be considered controversial while I sat in church? Yes. Did I strongly disagree with many of his political views? Absolutely - just as I'm sure many of you have heard remarks from your pastors, priests, or rabbis with which you strongly disagreed.
But the remarks that have caused this recent firestorm weren't simply controversial. They weren't simply a religious leader's effort to speak out against perceived injustice. Instead, they expressed a profoundly distorted view of this country - a view that sees white racism as endemic, and that elevates what is wrong with America above all that we know is right with America; a view that sees the conflicts in the Middle East as rooted primarily in the actions of stalwart allies like Israel, instead of emanating from the perverse and hateful ideologies of radical Islam.
As such, Reverend Wright's comments were not only wrong but divisive, divisive at a time when we need unity; racially charged at a time when we need to come together to solve a set of monumental problems - two wars, a terrorist threat, a falling economy, a chronic health care crisis and potentially devastating climate change; problems that are neither black or white or Latino or Asian, but rather problems that confront us all.
Given my background, my politics, and my professed values and ideals, there will no doubt be those for whom my statements of condemnation are not enough. Why associate myself with Reverend Wright in the first place, they may ask? Why not join another church? And I confess that if all that I knew of Reverend Wright were the snippets of those sermons that have run in an endless loop on the television and You Tube, or if Trinity United Church of Christ conformed to the caricatures being peddled by some commentators, there is no doubt that I would react in much the same way
But the truth is, that isn't all that I know of the man. The man I met more than twenty years ago is a man who helped introduce me to my Christian faith, a man who spoke to me about our obligations to love one another; to care for the sick and lift up the poor. He is a man who served his country as a U.S. Marine; who has studied and lectured at some of the finest universities and seminaries in the country, and who for over thirty years led a church that serves the community by doing God's work here on Earth - by housing the homeless, ministering to the needy, providing day care services and scholarships and prison ministries, and reaching out to those suffering from HIV/AIDS.
In my first book, Dreams From My Father, I described the experience of my first service at Trinity:
"People began to shout, to rise from their seats and clap and cry out, a forceful wind carrying the reverend's voice up into the rafters....And in that single note - hope! - I heard something else; at the foot of that cross, inside the thousands of churches across the city, I imagined the stories of ordinary black people merging with the stories of David and Goliath, Moses and Pharaoh, the Christians in the lion's den, Ezekiel's field of dry bones. Those stories - of survival, and freedom, and hope - became our story, my story; the blood that had spilled was our blood, the tears our tears; until this black church, on this bright day, seemed once more a vessel carrying the story of a people into future generations and into a larger world. Our trials and triumphs became at once unique and universal, black and more than black; in chronicling our journey, the stories and songs gave us a means to reclaim memories that we didn't need to feel shame about...memories that all people might study and cherish - and with which we could start to rebuild."
That has been my experience at Trinity. Like other predominantly black churches across the country, Trinity embodies the black community in its entirety - the doctor and the welfare mom, the model student and the former gang-banger. Like other black churches, Trinity's services are full of raucous laughter and sometimes bawdy humor. They are full of dancing, clapping, screaming and shouting that may seem jarring to the untrained ear. The church contains in full the kindness and cruelty, the fierce intelligence and the shocking ignorance, the struggles and successes, the love and yes, the bitterness and bias that make up the black experience in America.
And this helps explain, perhaps, my relationship with Reverend Wright. As imperfect as he may be, he has been like family to me. He strengthened my faith, officiated my wedding, and baptized my children. Not once in my conversations with him have I heard him talk about any ethnic group in derogatory terms, or treat whites with whom he interacted with anything but courtesy and respect. He contains within him the contradictions - the good and the bad - of the community that he has served diligently for so many years.
I can no more disown him than I can disown the black community. I can no more disown him than I can my white grandmother - a woman who helped raise me, a woman who sacrificed again and again for me, a woman who loves me as much as she loves anything in this world, but a woman who once confessed her fear of black men who passed by her on the street, and who on more than one occasion has uttered racial or ethnic stereotypes that made me cringe.
These people are a part of me. And they are a part of America, this country that I love.
Some will see this as an attempt to justify or excuse comments that are simply inexcusable. I can assure you it is not. I suppose the politically safe thing would be to move on from this episode and just hope that it fades into the woodwork. We can dismiss Reverend Wright as a crank or a demagogue, just as some have dismissed Geraldine Ferraro, in the aftermath of her recent statements, as harboring some deep-seated racial bias.
But race is an issue that I believe this nation cannot afford to ignore right now. We would be making the same mistake that Reverend Wright made in his offending sermons about America - to simplify and stereotype and amplify the negative to the point that it distorts reality.
The fact is that the comments that have been made and the issues that have surfaced over the last few weeks reflect the complexities of race in this country that we've never really worked through - a part of our union that we have yet to perfect. And if we walk away now, if we simply retreat into our respective corners, we will never be able to come together and solve challenges like health care, or education, or the need to find good jobs for every American.
Understanding this reality requires a reminder of how we arrived at this point. As William Faulkner once wrote, "The past isn't dead and buried. In fact, it isn't even past." We do not need to recite here the history of racial injustice in this country. But we do need to remind ourselves that so many of the disparities that exist in the African-American community today can be directly traced to inequalities passed on from an earlier generation that suffered under the brutal legacy of slavery and Jim Crow.
Segregated schools were, and are, inferior schools; we still haven't fixed them, fifty years after Brown v. Board of Education, and the inferior education they provided, then and now, helps explain the pervasive achievement gap between today's black and white students.
Legalized discrimination - where blacks were prevented, often through violence, from owning property, or loans were not granted to African-American business owners, or black homeowners could not access FHA mortgages, or blacks were excluded from unions, or the police force, or fire departments - meant that black families could not amass any meaningful wealth to bequeath to future generations. That history helps explain the wealth and income gap between black and white, and the concentrated pockets of poverty that persists in so many of today's urban and rural communities.
A lack of economic opportunity among black men, and the shame and frustration that came from not being able to provide for one's family, contributed to the erosion of black families - a problem that welfare policies for many years may have worsened. And the lack of basic services in so many urban black neighborhoods - parks for kids to play in, police walking the beat, regular garbage pick-up and building code enforcement - all helped create a cycle of violence, blight and neglect that continue to haunt us.
This is the reality in which Reverend Wright and other African-Americans of his generation grew up. They came of age in the late fifties and early sixties, a time when segregation was still the law of the land and opportunity was systematically constricted. What's remarkable is not how many failed in the face of discrimination, but rather how many men and women overcame the odds; how many were able to make a way out of no way for those like me who would come after them.
But for all those who scratched and clawed their way to get a piece of the American Dream, there were many who didn't make it - those who were ultimately defeated, in one way or another, by discrimination. That legacy of defeat was passed on to future generations - those young men and increasingly young women who we see standing on street corners or languishing in our prisons, without hope or prospects for the future. Even for those blacks who did make it, questions of race, and racism, continue to define their worldview in fundamental ways. For the men and women of Reverend Wright's generation, the memories of humiliation and doubt and fear have not gone away; nor has the anger and the bitterness of those years. That anger may not get expressed in public, in front of white co-workers or white friends. But it does find voice in the barbershop or around the kitchen table. At times, that anger is exploited by politicians, to gin up votes along racial lines, or to make up for a politician's own failings.
And occasionally it finds voice in the church on Sunday morning, in the pulpit and in the pews. The fact that so many people are surprised to hear that anger in some of Reverend Wright's sermons simply reminds us of the old truism that the most segregated hour in American life occurs on Sunday morning. That anger is not always productive; indeed, all too often it distracts attention from solving real problems; it keeps us from squarely facing our own complicity in our condition, and prevents the African-American community from forging the alliances it needs to bring about real change. But the anger is real; it is powerful; and to simply wish it away, to condemn it without understanding its roots, only serves to widen the chasm of misunderstanding that exists between the races.
In fact, a similar anger exists within segments of the white community. Most working- and middle-class white Americans don't feel that they have been particularly privileged by their race. Their experience is the immigrant experience - as far as they're concerned, no one's handed them anything, they've built it from scratch. They've worked hard all their lives, many times only to see their jobs shipped overseas or their pension dumped after a lifetime of labor. They are anxious about their futures, and feel their dreams slipping away; in an era of stagnant wages and global competition, opportunity comes to be seen as a zero sum game, in which your dreams come at my expense. So when they are told to bus their children to a school across town; when they hear that an African American is getting an advantage in landing a good job or a spot in a good college because of an injustice that they themselves never committed; when they're told that their fears about crime in urban neighborhoods are somehow prejudiced, resentment builds over time.
Like the anger within the black community, these resentments aren't always expressed in polite company. But they have helped shape the political landscape for at least a generation. Anger over welfare and affirmative action helped forge the Reagan Coalition. Politicians routinely exploited fears of crime for their own electoral ends. Talk show hosts and conservative commentators built entire careers unmasking bogus claims of racism while dismissing legitimate discussions of racial injustice and inequality as mere political correctness or reverse racism.
Just as black anger often proved counterproductive, so have these white resentments distracted attention from the real culprits of the middle class squeeze - a corporate culture rife with inside dealing, questionable accounting practices, and short-term greed; a Washington dominated by lobbyists and special interests; economic policies that favor the few over the many. And yet, to wish away the resentments of white Americans, to label them as misguided or even racist, without recognizing they are grounded in legitimate concerns - this too widens the racial divide, and blocks the path to understanding.
This is where we are right now. It's a racial stalemate we've been stuck in for years. Contrary to the claims of some of my critics, black and white, I have never been so naïve as to believe that we can get beyond our racial divisions in a single election cycle, or with a single candidacy - particularly a candidacy as imperfect as my own.
But I have asserted a firm conviction - a conviction rooted in my faith in God and my faith in the American people - that working together we can move beyond some of our old racial wounds, and that in fact we have no choice if we are to continue on the path of a more perfect union.
For the African-American community, that path means embracing the burdens of our past without becoming victims of our past. It means continuing to insist on a full measure of justice in every aspect of American life. But it also means binding our particular grievances - for better health care, and better schools, and better jobs - to the larger aspirations of all Americans -- the white woman struggling to break the glass ceiling, the white man whose been laid off, the immigrant trying to feed his family. And it means taking full responsibility for own lives - by demanding more from our fathers, and spending more time with our children, and reading to them, and teaching them that while they may face challenges and discrimination in their own lives, they must never succumb to despair or cynicism; they must always believe that they can write their own destiny.
Ironically, this quintessentially American - and yes, conservative - notion of self-help found frequent expression in Reverend Wright's sermons. But what my former pastor too often failed to understand is that embarking on a program of self-help also requires a belief that society can change.
The profound mistake of Reverend Wright's sermons is not that he spoke about racism in our society. It's that he spoke as if our society was static; as if no progress has been made; as if this country - a country that has made it possible for one of his own members to run for the highest office in the land and build a coalition of white and black; Latino and Asian, rich and poor, young and old -- is still irrevocably bound to a tragic past. But what we know -- what we have seen - is that America can change. That is true genius of this nation. What we have already achieved gives us hope - the audacity to hope - for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.
In the white community, the path to a more perfect union means acknowledging that what ails the African-American community does not just exist in the minds of black people; that the legacy of discrimination - and current incidents of discrimination, while less overt than in the past - are real and must be addressed. Not just with words, but with deeds - by investing in our schools and our communities; by enforcing our civil rights laws and ensuring fairness in our criminal justice system; by providing this generation with ladders of opportunity that were unavailable for previous generations. It requires all Americans to realize that your dreams do not have to come at the expense of my dreams; that investing in the health, welfare, and education of black and brown and white children will ultimately help all of America prosper.
In the end, then, what is called for is nothing more, and nothing less, than what all the world's great religions demand - that we do unto others as we would have them do unto us. Let us be our brother's keeper, Scripture tells us. Let us be our sister's keeper. Let us find that common stake we all have in one another, and let our politics reflect that spirit as well.
For we have a choice in this country. We can accept a politics that breeds division, and conflict, and cynicism. We can tackle race only as spectacle - as we did in the OJ trial - or in the wake of tragedy, as we did in the aftermath of Katrina - or as fodder for the nightly news. We can play Reverend Wright's sermons on every channel, every day and talk about them from now until the election, and make the only question in this campaign whether or not the American people think that I somehow believe or sympathize with his most offensive words. We can pounce on some gaffe by a Hillary supporter as evidence that she's playing the race card, or we can speculate on whether white men will all flock to John McCain in the general election regardless of his policies.
We can do that.
But if we do, I can tell you that in the next election, we'll be talking about some other distraction. And then another one. And then another one. And nothing will change.
That is one option. Or, at this moment, in this election, we can come together and say, "Not this time." This time we want to talk about the crumbling schools that are stealing the future of black children and white children and Asian children and Hispanic children and Native American children. This time we want to reject the cynicism that tells us that these kids can't learn; that those kids who don't look like us are somebody else's problem. The children of America are not those kids, they are our kids, and we will not let them fall behind in a 21st century economy. Not this time.
This time we want to talk about how the lines in the Emergency Room are filled with whites and blacks and Hispanics who do not have health care; who don't have the power on their own to overcome the special interests in Washington, but who can take them on if we do it together.
This time we want to talk about the shuttered mills that once provided a decent life for men and women of every race, and the homes for sale that once belonged to Americans from every religion, every region, every walk of life. This time we want to talk about the fact that the real problem is not that someone who doesn't look like you might take your job; it's that the corporation you work for will ship it overseas for nothing more than a profit.
This time we want to talk about the men and women of every color and creed who serve together, and fight together, and bleed together under the same proud flag. We want to talk about how to bring them home from a war that never should've been authorized and never should've been waged, and we want to talk about how we'll show our patriotism by caring for them, and their families, and giving them the benefits they have earned.
I would not be running for President if I didn't believe with all my heart that this is what the vast majority of Americans want for this country. This union may never be perfect, but generation after generation has shown that it can always be perfected. And today, whenever I find myself feeling doubtful or cynical about this possibility, what gives me the most hope is the next generation - the young people whose attitudes and beliefs and openness to change have already made history in this election.
There is one story in particularly that I'd like to leave you with today - a story I told when I had the great honor of speaking on Dr. King's birthday at his home church, Ebenezer Baptist, in Atlanta.
There is a young, twenty-three year old white woman named Ashley Baia who organized for our campaign in Florence, South Carolina. She had been working to organize a mostly African-American community since the beginning of this campaign, and one day she was at a roundtable discussion where everyone went around telling their story and why they were there.
And Ashley said that when she was nine years old, her mother got cancer. And because she had to miss days of work, she was let go and lost her health care. They had to file for bankruptcy, and that's when Ashley decided that she had to do something to help her mom.
She knew that food was one of their most expensive costs, and so Ashley convinced her mother that what she really liked and really wanted to eat more than anything else was mustard and relish sandwiches. Because that was the cheapest way to eat.
She did this for a year until her mom got better, and she told everyone at the roundtable that the reason she joined our campaign was so that she could help the millions of other children in the country who want and need to help their parents too.
Now Ashley might have made a different choice. Perhaps somebody told her along the way that the source of her mother's problems were blacks who were on welfare and too lazy to work, or Hispanics who were coming into the country illegally. But she didn't. She sought out allies in her fight against injustice.
Anyway, Ashley finishes her story and then goes around the room and asks everyone else why they're supporting the campaign. They all have different stories and reasons. Many bring up a specific issue. And finally they come to this elderly black man who's been sitting there quietly the entire time. And Ashley asks him why he's there. And he does not bring up a specific issue. He does not say health care or the economy. He does not say education or the war. He does not say that he was there because of Barack Obama. He simply says to everyone in the room, "I am here because of Ashley."
"I'm here because of Ashley." By itself, that single moment of recognition between that young white girl and that old black man is not enough. It is not enough to give health care to the sick, or jobs to the jobless, or education to our children.
But it is where we start. It is where our union grows stronger. And as so many generations have come to realize over the course of the two-hundred and twenty one years since a band of patriots signed that document in Philadelphia, that is where the perfection begins.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Clinton: A Day Late and A Dollar Short
News of Geraldine Ferraro's racially charged comment about Barack Obama came out on Wednesday. Although Hillary Clinton "regretted" the remarks, she did not immediately boot Ferraro from her Finance Committee. Ferraro (no doubt at the urging on the Clinton camp) stepped down. The press received and published her defiant resignation letter which has her essentially defending her assertion that Barack is where is his because he's a Black man. Hillary used an old political tactic. Rather than directly fire Ferraro and perhaps appear to be giving ground to Obama, Ferraro "resigned", supposedly taking her baggage with her.
Unfortunately for Clinton she did not forsee the media maelstrom that Ferraro's idiotic comments ignited. Yesterday, Clinton apologized to Black folks who may have been offended by Ferraro's comments. She also needed to apologize to the other folks who voted for Obama--Ferraro basically called them dupes. For many, Black and White her apology is too little, too late. Ferraro's comments coupled with Bill Clinton's husband's marginalization of Rev. Jesse Jackson's candidacy is about enough as some Black folks can stand. Trotting out Black women such as campaign manager Maggie Williams or long-time civil rights activist Mary Frances Berry to defend Ferraro did not AT ALL help matters.
Increasingly people are coming to believe that the Clintons are willing to do anything to win this election. If they are not inserting race into the dialogue, they are trying to change the rules so that Michigan and Florida delegates can be seated. People who are coming to this conclusion feel like they've already been through this scenario with George Bush. Seeing how his presidency has turned out they would rather not risk a repeat of that disaster by supporting Clinton. This growing sentiment is not good news for the Clintons or for the Democratic Party. Harvard professor Lawrence Bobb sums of these feelings in his article, Fairy Tale to Ferraro: Why I'm Not Voting for Clinton
If Clinton wins the nomination some folks may choose not to vote in the general election--- a small number of Democratics may even go for John McCain. On other hand, if Obama gets the nod, after such a divisive contest can folks like Ferraro and Clinton's other supporters swallow the loss and work to "unite the party?"
The Democrats machine better figure out a way to reign in the Clintons or be ready to sit on the sidelines for at least another four years under a President John McCain.
Unfortunately for Clinton she did not forsee the media maelstrom that Ferraro's idiotic comments ignited. Yesterday, Clinton apologized to Black folks who may have been offended by Ferraro's comments. She also needed to apologize to the other folks who voted for Obama--Ferraro basically called them dupes. For many, Black and White her apology is too little, too late. Ferraro's comments coupled with Bill Clinton's husband's marginalization of Rev. Jesse Jackson's candidacy is about enough as some Black folks can stand. Trotting out Black women such as campaign manager Maggie Williams or long-time civil rights activist Mary Frances Berry to defend Ferraro did not AT ALL help matters.
Increasingly people are coming to believe that the Clintons are willing to do anything to win this election. If they are not inserting race into the dialogue, they are trying to change the rules so that Michigan and Florida delegates can be seated. People who are coming to this conclusion feel like they've already been through this scenario with George Bush. Seeing how his presidency has turned out they would rather not risk a repeat of that disaster by supporting Clinton. This growing sentiment is not good news for the Clintons or for the Democratic Party. Harvard professor Lawrence Bobb sums of these feelings in his article, Fairy Tale to Ferraro: Why I'm Not Voting for Clinton
If Clinton wins the nomination some folks may choose not to vote in the general election--- a small number of Democratics may even go for John McCain. On other hand, if Obama gets the nod, after such a divisive contest can folks like Ferraro and Clinton's other supporters swallow the loss and work to "unite the party?"
The Democrats machine better figure out a way to reign in the Clintons or be ready to sit on the sidelines for at least another four years under a President John McCain.
Is the Country Read for First Lady Michelle Obama?
It was in the wind last April when New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd criticized Michelle Obama for teasing her husband in public and acknowledging that he was a mere mortal. According to Dowd, "Many people I talked to afterward found Michelle wondrous. But others worried that her chiding was emasculating, casting her husband -- under fire for lacking experience -- as an undisciplined child." Dowd put herself in the weird position of being the understanding White woman defending Sen. Barack Obama against his mean old Black wife.
Most recently, Michelle’s comment that she was "now proud to be an American" stirred up accusations that she’s a loose cannon. The familiar smell in the air is the stereotype of the "Strong Black Woman." While Barack has been portrayed in the media as the cool, charismatic post-race spouse, Michelle is increasingly depicted as the sistah with a chip on her shoulder.
Since Barack appears untouchable, don’t be surprised if Michelle becomes the target of a smear campaign. There’s now talk that her college thesis is racially divisive. Who would object to such a strategy? It would simply go down as another crazy Black bitch dragging down a successful Black man.
Everyone is asking whether the country is ready for a Black President, but perhaps we should be asking if the United States is ready for First Lady Michelle Obama? Frankly most Americans have no context in which to place Michelle----a whip-smart graduate of Princeton University and Harvard Law School from the working class South Side of Chicago. She is not shaking her ass in rap music videos nor is she caring for little White children (or their parents). She is also not a baby’s mama or some wannabe model/fashion designer/singer who latched on to a wealthy Black man.
Michelle is comfortable in her own skin and wants people to get to know the real her and not a plastic consultant-generated version. In our society we have such low expectations for Black women that even our denigration is effortlessly justified. So people actually believe that Black women like Michelle who have brains, beauty, hefty salaries and loving husbands are anomalies. Embracing Michelle would mean acknowledging a radically different Black female persona—that of a thinking, loving, independent yet supportive Black woman. However in this election it’s more probable that Barack’s opponents will go old school by trying to paint Michelle as a Sapphire--- twisting her confidence into arrogance and her honesty into bluntness.
The Amos N’ Andy character "Sapphire" has come to represent the curt-tongued, ball-busting, emasculating Black woman. On the 1970s television program Sanford and Son she was personified by "Aunt Esther"---Fred’s combative, Bible-thumping sister-in-law.
Aunt Esther was often accompanied by her henpecked husband Woodrow. Woodrow was usually tipsy suggesting that it was the only way that he could deal with his overbearing wife. The modern Sapphire is the Strong Black Woman. She is angry, aggressive, defensive, and controlling. The SBW may have an impressive resume, but she can’t keep a man. The caveat is that if the SBW has a man, he’s got to be weak—like Woodrow.
Barack’s opponents have continually questioned his toughness and even called his foreign policy proposals naïve. It’s apparent that if Michelle can be portrayed as a stereotypical domineering Black woman, it’s easier to insinuate that Barack’s got to be soft to be with her. Unfortunately, some voters may fall for it and believe that a man can’t control the country if he can’t even control his wife’s mouth.
What Michelle’s detractors fail to understand is that many American women see it as a strength, not weakness, that Barack would marry an intelligent "keep it real" woman rather than a Stepford wife. In an April 2007 Chicago Tribune article Barack said of Michelle, "There’s something about her that projects such honesty and strength. It’s what makes her such an unbelievable professional, and partner, and mother, and wife." In this era where fake is the new real, Michelle Obama is a welcome breath of fresh air.
Originally printed on News One @ Giantmag.com
Most recently, Michelle’s comment that she was "now proud to be an American" stirred up accusations that she’s a loose cannon. The familiar smell in the air is the stereotype of the "Strong Black Woman." While Barack has been portrayed in the media as the cool, charismatic post-race spouse, Michelle is increasingly depicted as the sistah with a chip on her shoulder.
Since Barack appears untouchable, don’t be surprised if Michelle becomes the target of a smear campaign. There’s now talk that her college thesis is racially divisive. Who would object to such a strategy? It would simply go down as another crazy Black bitch dragging down a successful Black man.
Everyone is asking whether the country is ready for a Black President, but perhaps we should be asking if the United States is ready for First Lady Michelle Obama? Frankly most Americans have no context in which to place Michelle----a whip-smart graduate of Princeton University and Harvard Law School from the working class South Side of Chicago. She is not shaking her ass in rap music videos nor is she caring for little White children (or their parents). She is also not a baby’s mama or some wannabe model/fashion designer/singer who latched on to a wealthy Black man.
Michelle is comfortable in her own skin and wants people to get to know the real her and not a plastic consultant-generated version. In our society we have such low expectations for Black women that even our denigration is effortlessly justified. So people actually believe that Black women like Michelle who have brains, beauty, hefty salaries and loving husbands are anomalies. Embracing Michelle would mean acknowledging a radically different Black female persona—that of a thinking, loving, independent yet supportive Black woman. However in this election it’s more probable that Barack’s opponents will go old school by trying to paint Michelle as a Sapphire--- twisting her confidence into arrogance and her honesty into bluntness.
The Amos N’ Andy character "Sapphire" has come to represent the curt-tongued, ball-busting, emasculating Black woman. On the 1970s television program Sanford and Son she was personified by "Aunt Esther"---Fred’s combative, Bible-thumping sister-in-law.
Aunt Esther was often accompanied by her henpecked husband Woodrow. Woodrow was usually tipsy suggesting that it was the only way that he could deal with his overbearing wife. The modern Sapphire is the Strong Black Woman. She is angry, aggressive, defensive, and controlling. The SBW may have an impressive resume, but she can’t keep a man. The caveat is that if the SBW has a man, he’s got to be weak—like Woodrow.
Barack’s opponents have continually questioned his toughness and even called his foreign policy proposals naïve. It’s apparent that if Michelle can be portrayed as a stereotypical domineering Black woman, it’s easier to insinuate that Barack’s got to be soft to be with her. Unfortunately, some voters may fall for it and believe that a man can’t control the country if he can’t even control his wife’s mouth.
What Michelle’s detractors fail to understand is that many American women see it as a strength, not weakness, that Barack would marry an intelligent "keep it real" woman rather than a Stepford wife. In an April 2007 Chicago Tribune article Barack said of Michelle, "There’s something about her that projects such honesty and strength. It’s what makes her such an unbelievable professional, and partner, and mother, and wife." In this era where fake is the new real, Michelle Obama is a welcome breath of fresh air.
Originally printed on News One @ Giantmag.com
Sunday, March 9, 2008
The Vanilla Ice of the Literary World
A few weeks ago I read a book review in the NYT Times of Margaret Jones' book, Love and Consequences. The book was about a half-Native American, half-White girl gang member in South Central Los Angeles. The girl ends up in foster care and is raised by a Black American family. Frankly, my first impression was that the White part of the girl's race probably helped her to get the book deal. In my mind I felt that the editor would have been less receptive had the author been a young Black woman. I then stopped and thought that my thinking may have been whack---was I being a reverse racist? Shouldn't her story be judged on its merits??
Well, it turned out that the book was indeed a fraud. Last week it was discovered that “Margaret B. Jones is a pseudonym for Margaret Seltzer, a full fledged White girl who grew up in the affluent Sherman Oaks section of Los Angeles. Moreover she lives with her biological family, has never lived with a foster family, or hustled drugs for any street gang. Margaret Seltzer, like rap artist Vanilla Ice is simply another example of White folks pimping the 'hood to make a buck.
There has been a long history of White Americans adopting ethnic identities, particularly that of Native Americans and Black Americans and deeming themselves competent to speak for these "others." In their twisted rationale these Vanilla Ices often believe that they are helping these noble, but simple people whom they impersonate by using their White savvy to get their stories out to the public. Why not then write fiction or assist these disenfranchised folks to tell their own stories? Unfortunately these impostor memoirs typically cater to preconceived notions about Native Americans and the experiences of urban Blacks, since the authors frequently have no first-hand knowledge to draw from in creating their fictional persona and narratives.
One would think that editors would have learned something after the outting of James Frey's memoir "A Million Little Pieces" as a fake and the J.T, LeRoy debacle. Laura Albert, a Brooklyn woman claimed to be J.T. LeRoy, a Southern, transgendered (biological male) former street kid/hustler. Why haven't editors begun to require authors to provide some shred of evidence to back-up their "autobiographies"? In that case of Margaret Seltzer, a few calls to law enforcement or California social services agencies probably would have exposed this lie in the manuscript stage.
In a press release, JLove Calderon, an activist and author speaks out saying,
“We must respond to the daily injustices perpetuated on people with low income and people of color and we must do so with integrity and partnership. It is not in anyone’s best interest to speak for them, attempting to be someone’s “savior.” We must be focused on supporting people standing up and telling their own story; their own truth.”
Calderon’s novel That White Girl, inspired by her own life, is a coming of age hip-hop oriented story that explores a young woman’s struggles and triumphs as a middle class Irish Catholic white girl navigating her way through her new family - the Crips, a notorious street gang. Although the book has been well received it has not been a national sensation because according to Calderon, "The country is not as ready to deal honestly with some of the deeper, more uncomfortable issues of race, class, and privilege. My life, on the other hand, is dedicated to truth, love, and freedom. I spend all my waking hours working with my fellow activists to dismantle unfair and oppressive systems and institutions which are the root causes of issues such as gang violence, the prison industrial complex, and poverty.”
The fact that so many media outlets including the NYT praised Love and Consequences and ignored White Girlmakes one simply say what the @#$%!
Well, it turned out that the book was indeed a fraud. Last week it was discovered that “Margaret B. Jones is a pseudonym for Margaret Seltzer, a full fledged White girl who grew up in the affluent Sherman Oaks section of Los Angeles. Moreover she lives with her biological family, has never lived with a foster family, or hustled drugs for any street gang. Margaret Seltzer, like rap artist Vanilla Ice is simply another example of White folks pimping the 'hood to make a buck.
There has been a long history of White Americans adopting ethnic identities, particularly that of Native Americans and Black Americans and deeming themselves competent to speak for these "others." In their twisted rationale these Vanilla Ices often believe that they are helping these noble, but simple people whom they impersonate by using their White savvy to get their stories out to the public. Why not then write fiction or assist these disenfranchised folks to tell their own stories? Unfortunately these impostor memoirs typically cater to preconceived notions about Native Americans and the experiences of urban Blacks, since the authors frequently have no first-hand knowledge to draw from in creating their fictional persona and narratives.
One would think that editors would have learned something after the outting of James Frey's memoir "A Million Little Pieces" as a fake and the J.T, LeRoy debacle. Laura Albert, a Brooklyn woman claimed to be J.T. LeRoy, a Southern, transgendered (biological male) former street kid/hustler. Why haven't editors begun to require authors to provide some shred of evidence to back-up their "autobiographies"? In that case of Margaret Seltzer, a few calls to law enforcement or California social services agencies probably would have exposed this lie in the manuscript stage.
In a press release, JLove Calderon, an activist and author speaks out saying,
“We must respond to the daily injustices perpetuated on people with low income and people of color and we must do so with integrity and partnership. It is not in anyone’s best interest to speak for them, attempting to be someone’s “savior.” We must be focused on supporting people standing up and telling their own story; their own truth.”
Calderon’s novel That White Girl, inspired by her own life, is a coming of age hip-hop oriented story that explores a young woman’s struggles and triumphs as a middle class Irish Catholic white girl navigating her way through her new family - the Crips, a notorious street gang. Although the book has been well received it has not been a national sensation because according to Calderon, "The country is not as ready to deal honestly with some of the deeper, more uncomfortable issues of race, class, and privilege. My life, on the other hand, is dedicated to truth, love, and freedom. I spend all my waking hours working with my fellow activists to dismantle unfair and oppressive systems and institutions which are the root causes of issues such as gang violence, the prison industrial complex, and poverty.”
The fact that so many media outlets including the NYT praised Love and Consequences and ignored White Girlmakes one simply say what the @#$%!
Monday, March 3, 2008
Rebecca Walker on Feminist In-Fighting
I know that many Black women have no love for feminism. In many circles, feminism is little more than White woman trying to gain the power that White men have---there is little discussion about empowering women of color. As White women demand entree corporate offices and high level political offices, many old school feminists are mute about the legion of brown woman who hold down these "power" women's homes---caring for their kids and or cleaning her house. Less not even talk about the intersection between racism and sexism---for this crowd it doesn't exist.
bell hooks talked about feminism as a means to achieving equality for everyone. Alice Walker used to term womanism to explore the realities of Black women seeking freedom. So, maybe as a concept feminism, if it facilitates equality and freedom of choice is a good thing---but in order for it to speak to a wider audience it has to put some meaningful action behind updated, more inclusive rhetoric. Within the ranks of feminism it's time for some new thinking and probably some new public leadership. Be clear, it's not about age---some of the younger White feminists seem to parrot the old guard.
See what Alice Walker's daughter, Rebecca, an activist and accomplished author has weighs in feminist-infighting in the Huffington Post
There is a lot of discussion about "feminist in-fighting" of late, spurred by
the election. Jessica Valenti of Feministing.com is doing a piece on the
subject for The Nation. Here is my response to her query:
1. The fact is there have always been many "feminisms," but one dominant,
more visible Feminism, which is essentially comprised of the needs, views, and
philosophies of straight white women with a certain degree of privilege. Now we can add "and of a certain age" to that list. Women of different backgrounds
have been speaking to this issue of exclusivity for decades, and their critiques
have been voluminous. The lack of resolution of these critiques is currently
manifesting in an exacerbated form, and labeled "infighting." There are no new issues on the table. For example, my mother, Alice Walker, did not create the
term "womanist" in the late '70s because she was feeling creative. I did not
offer the concept of Third Wave in the '90s because I wanted to inject a
catchy phrase into the Feminist discourse. And, many "mainstream" women did not
reject the Feminist label in the '60s to present because they don't know what
Feminism really is.
The complaints brought against Feminism include racism, classism, ageism, out of touchism, and a certain tendency toward First World arrogance. There has
been an enduring wariness in communities of color specifically, about
Feminism's mantra of independence rather than interdependence with male family members and the world at large. This would include Feminism's ambivalence about
motherhood, marriage, and domestic life in general. This would include Feminism's divisive and ultimately unhelpful commentary that women need men like fish need
bicycles (women need their grandfathers, fathers, sons, brothers, etc. for a host of reasons too lengthy and obvious to list here). This would include
Feminism's dismissal of religion itself based on its patriarchal leadership. This
would include Feminism's characterization of young women who don't fall in line with the Feminist status quo as naive and ungrateful. This would include Feminism's short-sidedness that will ultimately undo the work of their anointed protegees.
Simply put, if Feminism was Wal-Mart, and had as many decades-old unresolved
grievances against it, it would have long ago been bankrupt.
Read the rest of Rebecca Walker's article Feminist Infighting
at Feminist Infighting
bell hooks talked about feminism as a means to achieving equality for everyone. Alice Walker used to term womanism to explore the realities of Black women seeking freedom. So, maybe as a concept feminism, if it facilitates equality and freedom of choice is a good thing---but in order for it to speak to a wider audience it has to put some meaningful action behind updated, more inclusive rhetoric. Within the ranks of feminism it's time for some new thinking and probably some new public leadership. Be clear, it's not about age---some of the younger White feminists seem to parrot the old guard.
See what Alice Walker's daughter, Rebecca, an activist and accomplished author has weighs in feminist-infighting in the Huffington Post
There is a lot of discussion about "feminist in-fighting" of late, spurred by
the election. Jessica Valenti of Feministing.com is doing a piece on the
subject for The Nation. Here is my response to her query:
1. The fact is there have always been many "feminisms," but one dominant,
more visible Feminism, which is essentially comprised of the needs, views, and
philosophies of straight white women with a certain degree of privilege. Now we can add "and of a certain age" to that list. Women of different backgrounds
have been speaking to this issue of exclusivity for decades, and their critiques
have been voluminous. The lack of resolution of these critiques is currently
manifesting in an exacerbated form, and labeled "infighting." There are no new issues on the table. For example, my mother, Alice Walker, did not create the
term "womanist" in the late '70s because she was feeling creative. I did not
offer the concept of Third Wave in the '90s because I wanted to inject a
catchy phrase into the Feminist discourse. And, many "mainstream" women did not
reject the Feminist label in the '60s to present because they don't know what
Feminism really is.
The complaints brought against Feminism include racism, classism, ageism, out of touchism, and a certain tendency toward First World arrogance. There has
been an enduring wariness in communities of color specifically, about
Feminism's mantra of independence rather than interdependence with male family members and the world at large. This would include Feminism's ambivalence about
motherhood, marriage, and domestic life in general. This would include Feminism's divisive and ultimately unhelpful commentary that women need men like fish need
bicycles (women need their grandfathers, fathers, sons, brothers, etc. for a host of reasons too lengthy and obvious to list here). This would include
Feminism's dismissal of religion itself based on its patriarchal leadership. This
would include Feminism's characterization of young women who don't fall in line with the Feminist status quo as naive and ungrateful. This would include Feminism's short-sidedness that will ultimately undo the work of their anointed protegees.
Simply put, if Feminism was Wal-Mart, and had as many decades-old unresolved
grievances against it, it would have long ago been bankrupt.
Read the rest of Rebecca Walker's article Feminist Infighting
at Feminist Infighting
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