Three weeks later I'm still amazed whenever I see or hear anything that refers to Barack Obama as President-elect. Some mornings I awaken uncertain that it actually happened but it did. On November 4, Barack Hussein Obama was elected the 44th President of the United States by a wide margin. Though I allowed myself to hope for victory. I never gave serious consideration to the idea that a man of African descent would ever lead the country. I assumed the white power structure would come together, commit grand theft election and we'd take another four up the rear.
I've witnessed how the concept of race can polarize and marginalize. I reflect, in shame, on those times I gentrified my racial identity to gain favor with the whites. For a while I believed having more white associates than Black somehow increased my value, which is true on some level. For a time, in fact sometimes I believe that white people are inherently evil and responsible for all malevolence in the world. Perhaps not directly, but with a measure of paranoia, accompanied by anger and self-loathing, symptomatic of Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome, I can concoct a creative conspiracy theory. Somewhere deep in my gut I still fear the good old boy network will somehow prevail.
Despite my trepidation, I arrived at the polls early to cast a vote for hope. I didn't anticipate the wave of emotion that engulfed me upon entering the booth and closing the drape. I believed myself to be part of an historic moment, but miscalculated its magnitude. I knew that I would be proxy voting for all those who fought and died in the struggle, but I never imagined Fannie Lou Hamer, Vernon Dahmer, Medgar Evers, Viola Liuzza, Chaney, Goodman, Schwerner and my Aunt Sarah would follow me into the booth. They were surely there. Their spiritual presence was overwhelming. Their excitement was palpable. Not only were we boldly exercising our right, we were asserting, with confidence that a candidate who looks like us deserved to ascend to the highest office.
With no concrete vision of the outcome, I was still intoxicated by the possibility of our world changing by the end of the day. When the inconceivable happened, there was no immediate thrill of victory or feeling of relief. The same fear and foreboding that plagued me when he earned the nomination, remains with me even now. Another leg of the journey is complete, but there is more difficult ground to cover. I'm suiting up for the battle. I'm not annoyed by the collective joy of the people, though the Obama gear being sold in the ghetto screams coonery. The most offensive is the black velvet tapestry of Barack Obama, Nelson Mandela and Jesus Christ. Framed photographs of Obama are fast replacing portraits of Dr. King that hang in Black households across the country. They truly believe the world has changed. I'm not so sure. I will celebrate upon the successful completion of his first term, assured that a new day has arrived. There are still too many remnants of yesterday for me to dance in the street.
Back in the 1980s the tourism council of my home state ran a television ad featuring former governor, Thomas Kean, uttering the slogan, "New Jersey and you, perfect together." It was a wonderful campaign that showed those, only familiar with a stretch of turnpike, what treasures lay beyond the pine trees, industrial complexes and marshlands. Even life-long Jerseyans remain completely unaware of the pristine serenity of Mount Tammany or the Victorian grandeur of Cape May. Motorists, making the same trip each day, barely notice the slope of South Orange Avenue as it clings to the Watchungs. From its majestic Atlantic coast to the banks of the Delaware, New Jersey offers a diversity of attractions and people.
I grew up along the shore in a resort town that no longer exists. At one time, the "Friendly City" played host to celebrities, the idle rich, and vacationing presidents. People still live and work there, but the community that I knew is gone. The city is no longer friendly or familiar. For deliberately extended absences and failure to recognize its charm, I accept some responsibility for the change. However, I have lived long enough to learn that something ugly lurked just beneath what appeared idyllic on the surface. It's true for most of New Jersey.
Ours was perhaps the first black family to move into a neighborhood of Italian immigrants. Working families inhabited well-maintained homes with manicured lawns and perfectly trimmed hedges. Fruit trees and grape arbors flourished in just about every yard, yielding harvests that eventually became homemade jellies, preserves and wine. Our house actually has a crude wine cellar beneath the kitchen, where backyard wine fermented in wooden casks.
Our Italian neighbors were nice and polite on the surface, which is all I knew. We didn't visit their homes and were instructed not to trespass on their property under any circumstances. After watching old Mr. Cammarano trim hedges with a sickle, I never asked why. I simply assumed something bad would happen. I depended upon meter readers, mailmen and my more daring playmates to retrieve foul balls. I don't believe we were a nuisance to our neighbors or profoundly affected their quality of life. Still they all moved away, became absentee landlords and eventually sold their properties. I certainly never suspected our entrance facilitated their exit. After all, we were quiet, except on major holidays, maintained our property and stayed out of the way. I was nearly an adult when I realized they'd simply recreated the neighborhood in what was deemed a better section of town. I also learned a similar migratory pattern occurred across town, where Jews abandoned a temple during their exodus.
Despite white flight from the neighborhood, our school system remained integrated. I attended public school with children from every conceivable background and formed genuine friendships. I was articulate, well read and a bit of a geek, which earned little respect among my peers, but upwardly mobile people of color thought I was brilliant and the parents of my white classmates considered me a credit to my race. Despite the grin and shuffle, I am proud to have crossed cultures, formed lasting associations with people across the spectrum and forced many to rethink their attitudes concerning people of color, much like President-elect Obama. There were even instances when I transcended my outer shell to connect on a purely intellectual level. I was fortunate to have come of age in a place that valued diversity and practiced tolerance, at least theoretically. I came to realize tolerance was attached to the observance of certain social constructs.
Apparently rules were made to be broken, at the very least, waived or amended, reaffirming that death is the only certainty in life. During my brief sojourn on earth, things once considered absolute and finite have been altered, destroyed or simply vanished. Berlin’s wall toppled in 1989, the Soviet Union dissolved in 1991 and New York’s twin towers became smoldering rubble in the blink of an eye on a bright September morning in 2001. Each of those events profoundly impacted the physical and cultural landscape of our world. The elevation of a biracial man to the American presidency creates a similar effect. For the first time since 1789 the Commander in chief looks different and that difference has empowered and changed the perspective of a severely traumatized and disenfranchised people.
Most adult Black Americans, when asked, will tell you they never believed they’d live to see a person of color rise to the presidency. Remarkably, Black children born today may never suffer the frustration of limitations imposed by a racist power structure. They can look to the White House and see a family that reflects them. Just as Tiger Woods’ performance on the course ripped country club doors asunder, the presidency of Barack Obama shatters a political glass ceiling that has endured 219 years. People of color can now envision themselves running the country as easily as they can aspire to a career in entertainment or professional sports. The playing field appears to be leveling, but the harsh reality of yesterday reaches over regularly to slap me.
Although I abandoned New Jersey, I still go to the web and read the shore area’s daily newspaper. I like to keep up with the happenings back home. At the end of each story there is space for reader comments. Much of what is posted helps me identify the reasons I moved. Small-minded bigots exist everywhere, but there is an over-abundance where I come from. A feature story about three young black men on trial for a gang-related murder was plastered with hateful comments. Seagoat22 felt justified to write, “The entire Black race should have been left in Africa.” For every comment blasting his ignorance, two more agreed with him. Because I understand the concept of white privilege and recognize racism is weaved into our culture and constitution, I am seldom shocked by the commentary. On occasion I have been angered and posted comments of my own to magnify the stupidity. It doesn’t seem to make a great difference. The same fools come back daily to exercise their privilege.
It is incredible that in 2008 a vast majority of white Americans know little more of African Americans beyond the myths created and perpetuated to justify our oppression. I appreciate my Caucasian comrades for making an effort to know the me that exists beneath the surface and for allowing me to develop their perception of what it means to be Black in America. I am also grateful to the Obamas for redefining that perception for the world. I don’t know what the future holds, but like my grandmother, “I’m gon’ pray for that colored boy.”
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