Having attended more than a few national political conventions, I must confess that I did not expect to see what the nation is about to witness tonight in Denver. Few people, if honest, would acknowledge their skepticism of the idea that a Black candidate could or would contend for the presidency in the current space of time. After all, twenty years has passed since Rev. Jesse Jackson made his historic run that had “mainstream” media asking, “What does Jesse want?” It was as if a Black person had to be insane to think election to the presidency was possible, so there had to be some underlying, nefarious motivation for Rev. Jackson’s pursuit of the Oval Office.
Twenty years later Illinois Senator Barack Obama, who just four years ago was unknown to most Americans until he spoke at the 2004 Democratic convention in Boston, is poised to stand on stage and accept the nomination of his party as their standard bearer in November.
It would take the most hopeless racist to not concede that this is a watershed moment in our nation’s history. A moment that my generation, the tail end of the civil rights era, had all but considered impossible. The fact that it is happening on the 45th anniversary of the March on Washington and one day after the anniversary of the passing of Dr. W.E.B. DuBois gives Senator Obama’s nomination that much more significance. It is a script that even the best scribes in Hollywood could not have imagined.
Our cultural sensibilities tell us to proceed with caution in our enthusiasm; to temper the glee that many of us are feeling at this moment. We don’t want to appear too overjoyed for fear that it will trigger a backlash from those still living on Jim Crow Lane. It’s not fair but for many of us who still have “memory”; we have been conditioned to accept even the best news with little outward display of emotion. Still, it’s hard to maintain composure to when you see the excitement in the voices of children who, because of Senator Obama’s candidacy, see the possibilities for themselves or the young adults who now have a glimmer of hopefulness in their eyes, or the grandparents who wistfully wish their parents and grandparents were alive to witness this moment. I now truly understand why Jackie Robinson was so important to a generation of Black Americans.
Having been on the convention floor when Rev. Jackson delivered his stirring speech in 1988 in Atlanta and having shed more than a few tears, I know what this moment means. And most Black people do, even those that may not have supported the junior senator. We all know because there is a story, a back in the day tale, in each of our families when survival was the biggest dream our forbearers could dream. Our “place” was predetermined and the “audacity of hope” was the province of the fearless or crazy. In a nation that just 43 years ago fully entitled Blacks with the right to vote, the idea of a Black American within reach of the White House was a thought we dared not entertain.
I have been involved in politics long enough to know that this is the beginning and not the end; and that we still have a responsibility to hold Senator Obama accountable, as we should his rival, Senator John McCain. Nonetheless, I don’t want to rationalize my feelings on this day. There is too much pent up inside to act as if I have my emotions in check.
Today is Martin’s and Coretta’s day, as it is Dr. DuBois’ and Fannie Lou Hamer’s day; and countless others who against the odds and the violence still claimed this nation as their own. Today is for the four little girls who had life snatched from them in the bombing of the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church and for Cheney, Goodman and Schwerner and Emmet Till. It’s the culmination of many lessons, on many porches at the knees of many grandmothers.
No, Senator Obama himself is not the sole embodiment of this change or the only source of this euphoria. It really is the vision that Dr. King laid out on that sweltering August day in 1963 on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial that has me caught up in this moment. To look at my daughter and share this moment brings tears of joy because I could only imagine what my parents felt when listening to Dr. King’s speech and thinking about the possibilities for their children.
So, just for a moment, just for this moment, I want to be a kid again. I want to scream the ice cream truck scream, dance the Soul Train line, and drink my red Kool Aide. I want to celebrate my blackness in this moment so loudly that those who have passed on – my father, grandparents, godparents, and friends – can sit in heaven and feel my pride. Just for today, just for this moment, please.
