Hope We Can Believe In

As I reflect on yesterday, the wonderful Thanksgiving meal shared with family and friends, I think about our recent historical election of our first black president.

For those of you who care to read my blogs, you know what a supporter of Barack Obama I am. You have probably received countless emails from me over the campaign urging your participation in not only voting but becoming active in your community to motivate others.

I haven't taken the time to sit down and write about what this has meant to me, and what it means for all of us.

As many Americans did, I chose to vote early. The lines in Georgia were extremely long. Everyone was energized to get out to choose their candidate. People were polite in the lines, though no one discussed which candidate they were voting for or any of the political issues.

About half way through my 3 1/2 hour wait, my feet and back began to ache. I read a book off and on to keep me distracted. Even though I had some doubt that my state would win for Barack, I couldn't give up. During that three hour period many thoughts traveled through my mind. One of my first thoughts was about my role as facilitator for discussions on race while working at Emory University.

While leading those talks, I was amazed at the antipathy many of my counterparts shared regarding the struggles of black people in America. It awed me that there were students from Asia that didn't believe that slavery in the U.S. actually existed! I recalled being disappointed in the anger I heard from some of the white men. Their indignation palpable in the room. I felt disheartened by some of the elder southern white people that were bitter about carrying the burden of their ancestors past.

I'd come on board the project full of naivity and vigor, certain I would be able to effect the lives of those who participated. I left my post feeling cynical and hopeless about the prospect of change. I am ashamed to admit that I also left with a new distaste for white people in general. Wishing I could erase their blood from my own DNA. Something I had never felt before, and am happy to say now that I have recovered from.

While admiring the great pine trees of Georgia, my mind wandered to the movie Rosewood about a small town in Florida whose predominately black community was devasted by hatred and murder in 1923, Emmit Till brutaly beaten to death in 1955, the four little girls in the church bombing in Birmingham, Alabama in 1963 at the height of the Civil Rights Movement.

I thought about our dear Martin Luther King Jr. his tenacious courage, his wife Coretta and her stoic support. I visited reels of tape in my mind showing black men and women hosed down in the streets, stomped on, billy clubbed, spat upon. I reflected on John Lewis and Andy young living here in my city still standing up for all of us.

I thought about an exhibit I saw and a panel discussion I sat in on a few years ago called "Without Sanctuary". It was a photo and propaganda display of the lynching of black people in America. One of the persons photoed, shares the same name as my grandmother, Helen Nelson. That exhibit was something I will never ever forget. You could feel their spirits, smell their flesh...it was unbelievable. I wrote in a book that was there for personal reflections which is now part of the King Library. I hope someday in the not too distant future, a student will read my musings and imagine what a terrible place America used to be.


As my toes begged for relief my mind drifted to the middle passage where men and women jumped overboard slave ships choosing certain death over a ravaged life. I heard the moans and groans of those who endured the heat and the stench in the belly of the ships when the first African spirituals were passed along without words. And I said to myself, "It has come full circle. An African man will be president."

On November 4th I wasn't with my fellow supporters, did not get to revel in the joy and excitement of the crowds. Though my wireless phone lit up with text messages and phone calls, I was not among the celebration.

I was sitting in the family room of my fathers home in the very important electoral state of Pennsylvania. He was recovering from a recent illness. He sat in disbelief. There was no smile on his face. He was annoyed with the bells and whistles of my phone. He had only hours before, warned me that my exhuberance would be met with disappointment. And I was a little ticked off. I wanted my moment in history with the rest of the world.

But the next day, after the news had sunk in. After dad had seen that no secret society of white men was going to steal this from us. He did smile. And he said to me, "We got a black man for president! And I got to see it come true last night with my daughter."

So yeah, I missed out on the fellowship of the believers, but what a moment that was for my dad. What affirmation of the divine revelation I felt back in June when I wrote "A Dream Come True"!

The old fold is dying off. The generations of hatred and division are disappearing. There are a new people in this country who want to move forward. There are a new people in this country that want America to mean something good again. There are a new people in this country who have loudly said no more. Half breeds, pure breeds and your breeds have overwhelmingly declared,It ends with us!

Does that mean racism is over? Hardly. Is this a cure for all of the oppression black people still experience in 2008? Absolutely not. But once again God has shined on the United States of America and the world, and given us hope we can believe in!

That's melavision. What's yours?