similar to the first letter, this one was originally published on my facebook account. written and published on monday novemeber 3rd, 2009 – it expresses my feelings about the election, the campaign, and the day on the horizon. i have yet to mail it to the President, but after reading this article, i feel like i may have to.
There is Hope in America, or, What I’ve Learned From Your Campaign: An Open Letter to Senator Barack Obama
Senator Obama,
What up?
I’ve been trying to write this letter to you since September. I’m a writer, or I try to be, and I feel like I’m supposed to tell you something. Something…inspiring and meaningful that will make other people in my generation reflect on this moment in history and make sense of it all but…I’ve got nothing.
I mean, writers are supposed to have something to say, right? Some commentary, some quote – some revelation or summary of the times? I’m a college-educated, 25-year-old Black male writer with no felonies, single with no kids, and in the midst of one of the biggest elections of a lifetime…I’ve got nothing. I feel like I’m letting somebody down in that.
There’s so much going on right now. So much in the context of history, the future, the present; race relations, international politics, the economy – if you’re elected it will affect all of these things. Yet here I am, two days before everything happens…and I’ve got nothing powerful, nothing groundbreaking…nothing new.
I feel calm; I feel ecstatic. I feel excited, I feel indifferent. I feel proud to be Black and so close to history …I’m anxious…and yet somewhere inside I feel real chill, like, “Fuck it. I don’t care, it’s whatever,” and that’s the only thing I can successfully express to you in this letter, my letter, on the eve of your victory.
The history of elections in this country has efficiently put my hope in check. My disappointment with this country has detained my joy, and my soulfully-ethereal confidence that you will win has me afraid all over.
The Fist Bump Heard Round The World
I’m afraid of letting myself get too excited about the prospect of having our first Black President because come Wednesday, if the smoke clears and we all have to inhale that familiarly wretched sigh of reality, I won’t be able to just over-exaggerate my emotions and act really pissed-off from my desk at work like usual – I’ll have to be disappointed, for real. I’ll have to be defeated and mournful – I’ll have to be hurt.
I’ll have to re-accept my place in America as a member of a race that doesn’t really get to overcome, or count, or qualify, but only pretend. I’ll have to tune in, turn on and cop out to my good-ole’ reliable rationalizations, like “Well, it just is what it is,” or “Everything happens for a reason,” or “America just isn’t ready…”
And then I’ll have to be angry.
I’ll have to lose hope, Senator, and I’m afraid that all the hope that we’ve energized, and spread across the globe will vanish in to a void of dejection and be replaced by anger. Other people’s anger may lead them to action, but I’m pretty confident mine won’t. It’ll lead right back to complacency, and that’s the scariest thing of all.
Before all of this, before Iowa, and Clinton’s loss, somehow you had hope. At some point, you figured out that America is ready for a Black President. That is to say, you believed that enough people had enough hope. You knew that it could be done, and if you would’ve asked me to believe you (let alone believe in you) two years ago, I would’ve sneered at you. Laughing, I would’ve said “No,” and gone off on some long rhetorical monologue about how pervasive racism is in an attempt to show you just how intelligent I am. And it frightens me to think I dismissed hope. Because how can one dismiss hope and ever expect change?
I’ve been so complacent in my disappointment, that I’d come to think it was normal. I’ve been so accepting of my disenfranchisement, that I’d come to wear it as a badge of honor – an integral piece of my identity. Before this election, I would’ve said that no rational person would ever think that a state like Iowa, in a country like America, would vote for a Black man with the middle name “Hussein” to become a candidate for the Presidency. That is to say, I didn’t believe that many people had that much hope in equality, in democracy, in the idea of America. But you had that hope, Senator, and apparently, you were right.
What I’ve learned from your campaign, Senator, is there’s nothing wrong with hope. There’s nothing fictional about it, though I’d allowed my complacency to convince me otherwise.
Even if we don’t win, it’s clear to me that America is a lot more ready for a President of color than I was ever prepared to imagine. While that isn’t enough — enough to mean that racism is over, or oppression and hate have ceased to exist — nor is it enough that’d I’d be alright with losing…cause I won’t…it is something extraordinary. It’s extraordinary in the fact that somewhere out there is a child who believes we’re ready for an Asian president. Somewhere out there, someone is confident that Bush didn’t have anything to do with 9/11. And somewhere out there, between the breadbasket and the boarder, the Gulf Coast and the Great Lakes, the bullshit and the Bay, someone is sincerely and completely unafraid.
What I’ve learned from your campaign, Senator, is there’s nothing wrong with hope. There’s nothing fictional about it, though I’d allowed my complacency to convince me otherwise. There is hope in America, and it is powerful. It’s inspiring and influential. It’s entitling and emphasizing. It’s incredible.
It’s what we need in a President. It’s what we deserve. And we’re going to get it, in just a few days.
See you Wednesday.
