Amber Simmons is a writer and web content strategist. Subscribe to her blog. Or, you can just drop her a line.
I was on the radio this morning talking about Barack Obama and whether or not he would really be “the first black president” (which honor apparently goes to Warren G[angsta]. Harding, secret Negro president) because, according to some people, his being half white makes him not black.
It doesn’t. It doesn’t in any way negate his blackness. I’ve written about this before, so I won’t rehash it here. But it did get me thinking about this issue from another perspective.
The way I see it, (and this isn’t what I talked about on the radio because this particular morning show ain’ exactly on this level) you can look at the story of the first black president two ways. If what interests you is the story of the black guy who wants to be president against the values of the black community, and was reared in a culture that did not value education or politics and therefore faced substantial obstacles just from his upbringing, I can see how Barack Obama wouldn’t fill that role. He was black but he grew up in a world of white, like I did, and so his values and aspirations largely align with those of your typical affluent/upper-middle class white person’s.
On the other hand, if the story of a black man’s bid for the presidency is interesting to you because it is remarkable that white people as a nation rallied around him and offered tremendous support and enthusiasm, then Barack does fill the bill. Then it no longer matters how he was raised or what was on his mind, because it’s all about his skin, how he is perceived, and how people interact with him based on their impression of blackness.
These are two different stories. One is the story of a person going against the grain of his community, his people and their values, and the other is the story of America, of hundreds of years of prejudice and conditioning slowly eroding to give way to a narrow, but visible, crack in the political edifice where a black man can now apparently stand. They’re both good stories, and there is room for both, but the story of Barack Obama clearly doesn’t match both narratives. Which story is the one we’re supposed to follow? Which story is the one we want to be involved in the making of?
As far as I’m concerned, the bigger story is the second one. Yes, I can see the value in a different black man, one who grew up in a ghetto amidst violence and poverty, rising above and reaching out to the political machine. But that’s not the story that moves me personally. For me, the real import of Obama’s blackness is not one of self-identity and identity crisis, but that even in his blackness he is not only accepted but deeply loved and supported by white Americans in this country. His upbringing and trials aren’t as interesting to me. I’m interested in what Barack’s blackness means for us as a nation, and that’s bigger than a personal story of triumph. His blackness matters. His blackness is real. And it’s astounding to watch how this great play is unfolding.
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June 14th, 2008
Amber,
You once rightfully scolded me for making sweeping generalizations about Wiccans. Therefore, I find it troubling that you’ve made some generalizations about other groups.
I am a Native-American (Lakota) woman who lives in the Washington DC area. No matter where I live or work, I have difficulty dealing with people’s assumptions about Indians. (BTW, I am not an alcoholic and have never lived on a reservation.) It especially angers me when a member of the Native-American community makes negative comments to non-Indians about us. I ask myself what the person’s motivations are–self-loathing, a way to solidify a place for himself within the majority community? And is it more acceptable for the Indian to make such comments, simply because he is Indian? Not in my book. I wouldn’t tolerate hearing such nonsense from whites, blacks, Latinos, or anyone else. In all honesty, I find such assertions from Indians about Indians more harmful, as it gives the bigots I have dealt with a sense of validation for their views.
That said, I find it ironic that as I read your statements about Obama’s success possibly being based on his rejection of Black culture’s disinterest in education and politics, Howard University is only blocks away from my office. And the blacks I have met in this area who have become my friends are well-educated and quite successful, not despite their families’ apathy towards education and progress, but because their families did indeed value education and progress. (This region is full of black success stories.)
I find Obama’s story fascinating. Actually, it confronts two major issues within the American landscape–race and class. While it is wonderful that whites have embraced this black man, it is also intriguing that the child of a poor teenage girl can become such a viable candidate for president.
June 15th, 2008
Hi Atzi,
I think you’ve possibly misunderstood me. :)
Nowhere did I say, “Blacks don’t value education.†(I, of course, value education quite highly, as do my parents and their siblings, etc.) When I talk about a narrative featuring a black character “reared in a culture that did not value education or politicsâ€, I am not abstracting this situation to all of Black America. I am talking about a very specific narrative—a very real, very plausible narrative—of the kind Barack Obama does not fit. And perhaps these friends of yours don’t fit this particular narrative either.
Nevertheless, that narrative does exist, and the fact that I don’t like it (or that you don’t) doesn’t make it untrue. As a community in toto, blacks still more highly value, for example, athletics over academics. We still foist sports on our children before curriculum. And there are myriad reasons we do that, not all of them invalid. But to say that we have Howard and we have Morehouse and we have Huston-Tillotson and therefore education is clearly a value in the larger black community is simplistic and a bit naive, I’m afraid. We have these institutions, yes, but they are still the (growing) exception.
But of course, none of this is what I’m talking about in this piece. The abovementioned character is someone who was reared in a culture that disdained education and politics. That isn’t to say all black communities and subcultures—of which there are many—fit this description. But it is to say that many of them do, and that this narrative, while interesting, is not the one playing out before us now.
I appreciate the comment. It’s a difficult situation to discuss, rife with knee-jerk reactions and tender feelings as it is.
June 15th, 2008
Thank you so much for your understanding and kind response, Amber.
I am usually the only Native American wherever I am, as I was adopted by a white family when I was only two.
I find myself struggling to make sense of the American mindset, and how so many of us fit into the greater narrative, full of its perceptions and fantasies. In other words, I find myself battling negative stereotypes, as well as so-called “positive” prejudices–I might not be an alcoholic on a rez, but neither am I some nature-loving Pocahantas with a guitar.
Our conversation has given me so much to think about.
Thank you.
June 16th, 2008
I’ve struggled with race my whole life. I still struggle with it. I was ashamed of being black most of my life, and it wasn’t untilmy mid-twenties that I learned to accept myself for what I am, and to realize that other people’s understanding or perceptions of the black community didn’t necessarily have anything to do with *me* unless I let it. I didn’t have to confine myself to other people’s identities and prejudices. That went a long way to healing my own injured self image.
Part of me wants to battle stereotypes. Part of me doesn’t have the energy, because the other side is doing *so much* to promote them. So I’ve finally just decided “to hell with it” and I’m just doing my own thing. Let the chips fall where they may ;)