Bring Back the White Guys

Recently, my uncle Godfrey bought me a copy of Shelby Steele’s short book on Obama, which has included in the subtitle: “why he can’t win.” Steele’s argument is layered, but as a black man and ardent critic of affirmative action, he’s afraid Obama could be elected because he’s black and that would be a problem for a number of reasons. Steele calls Obama’s campaign a “morality play,” wherein Americans are acting out the guilt, innocence, victimization and redemption of our history.

I think in most ways, Steele is off-base and then I consider the man who gave me this book. My uncle was born and raised in Harlem. He worked his way to Howard University and through medical school and in the 1970s became the first black doctor at his hospital of residence in Manhattan, encountering a lot of resistance along the way. In this way, among others, he has a broader lens on the racial history of America. He is a fervent Obama supporter and blames Clinton for the negative shift in the campaign, going so far as to say that if she wins the nomination, he’ll become a Republican and vote for John McCain.

For most young Americans, this will not translate quite the same. I’ve said it before, but if Clinton and the machine get the nomination, the kids will stay home. And the tactic at this point seems to be: say he’s black, say he’s Muslim and highlight his other-ness, which seems to be resonating with poor white people in America.

It’s such a dirty trick that I can only stammer and ask, “Hillary, how do you justify having racists as your base?” Geraldine Ferraro, a Clinton supporter and former democratic vice presidential nominee, said Obama only made it this far because he was black. (I know, Geraldine, black guys get all the breaks in America.) There’s a twisted echo of Shelby Steele in there, although she’s saying something quite different. She’s rallying the women, who are the yin to the racists’ yang of Clinton’s success strategy. It’s kind of sickening.

Representative Steve King of Iowa had some, amazingly, more absurd comments on a potential Obama presidency, implying that Al Qaeda would be dancing in the streets if he were elected. This comes in the wake of middle-name-gate, the “leak” of Obama’s photo in traditional muslim attire and, of course, Clinton’s now infamous “are your children safe at 3AM from some black guy” television ads.

I didn’t want to have to think of it in any of these terms. In the beginning, it seemed like Obama didn’t want to get into the identity politics of it and people were going to respect that. He was, after all, stepping onto the pulpit in some wild times, in the shadow of stories like Michael Richard’s onstage ni--er tirade, the plight of the Jena 6 and Don Imus’ nappy headed hoes comment.

But his decision to stand apart from the more victimization-oriented black leaders that grew out of the civil rights era meant yes, Shelby Steele was right and Obama, in a way, was agreeing to a bargain: “If you don’t remind white people of what they did to you before, they won’t remind you that you’re black.” This has worked for the young, educated and wealthy white people of his base. Not so much with the old, uneducated and poor people of Clinton’s camp.

But oh well. The naivete and optimism of youth has its limits. Where young people saw an opportunity to transcend dark points of America’s history and write a new chapter independent of race and identity, others saw a chance to tear down something meaningful and potentially great. In an ultra obscure parallel, it reminds me of the French children’s film The Red Balloon.

The movie is the short story of a young boy who finds a red balloon on the streets of Paris that has magical powers. It can follow the boy even when he’s not holding the string. When the bus driver says the balloon cannot come on board, the balloon races behind to keep up with the boy. The headmaster says the balloon cannot come into school with him, so it waits outside until school is done. The balloon offers wonder and adventure for the boy until, inevitably, the balloon attracts the attention of a group of bullies, who begin hurling rocks at it.

I wont give away the ending, just say that this is a good illustration of where we find ourselves right now. I don’t to pretend that Barack Obama is the messiah or even the right person for the job, necessarily. But he is resonating with my generation in a way that nobody ever has before. If we reduce this thing to identity politics and force Obama to fight back, we’ll be yearning for the days when we could ignore whatever anonymous, white males were up for the spot until November and then shrug as we checked a box for “whoever”.

It makes me wish we could bring back the white guys and have them run this race, old school style. Somebody call John Edwards. Get him back out here. I thought we were ready for this, but I was wrong. We’re still just ankle biting racist woman haters and we deserve old, crusty white men for the next 200 years.

What If The Millenials Lose? : A Dispatch From the Rhode Island Primary

PROVIDENCE, R.I. -- I got a text message from a friend the morning after Tuesday’s primaries. The newly politicized young, Latino Obama supporter asked me, “Should I be concerned?"

To be honest, I didn’t know what to say to him. I have been swept up in the romance of the Obama campaign since Iowa, not because I specifically support him, but because I’ve never in my life seen my generation take an active and enthusiastic role in the political process, discard cynicism and embrace a person and an idea like this. As a result, I suppose that romance tainted my perception of the Hillary campaign, equating in my mind with stagnation and old, tired and dirty politics. Maybe that’s fair, maybe it’s not.

I would go so far as to say that if Hillary pulls off the upset and gets the nomination, it's going to alienate the generation that finally cared.

I can say with certainty that it would alienate me and I’m scared because I can see the clouds of Hillary’s perfect storm in the sky starting to form. The dirty trick of trying to include Florida and Michigan’s delegates, where Obama’s name wasn’t even on the ballot, is one aspect. The absurd attack ads as part of her kitchen sink strategy, is another. And looking forward past the next six weeks or so, when she’ll phone in enough favors to take Pennsylvania, it looks like she could do it.

If these legions of young believers are slain by the machine, I wouldn’t blame any of them for turning away from politics altogether. It’s almost as if Hillary’s nomination would confirm the validity of apathy.

I spent the day of the primaries in Rhode Island, a politically curious but largely ignored state. I covered a lot of ground in one day, from college campuses to a proverbial “smoke-filled room” and on to the after parties. At every step, I saw examples of enthusiastic young people who believed for the first time that they were having a political impact. By the end of the night, I saw confused faces and heard the voices of people who felt betrayed.

Monday evening, I walked into Providence from the train station and headed directly across the street to Uno’s. I struck up a conversation with my pregnant bartender Jesse and tried to explain what I was doing there. I told her, “It’s such a critical day and nobody seems to be paying any attention to Rhode Island.” She just smiled and said, “Nobody ever pays attention to Rhode Island.”

And it’s true. This state is the birthplace of the industrial revolution in the United States; it was the first colony to denounce allegiance to Great Britain; and it’s where much of Jim Carrey’s epic buffoonery in “Dumb and Dumber” took place. And yet, it escaped national attention on a day when the Democratic nomination could have been decided.

After some time at Uno’s, my host Joe came in and met me, walking in to familiar welcomes. He tried to explain the less-than complex political process here. “Rhode Island is a fiercely Democratic state. People go in the booth and they just pull the Democrat lever.” (Though he pronounces it “leh-vah”).

That’s fine, except in this case, those fiercely Democratic voters are choosing between two Democrats.

Joe works in construction in Providence, so he gave me a tour of a block in his neighborhood where he’s fixed, built and sold several homes. It’s jokingly referred to as the futuristic district. (The fyoo-cha is now!) The surrounding neighborhood is mixed-income, largely working-class and it sits in the shadow of the state building, a marvelous white marble domed structure topped with a bronze statue of “Independent Man,” a representation of the state’s historically independent nature. If Rhode Island had a super hero, it would be him. And rightly so. As “fiercely Democratic” as they may be, the majority of voters here are registered independents.

Somehow Joe manages to get me out of bed before 8:30 the morning of election day. We head to the Capital Hill Diner for egg sandwiches and coffee. There I meet Will, a young electrical contractor who has already voted. Will, who is black, explains to me, “Too many of my ancestors died so I could vote. I have to.”

Leaving the diner, I pass Carol Tower, the polling place for the neighborhood. One older woman walks out smiling, wearing a t-shirt that reads, “Obama is my homeboy.”

The rain starts coming down pretty heavily and I head back to the futuristic district to visit with Chris, a young carpenter who lives in one of the houses there. I walk with him over to the Carol Towers to cast his vote. He tells me his mom has been calling him all day, reminding him to vote and specifically, to vote for Obama. He says, “Our parents are realizing they messed everything up and now they’re desperate, telling us it’s our job to fix it.” Chris makes it to the Tower a couple of minutes before the polls close and walks in smiling.

Across the street, I meet up with Lisa, a local organizer who has agreed to give me a tour of some of Providence’s back rooms. She drives out to the waterfront, where we go to the Fabre Line club to have a drink while we watch some of the results trickle in on TV. The club got its name from the boat that carried immigrants around the turn of the century from Ellis Island over to Providence for processing. Now the club is a shining example of America’s promise: the descendants of those immigrants gather here to make deals and rub elbows.

In a back room, some of these guys — older, heavy set — are sitting around a board table in leather swivel chairs, watching MSNBC. One of them is literally chomping on a cigar nub. Rhode Island is the first state to be called for Hillary, and everyone just seems stunned. Even most of these old, white Democrats have bought into the Obama movement.

From there, we head over to a bar called McKellans, where Hillary’s supporters have gathered to celebrate. It’s pretty tame, however enthusiastic the crowd, and it’s a good place to meet women, as out of the 100 or so people there, a striking majority is female. Most of the men are older guys in sharp suits. I see a girl with platinum blonde hair, wearing red pumps and a miniskirt made out of a Hillary campaign poster. She’s getting a lot of attention and people are calling out to her, addressing her as Hillary. I ask if that’s her real name and she tells me, “No, but I seem to be responding to it.” Clinton is way ahead in Ohio at this point and we decide to head over to the Obama party before it becomes bummertime.

The Obama gathering, not surprisingly, is a lot younger and decidedly more festive. As I walk in, there is a goofy drum and brass band performing, kind of a hip marching band that doesn’t march. The mood is still upbeat, despite Rhode Island being called for Clinton. Then, halfway through one of the band's more exuberant songs, the giant television behind them shows the news that Hillary has taken Ohio. Unaware, the band plays on, but the crowd wilts. They’re still trying to be upbeat, have a good time, but they’re visibly stunned. A young woman next to me shakes her head with a half laugh and asks, “How is this even possible?”

Moments later, the band stops and the volume is turned up on the television, which is playing Hillary’s acceptance speech. People start to trickle out; somebody boos. The party is over. Nobody wants to talk. I go home and refresh my computer until it tells me Texas has been called for Hillary as well.

A man named Chris Redfern, who is the Democratic Party Chairman in Ohio and has remained neutral, had a quote in the paper the other day, highlighting the difference between Clinton and Obama supporters. He said, “The Obama army is larger, more enthusiastic, more confident and they are young and naïve enough to think they can win.”

I don’t know what it means when a party insider says the enthusiastic supporters of the leading candidate must be naïve to believe in their man. It’s disheartening and a little scary. It’s sad to think that the race that made little Rhody voters turn out in record numbers might in some way be fixed. It’s enough to say that cynicism might be on its way back into fashion.