When Doves (and Hawks) Cry

Perhaps the most overarching race cliche in this country is that white people can never understand what it's like to be black. The struggle, it is said, is manifested in a hundred smaller cliches; from being pulled over by cops to receiving subpar service in restaurants, to a host of more subtle snubs and indignations.

It's true I will never directly know what black people go through, but reactions to Barack Obama's electoral victory from a cross section of African-American leaders should give our entire country pause.

We all saw Jesse Jackson sobbing like a baby in Grant Park. Fewer saw Condi Rice pull rank at a State Dept press conference before her trip to the Middle East, to gushingly proclaim renewed hope for the democracy and her pride in being an African-American. Then there was Colin Powell, whose entire family wept on Tuesday night the moment Obama prevailed. Perhaps more tellingly, Mr Powell teared up the following day, when sharing the story with a British journalist. The old warhorse is, as they say, still "working through" his emotions.

Regardless of ideology, these are savvy people. They surely saw the polls like everyone else, indicating McCain was a clear underdog. But their uncharacteristically personal, even cathartic, reactions suggest they didnt really believe their country could fairly consider and willfully employ a black man's leadership. That these shrewd, measured African-American figures could harbor such apparent doubt and release this degree of pent up emotion about an objectively "expected" electoral outcome should make us all stop and reflect.

I think what these proud, accomplished trailblazers are trying to tell us, through their tears and excitement, is that even in 2008, it's a real disadvantage being black in this country. That, even for them, being black in the land of the free presents inferior choices and limited expectations. That this observation is more than just a literary or cinematic cliche - it's their witness. It's their lives. The election, at least viscerally, meant more to them than typical political reform, a recession or even armed conflict, to be calmly assessed on the evening news. This suddenly black President overwhelmed them emotionally, shattered lifelong expectations, and marked profoundly personal moments in their already exceptional lives.

Time will tell what outward policy manifestations the Obama administration will bring, but in only 24 hours, the heart of our nation - the inside - is undergoing enormous psychological transformation. The way blacks and whites perceive themselves, each other, and our shared destiny will never be the same again.

My Kind of Town

Like any other year, when the days shorten past Halloween, we leave the windows open at night in Sonora, and let cool air bounce through the house like music. (No one appreciates cool air like an Arizonan in November). Typically, we awaken to the sound of wrens in the carob tree out back or to early morning neighbors driving off to work. But this Wednesday morning was different. I had slept in, after watching election returns into the early morning, and awoke to the queer sound of easy laughter.

It was a man's laughter, maybe two men, distant and muffled. When I retrieved the paper off the driveway, the source of glee became apparent: two men with shovels landscaping about four houses down. But these were unlike any landcsapers I had ever seen before.

They were black!

I've lived on this street fifteen years and recall one working black man, who helped trade out our fridge, about six years ago. We see, on average, about one black human per year, invariably selling something pathetic that we dont want, door to door. In that same time, we encounter hundreds and hundreds of Anglo and Mexican-American laborers and blue collar service workers. So, to see two heavy black men digging up the neighbor's yard in North Phoenix was like spying an eskimo cutting our palm trees or a martian mowing the lawn. They were there all day, two amiable looking guys in their twenties, talking and laughing as they worked, as I passed them several times in the car. They were there from morning to nearly dusk - working each time I passed.

At first, I wasnt sure if this was Phoenix or Tara. But then it dawned on me that this might be a rebirth of the American Dream - at work, as it were. The emancipation of young black men, from self-defeating excuses and expectations. It's one thing to effectively secede from "The Man", but harder to opt out of American industry when "The Man" is suddenly black.

I wonder if that's a little piece of what I saw and heard on my street this morning, the day after Barack Obama made history. A couple guys who decided Tuesday night that now was their time. To take a chance in this new world, a bold chance on themselves, and shed their bonds of racial fatalism. For whatever reason they found themselves on "my" side of town, I'm delighted to report they both seemed pretty happy to be there.