Irony

Yesterday I did not go to work. Even if I weren’t approved for time off, I would have taken it anyway because I was not going to miss our country inaugurate its first Black president. One of my best friends followed suit and made the decision to boycott school for the day so that she could watch the event at my house. Together, we sat on that couch and wept. We wept when we saw two brown girls and their grandmother descend the steps onto Capitol Hill. We were still weeping when we saw their tall, gorgeous mother cascade to her seat in anticipation of her husband. We wept some more when our president got his first glimpse of the two million people who flooded the mall in order to hear him speak and bear witness to history. There were no words. No expressions. Just tears. Not those Jesse Jackson "we got our first Black president, I still wanna castrate him" tears, but those "My God, it's finally happening" tears. My friend and I have bore only 23 years, but the experiences of our foremothers and forefathers are fresh on our minds. The visions of bruised and bloodied black bodies swinging from trees and despondent brown faces placidly existing in the rear corners of every public institution permeated our awareness and made the situation at hand all the more weighty. It was truly surreal. Tears gave way to prayer. Prayer gave way to rejoicing. Rejoicing gave way to awe. Not just awe of the magnitude of the moment, but of the realization that our country is indeed changing. There's a Black man in the White House.

Some people liken the day to a honeymoon with the actual marriage beginning today. Now begins the accountability, the expectancy of promise fulfillment, and the warranted criticisms for any failure to bring about the change that we voted for. I have every intention to hold our president responsible, and with as much tenacity as I exerted towards those that have preceded him, but I am so grateful for the blessing of having witnessed something that I didn't have much hope of seeing in my lifetime. I refuse to believe the criticisms that all of the celebration is only a fallacious preparation for disappointment. In all honesty, I am more proud of my country's growth than I am of Barack Obama. I am more proud of a generation that turned out in droves to spite its predecessors by looking beyond a black posterior and choosing to elect the better candidate. I am more proud of my people who, while recognizing that we are not yet in a post-racial era, still vow to embrace and support our brother throughout the scrutiny that he may encounter yet refuse to allow his Blackness to provide an excuse for ineffectiveness. I remember how bothered I was when someone mentioned that Obama's biracial background did not truly make the election as historic as most people thought; he is still half white, so he's not really our country's first "Black" president. Well. Less than 150 years ago, mulattos were just as Black as any deep-hued Black person alive. Mulattos, Quadroons, Octoroons, and anyone else believed to have a drop of Black blood were considered Black. That drop barred them from enrolling in school, owning property, and voting in elections. When people look at Barack, they don't say, "Oh look, he's White." They see a broad nose, tawny skin and coarse hair. They see a Black man. A man who would not have been able to vote in an election has now been voted into the most powerful position in the free world. Excuse my enthusiasm, but my president is Black! I am not sure what the next four years will look like, but right now I choose to relish in the newlywed phase of our marriage. As with all things, I also choose to take it step by step daily and let the Lord lead. I pray that God will keep our brother safe and grounded in these tumultuous times and that he can emerge from this dark era unscathed. Peace be upon him.

PEACE