The Beautiful Mirror of Obama

I set out to write this journal as a way to explore my own feelings about the historical significance of Barack Obama's nomination. I understand the feelings in my heart, but writing this helps me get things together in my head as well. I wonder if any of you out there are feeling the same thing.

The reason for this introspection is my lifelong relationship to race and human relations and the enrichment I've been so fortunate to enjoy for these 37+ plus years thanks to my deep connection to people from virtually every race and walk of life in the world. This is that kind of story. Follow me.

I was born into a lilly white family from Upstate New York and spent most of my early childhood living between New York and New England, fairly isolated from any sort of diverse community. Our neighbors were white. Most of my father's co-workers were white. Most of the kids in school were white as well. It wasn't until my parents had the foresight to send me to a Quaker school that I found myself immersed in a melting pot of people. My best friend was Pakistani-American and his father was a successful doctor. Other friends were Asian, African-American, and so on.

This isn't to say that I wasn't aware of race or the significance of race to our society. My parents were very progressive about a lot of things, if not all, and proudly taught me about Dr. King and the Civil Rights Movement from the time I could understand such things. They both marched in Upstate New York in support of civil rights and loved John Kennedy. I grew up with this as an important backdrop to my childhood, the idealism of the 1960s that my parents had lived.

Over the years, my relationship with a rainbow of people has become far to high-arching and far-reaching to fully explain. I was fortunate to enjoy a Quaker education for a good deal of my compulsory education and I've spent the bulk of my adult life living in New York City, which is 63% non-white and 36% foreign born according to the Wikipedia entry on NYC Demographics. I find this fascinating:

The New York metropolitan area is home to the largest number of Jews outside Israel. There are more Jews within New York City limits than within Jerusalem city limits, making the New York City Jewish community the largest such community in the world. About 12% of New Yorkers claim to be Jewish or of Jewish descent. New York is also home to nearly a quarter of the nation's South Asians, and the largest African American community of any city in the country.

The six largest ethnic groups as of the 2005 census estimates are: African, Puerto Ricans, Italians, West Indians, Dominicans, and Chinese. The Puerto Rican population of New York City is the largest outside Puerto Rico. Italians emigrated to the city in large numbers in the early twentieth century, establishing several "Little Italys." The Irish also have a notable presence. In fact, more people in New York claim Irish ancestry than in any other city in the world; including Dublin.

This rich diversity has had a greater impact on my life than perhaps any other thing in my experience. I cherish it deeply. In fact, I feel especially thankful now that I've been blessed with a wife, who is Japanese, a son who is a dual citizen and multi-racial, and soon a daughter. I've lived in Japan for the better part of four years now and it's changed my life profoundly. The intimate relationship that I've enjoyed with diversity has expanded over the years to include a circle of friends as varied and interesting as there is anywhere and a Japanese family that is truly my own.

I don't write this to pat myself on the back, or to claim that I'm special in any way. I've been fortunate to have had the opportunity to engage a diverse range of people over the years on a daily basis and I've had an open heart and mind to them each step of the way. I owe all of that to my parents and my teachers. I write this to help frame the pride and joy that I feel for having seen my nation and the party I have chosen reflect that diversity in this new century by holding up two of its best representatives, a woman and a multi-racial man, for the presidency. It's been said that part of Barack Obama's charm is his ability to be everything to everyone. That is to say, he is a kind of mirror that reflects the best of us, the hopes and dreams and the things we aspire to be. I think that's true, and it fits my feelings towards him quite well, but it's not the whole of it.

I've enjoyed the fruits of my various relationships over the years, but I've also found myself fighting to educate the uninitiated about race, culture, and society over the years. It's been an uphill battle at times, and on more than one occasion it's felt a lot like shouting into the wind. I've shouted. I've cajoled. I've debated. I've discussed. I've collaborated. In each case, my life has become more entangled in the web of humanity that is perhaps more complex than many of us appreciate, and more uncertain that many of us are prepared to handle. I've made mistakes. I've learned and grown wiser (I hope). It's a journey that will never end and that will never be fully realized.

I'm an extremely sentimental person, although it rarely manifests itself overtly beyond my strict control. There are a few hot button things that will make me cry, but I manage to keep those close to the vest. Racial justice is one of those things. My heart is so invested in this cause that I often find something particularly moving that would otherwise strike someone else as mundane. Hearing a particularly passionate gospel solo can do it to me any time. I wonder to myself how anyone could hate a person who could make God's voice emerge on Earth with such beauty, and I'm not the least bit religious.

In recent days, I find myself occasionally with a well of tears as I consider what we've done and how far we've come as a people. This nomination isn't the be all, end all of racial justice, nor is it the end of the path. However, I think to myself about the time in my own parents lives when there was apartheid in America. The days when good Americans had to march in the streets so different races could eat at the same counter or stay in the same hotel. Those scars are still raw. I think of the words that my high school friend, a young man from the townships of Durban, South Africa, and his dream that we could one day walk the same beach in his country. After all, apartheid was still very real when we were in school together. He was killed in township violence some years later and I never got to take that walk with him.

The world is smaller and growing more diverse by the day. People are able to connect with one another now in a way that we could only dream of some short time ago. For some, this is a source of great tension. The debate over immigration is a direct result of this fear of the unknown. The world looks more and more like Barack Obama by the day, lending credence to the notion that we can all see ourselves in his presence. To me this is a dream come true. Should he become president, and I feel very confident that he will, part of Dr. King's dream will be realized. It will be realized because people fought and died and sacrificed. It will be realized because there are enough people out there with open minds and hearts that walls could be toppled and doors opened. It will be realized because one man had the courage and the ability to swim upstream and challenge all of us to show what we've learned and how much we've grown as a people.

Although it's not necessarily the speech closest to my heart from Dr. King (Beyond Vietnam), the "I Have a Dream" speech rings louder from the mountaintop today that perhaps at any time in our history. In that spirit, I share this excerpt with you today and ask you to consider what's on our horizon as we not only seek to breakthrough racial barriers, but also what's on our horizon for the collective cause of brother and sisterhood that we might all find in Obama. Let him bring out the best of us and let him lead the way to a brighter tomorrow.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together."²

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

   My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.

   Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,

   From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.

And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.

   Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.

   Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

   Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

   Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

But not only that:

   Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

   Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.

   Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.

   From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

   Free at last! Free at last!

   Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

Thanks for reading. I only wish I could have said this better.