Do I think Barack Obama is going to change Washington if he gets elected? No. Do I think he will bring America to greatness? No. Do I think that his entrance onto the national stage has a kind of power to transform race relations? Possibly.

My mother just called. She waited until she was sure I would be awake to tell me that she has been “crying all morning,” evidently still hung over from the elevation she experienced last night.

“This is one of the best experiences I’ve had in my life,” she said. “I could die tomorrow knowing I have seen this happen…I feel so glad to be alive to experience this.” Those are her words about listening to Barack Obama’s speech at the Democratic National Convention. I was scribbling them down as she spoke because I sensed what was happening was big. Her voice broke into tears even in the telling.

When Martin Luther King stood in Washington and talked about his dream, my mom was not there. She was a twenty-one year old newlywed, living in an apartment in New Jersey, working at an insurance company. She probably had no idea it was happening. She is one who remembers vividly the assassination of John F. Kennedy, but little else on the national stage. She was never part of a movement, hardly even paid attention to political campaigns. Her focus was kids and caretaking. Only this past spring did we discuss how frightened she was in 1967 during the racial uprising in Newark—the worst of the devastation having occurred only a few miles from where we lived. But forty-five years, four children, six grandchildren and one day after Martin Luther King’s historic speech, my mom has been moved to heights of enthusiasm and commitment that I’ve never seen in her. And frankly, I think her hyperbole of passion may not be hyperbole at all.

As she watched Obama’s acceptance speech alone, jumping up and down, screaming, with tears running down her face, she was reacting to an image of multiculturalism that genuinely moved her, a spirit of partnership and possibility between people that captivated her—and many like her. “You have to be a stone not to feel it,” she declared this morning. And though I am more restrained in my view of the Obama phenomenon because of its foundation in a political horse race, I am still left wondering where this deep chord of hope struck in my mom—and other people like her—might actually lead us, and what these heights of emotion are saying about the relationships we aspire to create.

Laurie

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Michelle Obama made history this week with her appearance at the Democratic National Convention. By sharing an intimate portrait of her life as a member of the Robinson family, her birth family, she solidified just how momentous this election is for race relations in the United States. Aside from the fact that the video montage that helped her to accomplish this was checkered with photos that did not include a single white person, those photos were essentially the same images that most every Middle American white family has in their own albums. You know the kind of photos—a little girl riding her first bike, eating an ice cream cone while it melts down her hand, hugging her elderly grandparent and smiling into the camera. One could almost hear the delight and the affection and the laughter pouring forth from the images of Michelle and her family. It was classic Americana, the “dream” unfolding right before our eyes. The Robinsons, it turns out, lived and loved one another just like millions of white families do. And Michelle even epitomized the ultimate in Americana—she watched the Brady Bunch religiously.

Why is all of this momentous? Because Americans still suffer from not really knowing one another. And because most white Americans still have no close friends or family members who are black or brown, and most have never stepped inside of a household of black or brown people. Although many will protest this characterization, it is sadly true. So we have not seen firsthand the parallels in our intimate worlds. We live like aliens in the same land. And though we might assume a modicum of commonality in our respective communities, most of us have not confirmed this for ourselves. The Cosby Family was a classic fictional attempt to make the point for us. But the Robinsons are real. The Obamas are even more real. And now, as white Americans are peering inside the intimate space of black and brown America through the unparalleled media presence of the almost-first Obama family, we are encountering the ultimate “look who’s moving into the neighborhood” moment for this country. And something novel is bound to result. In fact, this nation will never be the same if it occurs.

Even though television can only show us the surface of things in the Obama family, white America is likely to apply this new perspective to other black families living just down the street or across town or in an adjacent community. And as they do, we will all become participants in the most far-reaching “contact theory” experiment ever undertaken. Social scientists know that prejudice diminishes when the degree of contact increases between members of groups that fear or dislike or simply do not know one another. So this closer view of the Obamas—and black and brown America by extension—will surely assist in breaking down some of the barriers to affiliation, understanding, and alliance-building that still define us. How could this NOT happen? And, more importantly, where will we find ourselves as a people when it does?

Sam and Laurie

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We’ve been bombarded by our fair share of stump speeches these days. I’ve heard so many that I’m starting to get the form down. Most fascinating—and most abrasive to me—is the part where I think we are supposed to imagine music coming up softly in the background while a candidate speaks about the “ordinary Americans” they’ve met along the campaign trail. This is the moment when they share their fireside stories of the unstaged encounters they’ve enjoyed with regular folks all across the nation—like Ben from Minnesota who got divorced and lost his job, but gave the last $5 he had in his pocket to the campaign, or 17-year old Jillian from Delaware who was on the list for a heart transplant and whose parents just lost their health insurance, but who is busy telling all of her friends to vote.

I’m sure these authentic moments momentarily revive the ailing heartbeats of these extra-ordinary individuals whose precious hours are spent stumping and sound-byting and strategizing—and, in stolen moments of quiet, wondering who are their true allies and who is just looking to be on the gravy train. It’s not surprising that us velveteen people could bring some overdue fresh air to their increasingly re-circulated oxygen interactions.

We’re just so real in our little lives, aren’t we?

But I’d be more convinced of any candidate’s sincerity if we were given a few anecdotes about other equally ordinary people who just happened to be a few rungs higher up on the ladder of wealth—like Chuck from the Upper West Side of Manhattan who is so inspired for change that he is donating his recent inheritance to urban youth programs around the country that will help to get out the vote, or Reni the Hollywood mogul who just gave $10 million to rural campaign efforts because Obama inspired her desire for unity. Somehow, these equal opportunity anecdotes would be less patronizing.

But this will never happen—because there is a ruling class, and then there are all the rest of us. Every once in a while, the ruling class just needs us little guys to highlight their moral uprightness as they battle for position and power among themselves. But after things are in place again, we become a lot less interesting—and they act less like “public servants” and more like royalty.

As long as the term “ordinary people” continues to be the euphemism for poor schleps like us who happen to be the voting masses, I know that we are heading for more business as usual. Obama’s candidacy may look to be equalizing our racial caste system, but what about the just-as-real class hierarchy—you know, that one that keeps poor people poor by keeping rich people rich. We’d much rather talk about race, wouldn’t we? That way, we don’t come close to threatening the real power brokers—who actually come in all colors. Their positions remain unthreatened. Ironic, given all this talk of “change we can believe in.”

When us ordinary Americans start to examine class as a preeminent national division, making more of us “fellow citizens” than we otherwise think, then the real revolution is here. Until that time, I’d rather skip the rhetoric. And if they really thought about it, I’ll bet Bob and Jillian would feel the same way.

Laurie

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Bravo. We were both electrified when we learned that you are stretching beyond the oppressive reach of our cultural fear-mongers, and creatively taking action to stand up for the kind of world that makes more sense to you. In the tiny act of symbolically assuming the middle name “Hussein” (in solidarity with Barack Obama), you are daring the rest of us to question our assumptions about Muslims, about Arabs, about many things that we define as “foreign.” However, there is something important that you may be missing, that lots of people seem to be missing these days.

In the New York Times article about the bold step each of you has taken, Ashley “Hussein” Holmes was quoted as saying that she has “such a vanilla, white-girl American name.” That comment troubled us because these days it is fairly typical to make derogatory comments about white people. And we notice that such comments play in an alluringly hip kind of a way. In fact, if you identify as white and anti-racist, it is actually fashionable to offhandedly hate on white people and white culture—and to not blink while doing so. In fact, no one blinks. We think this has nearly become a rite of passage to achieving anti-racist status if you’re white. But this seems to be throwing out the proverbial baby with the bathwater. Yes, the name “Ashley Holmes” may reveal something of your white cultural background—just like “Hussein” provides insight into Barack Obama’s heritage. But if you are going to stand up against hatred and bigotry and small-mindedness, then stand up for everyone—and without backhandedly putting some group down. (And by the way, Ashley, one of us writing this actually assumed that you were black by the sound of your name. Interesting, huh?)

So, it’s our turn to dare you. We dare you to think about the subtle ways white culture and white people are becoming something like the new minstrels. Sure, many think that white people have it coming to them—so they should just “suck it up” and accept the lampooning. But we’re not talking about comedy. We’re referring to the deep dis-identification that white people are being asked to make with themselves in order to take on a position that seeks and supports social justice. That is not social justice. That is just another form of ignorance. After all, social justice is not a zero sum game. We don’t have to lift up one culture, any culture, at the expense of another. Those kinds of approaches always fail—with terrible misery in their wake (think: Israel and Palestine).

All of you who have become honorary Husseins are in the vanguard of a new generation of Americans who are poised to make new demands on this culture and its people, challenging us to define ourselves based on something other than our deeply polarized, historical divisions. In fact, this is what rests at the core of your symbolic act.

We’re not asking you to “respect your heritage” in a Dinesh D’Souza sort of way. But we think that making fun of your culture is not going to truly bring you closer to other cultures. It will just keep you in denial of who you are—and eventually that will get old. Besides, it’s not going to make you any more cool. The coolest white people we know have figured out how to support the humanity and interesting cultural customs of all people—without denying or downplaying the fact that they are white. From what we’ve seen, we think you all are smart and creative enough—and cool enough—to do that.

Laurie and Sam

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Let’s just admit it to one another: Our differences make us uncomfortable. They make us question ourselves; they make us question the way we are living. And that is why we usually surround ourselves with people who we think are “like us.” Republicans with Republicans. Jews with Jews. Homeschoolers with homeschoolers. I guess when we have our tribes surrounding us, we don’t have to question who we are as often. Evidently, differences are just not handled well in the social world.

But still we are counseled to celebrate diversity. I don’t know how you feel, but difference is rarely a celebration zone as far as I can tell. It is a work zone, an alchemical zone, a wild and raucous place where what we define as different actually becomes a pressure to transform. And we don’t usually think it’s in our interest to be transformed. Just think about Republicans and Democrats. Few of them get close enough to be affected by one another’s views, and few would look too kindly on becoming more like the other.

So when we encounter something different from us, one of two things usually happens—someone assimilates or we battle for dominion. The third option is less typical. It involves people living in the tension of opposites, embracing the dynamic discomfort of dissimilar ways of being. It involves the ability to maintain one’s own course in the midst of all the other fish swimming upstream.

When this kind of inner transformation happens (and it does), we are likely to no longer interpret that original difference as “different.” We have grown so much larger that what was formerly a foreign quality is now encompassed within ourselves. Think about couples. Very often, these formerly independent individuals begin to talk alike, act alike, even think alike. That kind of shift can be hard work when there’s no incentive like romance to fuel us. And it’s too much for most of us, even on our best day.

Maybe we should be told to “endure diversity unless you want to do the gritty work of expanding yourself.” Maybe that would be a better proscription. At least it would be more accurate.

I’m not suggesting that we not do this inner work, or that we turn away from opportunities for self expansion. I’m just observing our ever-present tendency to create tribes and to be fundamentally uninterested in ways that are unfamiliar. I think this tendency is important to note, maybe even to honor. We can’t force ourselves to cross a river if we don’t have the know-how or the tools or the gumption. Sometimes we just have to make camp on the bank. Sometimes that just makes a lot more sense.

Most people who I know and love have children. I don’t. That essentially puts our lives at odds. We make different choices. We have different opportunities. We like different things. We feel different things. I’m usually okay with that. But sometimes when we come together, and they are caring for their kids or talking about being a parent, or making life choices that account for private school or family time, I feel a detectable sense of discontent—like I should have similar concerns, like their focus may just be more important than mine. Or vice versa. I sometimes think that their concerns are narrow or self-centered. Either way I go on this, once those differences become particularly distinct, I either have to change or retreat to my tribe.

Consider how you react when your ways are different from the ways of the people you encounter. It is likely that you are left feeling uneasy too. You may examine your worth or you may examine theirs. And then you are likely to think—however subconsciously—that either you should be different or they should be different, that you should assimilate or they should. Either way, that push to eliminate the “differentness” relieves the momentary tension. (It takes your focus away from the discomfort you feel because you are being asked to stretch.) But it circumvents the very fact of our differences—that you believe in this and I believe in that, that you do it this way and I do it that way, or that I feel this and you feel that.

So though we always have the choice to either make tribes or expand our definitions of ourselves, most times we make tribes—and then we act as if we’re in enemy territory when encountering someone from the other tribe. I think it would help immensely if we recognized this everyday tribe-making as a quality of being human and refrained from characterizing ourselves as essentially “bad” because of it. Sometimes, I feel gleeful when I transcend my tribal thinking, but there are other times when there is a power, a deep sense of belonging, that comes with being a member of a group. My sense is that these polarities are two sides of the same coin. So it makes sense to make allowances for this, don’t you think? Of course, we should attempt to stretch beyond our limits, but we should also honor when we’ve stretched as far as we can.

Laurie and Sam.

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We’ve always admired your critiques of the power structure. But this past week, when you blasted Barack Obama for pandering to “liberal white Americans” by trying not to be “politically threatening to the white power class and the liberal intelligentsia,” we think you got it wrong. You critiqued Obama for not campaigning “as Jesse Jackson did,” saying that you think he somehow should be, or naturally would be, interested in the issues of black people, pointing specifically to inner city poverty.

Your basic idea about Obama’s increasing centrism was sound and actually not very extreme or even provocative. You were simply arguing that he is a middle-of-the-road politician, a mainstream moderate who is unwilling to challenge the power elite. This is the same critique you level at all “Demapublicans” and “Republicrats”; it mirrors your life-long political ideology.

But sadly, you fell on your face when you needlessly brought race into your analysis. Had you simply discussed the ways in which Obama is allowing himself to be coddled by political and economic elites, then you would have remained on solid ground. But when you made references to Obama being black, you lost your footing and revealed a naive understanding of race, a (perhaps) unexplored bias.

We don’t think it’s wrong to talk about race. But in this case, your essential argument stands on its own whether Obama is black, brown, or white. It is fundamentally about your belief that Obama, for all of his talk about change, is unwilling to truly pursue deep system transformation. And that is something worth examining.

Your critique has nothing to do with Obama’s ancestry. But it sounds like you have mistaken him for being a representative of black people. And you’ve got to know that assuming that all people of any one group have the same agenda regardless of class is way off the mark. After all, half of all African Americans are middle class–not poor, not disenfranchised. Do you think they really want radical structural change? Probably not. So when you critique Obama as “a black candidate,” you lose sight of your own argument–that he is a “mainstream candidate.”

Mr. Nader, we’re fairly certain that you don’t expect to find yourself in the White House next year. So it seems important to this nation that you participate in the campaign in a way that forwards the cause of change, your cause for change. We think your critiques have the power to do that. But your own racial bias got you stuck in a corner that will only serve to marginalize you and your non-partisan views. If you had stuck with what was at the core of your message, you could have offered a challenge to Obama and his supporters that they would have had to address–that following the path of saddling up to more and more elites, Obama will not have the latitude to to bring about any significant change, regardless of his intent or message.

Instead you got lost in the netherworld of race. And often, people don’t come back from there.

Sam and Laurie

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