This is my mom…you may not have had the privilege of meeting her because she died in 1995. My mother, nor I, was born in the United States–she wasn’t around long enough to become a citizen. I was privileged to become a U.S. citizen–thank you Hillary Clinton for inspiring me when you ran for Presidential nomination the first time.
Last night I wondered what my mother would think about the First Lady’s, Michelle Obama, speech. As she spoke about living in a house that slaves built. About her two wonderful daughters who could never imagine that a woman couldn’t be President. About systemic injustices within this country that befall black men.
My mother could never imagine living in the White House because none of her children were born here in America–but she believed with all of her heart what that great house stands for–THE People’s House. That is why she emigrated to this country for a better life for her children.
My mother never spoke of a woman President–it wasn’t something that in her lifetime could be seen as a possibility…even after 1984. However, in our house she was all three branches of the government. Had my mother been exposed to Hillary Clinton I believe she would have believed in her drive and determination, her grit and perseverance, in her compassion and her humanity. She too would have believed that a woman could be President.
My mother never taught me that I was a black male. I was her child, her little man, her love, her only son. She taught me to be respectful, she told me to pull up my pants (because she didn’t want to see my skinny butt in the underwear she bought me), she demonstrated a hard work ethic and infused that in me, she taught me to love because hate was ugly and no one likes ugly. Last night I wondered if my mother was teaching me these things because I am a black male. I wondered if she taught me these things without reveling intent because highlighting the color of my skin would minimize her lessons–because why should anyone have to teach their child differently about going through life based on race in this America. But I imagine she feared my life might be cut short, that I wouldn’t have the same privileges as others…that systemic oppression would befall me.
I don’t think my mother would 2nd guess herself for making the move to America…but I think today she would wonder what has happened to the country she brought her family to in order to have a better life free from oppression and open to possibility.
My fear is that the outcome of this election could mean that my American success story might not have the chance of being repeated for someone else because a single mother, in another country, determined to make a better life for her children will now believe that America is intolerant, not only to those who live outside of this country and believe in its greatness but also to its own citizens, citizens of this country who were brought here against their will and to all those who hold a continued physical resemblance.
My fear is that the dialogue around systemic oppression will not move forward–that oppression will spread.
My fear is that should I be blessed with the chance to be a father that I will live with, and in, the same fear that my mother likely had.
This is not one America. This is not the America the founding leaders envisioned. We need to step up and make them proud of the living document they created to guide this great Nation. We need to take ownership of our actions–and or inactions.
This Nation is great…let’s act like it.
