President Obama in 2009. Photo: Pete Souza/The White House I was 17 when President-elect Obama walked across the stage in Grant Park with his Black, beautiful, accomplished wife and their two young Black daughters to give his acceptance speech. It’s a hazy memory. The morning after, still groggy, I wondered if I drifted during coverage and dreamt it. Coming out of her bedroom, slow and curious like a shadow, my mother stood beside me, mouth agape at the television screen.
Try as we might, no generation can escape the solipsism of disappointment. I blush some at the reality that there are plenty who came before us, those elders and mentors and teachers who organized in labor movements of the ’70s and ’80s, radical Black feminists of the Combahee River Collective who studied socialist theory, and antiwar movements of the ’60s. They were plenty skeptical. And said as much.
Already, we’re seeing reticence and a growing collective side-eye reflected in recent elections, where Black candidates and electeds struggled to ignite the Democrats’ most reliable base through the fog and fatigue of a post-Obama, post-Trump world.
CAMONGHNE Don't forget he had zero actual accomplishments.
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