Sometimes the danger isn’t from the work of change, but from those too weary to believe in change at all. Last week on Wednesday, Jan. 16, around 100 people gathered at St. Ambrose Church on West 130th Street in Harlem to hear black intellectuals critique Barack Obama. People shook the freeze off and sat in the pews. The cold followed us in but not from the open door; it came in from the years of political helplessness. Quiet tension filled the church as people waited for speakers to say what should be done in this moment of blinding hope.
The star of the night, Amiri Baraka—the famous poet who once wrote under the name LeRoi Jones, and who once served as New Jersey’s poet laureate —was late and Sam Anderson, author of The Black Holocaust for Beginners began in his place. He had a list of questions for Obama. He held each up as a challenge finishing with a declaration. “Obama will deliver a softer form of capitalist oppression. We can embrace him as the lesser of two evils.”
The quiet thickened. Whatever Obama meant; whatever energy he represented, seemed far away. Amiri Baraka got in. He eased behind the microphone and spoke with beat poet rhythms, sending ripples of laughter through the audience. “We got to move beyond this is-he-black-enough question. He’s blacker than Hillary. Hell, he’s at least hooked up to the Motherland. Most African-Americans are African indirectly.” His foot bounced on beat as he gripped the microphone. “We can’t stay on the sidelines calling names; we got to use the energy of this campaign to mobilize the black community. We are not going to have a revolution. The most we can do is create a people’s democracy.”
Baraka pulled the audience out of its sullenness, but Dr. Tony Monteiro from Temple University in Philadelphia stepped into the echo of Baraka, and flashed history. “I’d like to use a historical analogy,” Monteiro began. “W.E.B. Du Bois said of Booker T. Washington that he filled a particular psychological need that whites had. They wanted to take race off the table. They wanted to build empire and move past the guilt of slavery. Booker fit that role. Does Obama fit that role today?”
More speakers came. Viola Plummer, chief-of-staff of Council Charles Barron, advocated getting in front of Obama’s campaign and interrupting it. A woman from Malcolm X Grassroots Movement aired her worry that young activists were going to be disillusioned by Obama and another generation will be lost to apathy. It was Deborah Smalls from the non-profit Break the Chains that broke the wavering mood in favor of engagement with Obama. She said: “I am an Obama supporter. The first step in creating change is believing it can happen.” Admitting she knew his wife, Michelle Obama, and was a former classmate, she laid out her reasons in a no-nonsense tone. “Say what you want, the fact is come November someone is going to be elected president. This is our chance to develop new leadership, one that doesn’t come out of the church. We have global challenges now and have to deal with Asians and Latinos. We can’t rely on the Clintons who use the rhetoric of unity but send their surrogates to divide us.”
Sparks flew as speakers on opposite sides of Obama pulled his symbolism this way, then that. Moderator Nellie Bailey from the Harlem Tenants Council waved her microphone like a crossing guard trying to direct traffic. A man in the pews yelled, “How can we know Obama is on our side?” Baraka hollered back, “You can’t have revolution by talking about it. You have to go through stages.” The audience splintered from the heat of the rhetoric and a few tip-toed out.
But most stayed, feeling a need to do something. Bailey opened the microphone to questions and one by one they lined up at the steps. Some were thankful. Some were wary. Some gave long speeches not seeing the people look around. Slowly a consensus was pieced together.
Bailey asked, “Who would we like to meet again?” Arms were raised. “Okay, I’ll begin to organize that tonight.” Eagerness glowed in people’s eyes. Another forum would be announced, more people would show and someone from the Obama campaign would be called on to answer questions he hasn’t had to before.
The crowd trickled out of the church. They came with hard cynicism, ready to crush Obama in their palms, but didn’t. Instead they walked out, each with a little hope in their hand.
The star of the night, Amiri Baraka—the famous poet who once wrote under the name LeRoi Jones, and who once served as New Jersey’s poet laureate —was late and Sam Anderson, author of The Black Holocaust for Beginners began in his place. He had a list of questions for Obama. He held each up as a challenge finishing with a declaration. “Obama will deliver a softer form of capitalist oppression. We can embrace him as the lesser of two evils.”
The quiet thickened. Whatever Obama meant; whatever energy he represented, seemed far away. Amiri Baraka got in. He eased behind the microphone and spoke with beat poet rhythms, sending ripples of laughter through the audience. “We got to move beyond this is-he-black-enough question. He’s blacker than Hillary. Hell, he’s at least hooked up to the Motherland. Most African-Americans are African indirectly.” His foot bounced on beat as he gripped the microphone. “We can’t stay on the sidelines calling names; we got to use the energy of this campaign to mobilize the black community. We are not going to have a revolution. The most we can do is create a people’s democracy.”
Baraka pulled the audience out of its sullenness, but Dr. Tony Monteiro from Temple University in Philadelphia stepped into the echo of Baraka, and flashed history. “I’d like to use a historical analogy,” Monteiro began. “W.E.B. Du Bois said of Booker T. Washington that he filled a particular psychological need that whites had. They wanted to take race off the table. They wanted to build empire and move past the guilt of slavery. Booker fit that role. Does Obama fit that role today?”
More speakers came. Viola Plummer, chief-of-staff of Council Charles Barron, advocated getting in front of Obama’s campaign and interrupting it. A woman from Malcolm X Grassroots Movement aired her worry that young activists were going to be disillusioned by Obama and another generation will be lost to apathy. It was Deborah Smalls from the non-profit Break the Chains that broke the wavering mood in favor of engagement with Obama. She said: “I am an Obama supporter. The first step in creating change is believing it can happen.” Admitting she knew his wife, Michelle Obama, and was a former classmate, she laid out her reasons in a no-nonsense tone. “Say what you want, the fact is come November someone is going to be elected president. This is our chance to develop new leadership, one that doesn’t come out of the church. We have global challenges now and have to deal with Asians and Latinos. We can’t rely on the Clintons who use the rhetoric of unity but send their surrogates to divide us.”
Sparks flew as speakers on opposite sides of Obama pulled his symbolism this way, then that. Moderator Nellie Bailey from the Harlem Tenants Council waved her microphone like a crossing guard trying to direct traffic. A man in the pews yelled, “How can we know Obama is on our side?” Baraka hollered back, “You can’t have revolution by talking about it. You have to go through stages.” The audience splintered from the heat of the rhetoric and a few tip-toed out.
But most stayed, feeling a need to do something. Bailey opened the microphone to questions and one by one they lined up at the steps. Some were thankful. Some were wary. Some gave long speeches not seeing the people look around. Slowly a consensus was pieced together.
Bailey asked, “Who would we like to meet again?” Arms were raised. “Okay, I’ll begin to organize that tonight.” Eagerness glowed in people’s eyes. Another forum would be announced, more people would show and someone from the Obama campaign would be called on to answer questions he hasn’t had to before.
The crowd trickled out of the church. They came with hard cynicism, ready to crush Obama in their palms, but didn’t. Instead they walked out, each with a little hope in their hand.
