The following essay is by Houston A. Baker, Distinguished University Professor at Vanderbilt University and author the recently published Betrayal: How Black Intellectuals Have Abandoned the Ideals of the Civil Rights Era.
“A week of rest and reflection has sobered me up almost completely. I am confident enough now to predict that a critical American conversation on race will never come by way of the President Barack Obama White House. I base my prediction on temporality: i.e., the past is prelude. Obama’s tepid and problematic pronouncements from the National Constitution Center during the general campaign revealed a hyper-sharp cautiousness and subtle evasiveness when addressing race: its origins, injuries, and continuing denials of social justice and human rights to black folk.”—Houston Baker
Nashville, TN: November 11, 2008. On election night, 2008, busy schedules and autumn good luck brought together at Nashville’s heralded Midtown Café my wife and I, in company with President Hazel O’Leary of Fisk University and Provost Richard McCarty of Vanderbilt University. The provost had been trying to schedule a dinner for weeks. Finally it came together on election night, and a marvelous dinner it was. Working with our best manners to still jitters of worst expectations, and struggling quietly to maintain the decorum to check our collective desire to rush to the nearest television screen, we shared experiences. What was most striking about the first part of our evening was its crisp amiability. We are roughly on par in age; we are well-paid academics; we are ably situated in a southern city filled with high hopes for the future.
Yet, we were all aware of the stakes. Polling sites in Appalachia, white midwestern suburbs, and black zones of impoverishment would color our future. In the course of our conversation, President O’Leary invoked the era of Civil Rights in Nashville: Diane Nash, James Lawson, Nikki Giovanni and so many other black dissidents, racially and violently humiliated on southern streets, yet singing: “We Shall Overcome.”
I thought of my older brother, John Thomas Baker, who threw himself into the Nashville struggle during his freshman year at Fisk like he had been born and bred in the briar patch of black liberation collectivism. I told stories at our election night dinner of my long haul from Little Africa (a Louisville, KY, ghetto where I spent a significant portion of my youth) to a Vanderbilt Distinguished University Professorship.
I met my wife Charlotte Pierce-Baker, who hailed from Jim Crow precincts of Washington, D.C., at Howard University. It was 1961, and things in the U.S. were definitely on “racial lock down.” My wife is now full professor and interim Director of Women’s and Gender Studies at Vanderbilt.
Our Provost compared his experiences at the University of Virginia with ours, as he praised the role of a courageous cohort of white Nashville faculty who made Vanderbilt the first southern, traditionally all-white university to integrate officially its student body.
Then we went home. Full. Nervous. Expectant.
It was as though we had diligently and politely “stated the theme”—the only one—for November 4, 2008. Stated it with trepidation, anxiety, and, of course, as a conjuration against disastrous returns.
Truthfully?
Much of our nervous, humorous, and historical conversation that night—with its racial recall and hilarious storytelling—seemed, at least to me, to have little connection to what I have thought, and continue to think of the guiding premises of President-Elect Barack Obama’s relationship to race in America. There was, I thought, an unspoken disconnect between his address to race and ours. Nothing in the former senator’s primary or general campaigns has convinced me that he has, or will ever, come forward and declare unequivocally his commitment to addressing urgent matters of Black Majority interests. He has always appeared to me as a man dapped out as what one black Los Angeles blogger terms: “A Magic Negro Politician.” President-Elect Obama’s life is, and has been, marked by social and family burdens, to be sure. But his life, by any account, has also always been “beautiful.” Shaped, for example, by the type of sharp, aesthetic oxymoron represented by a mother on food stamps, while her son Barack enjoyed a private school education.
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