'NYC' -STILL Not Done-

November 4^th, 2008 and I’m somewhere in New York City looking for East Houston street. New York isn’t New York unless you get lost. My roommate invited me to an election party. I originally planned to hang out at a bar near home in Jersey but a trip to the city seemed more deserving of the occasion. When I left my house, CNN was projecting 1% of Indiana with McCain leading Obama 56% to 44%. The previous week, news stations were careful not to declare Obama the winner though all the polls were in his favor. I didn’t trust polls, I didn’t even trust the system. Al Gore losing in 2000 gave me enough reason to believe Democracy is not perfect. I’d usually be glued to CNN, flipping to MSNBC and Fox News like a junkie for information. I was waiting for the results of Indiana, Ohio, Florida, and Virginia. These were the paths that the Republican Presidential nominee, John McCain would have to take if he wanted to win the election. I was quiet and thinking about these states on the train ride to the city. My roommate wouldn’t stop talking about the party, his girlfriend, and his clothes.

I had started following this election fall of 2007. That summer, I stayed with a friend of mine in his basement. His mother was a judge and she had interesting books; The Future of Africa, Edgar Allan Poe, The Audacity of Hope. The Audacity of Hope, I recognize that guys face, I think in a magazine or something. He had a confident grin as if to show that he’s got something important to say. It lay face up on the lower level of an oak coffee table looking up through glass. His name was Barack Obama, I thought he was Muslim. The title seemed interesting so I read a couple pages but there was too much talk of politics. I didn’t understand it at the time. During the Democratic primaries in the fall, an historic election quickly surfaced when the last white male candidate John Edwards dropped off leaving Hilary Clinton and Barack Obama. So I researched, and paid attention to Obama. I’ve heard speeches, but none were like his. His message of Hope and change as well as his charisma and eloquence woke something inside me and the rest of my generation. He put into words the same fundamental beliefs and common judgments that I share. I recall most vividly his speech on March 18^th, 2008. We each as Americans in our distinctive communities, race, religion, sexuality, or gender, have experienced different lives as Americans. Some American experiences were never properly mended and are poorer than others and are inherited from our fathers and from a Nation that was and is less perfect than it should be. Despite our union as a nation we tend not to blend, embrace, or even acknowledge those who are different from us. This allows separation and a lack of understand that feeds frustration and animosity toward cultures. Obama addressed this in his speech on March 18^th, delicate, and articulate enough that he challenges us to develop a better understanding from both ends. He is a leader that asks us to transcend these lines so deeply drawn into sand.

We kept wandering around Al’s choppy directions hoping to run into E. Houston. I flagged down a cab and asked him for directions. I would have hopped in the back except I didn’t have a dime other than for the train. We past West Houston by 5 blocks which is the beginning of East so we started down West Houston in the cold and against the wind, block by block hoping it would turn into East. The streets were empty, rare for a New York night. This wasn’t a good sign. It meant that people are where they will be when America’s 44^th President is announced. We passed two women going the opposite direction and we asked them where E. Houston starts. They told us to continue forward and we’ll run into it eventually. They were going to Times Square and invited us to follow them. I thought it was interesting that these two older white women welcomed us young black guys to travel with them and maybe even wanted us with them. I actually wanted to go with them to Times Square but we had to find this party to meet up with a friend. The streets were quiet and reflected the lamp’s orange glow. I felt like everything was set and in place. History was happening without me. I’ve been away from a TV for a couple hours and any minute now the streets would erupt. We reached East Houston and just like that traffic started again. Taxis sped through green lights, honking their horns incessantly. But there was no backed up traffic. People pumped fists out cabs, poked their heads out of moving cars yelling with excitement. We walked fast and past a string of lively Bars, tight with seated stools and standing patrons staring up at a TV screen. I stopped at the last one gawking inside. I debated whether or not to go in or continue moving on. A man inside the bar, closest to the door made room for me and told me to come on in. In the few seconds before I stepped in, I thought, this is it.

10 months prior to this day, I walked into a Borders bookstore. I usually found some interesting book and find some quiet wall and read until they close but one day, I came across Dreams from My Father by Barack Obama. Impulsively, I picked it up in paperback and bought it at the front desk. I reading through, and it surprised me how similar I felt to the author. In terms of family, friends, and phases, I could undoubtedly relate with him. I imagined his story is similar to a lot of people of my generation. But even more notable than events is the search that we share. It’s a search for personal identity despite what society or even what friends might label me. The search is to find truly who we are and what we will choose to represent. There is a steel force behind my wills and ambition that weighs heavily on my back ever since I could remember. It is the greatest burden I’ve known and an endless source with which I don’t know what to do with. It is the understanding that my passion and ambition circles my limitations endlessly. I connect with Obama for many reasons, but more than anything, I know that his success is my own.

When Obama won the Democratic Nomination it felt like history had already written this story and we were in it, watching it play out day by day. I watched on a small TV, in a tight bar with countertops dripping spilled beer, CNN project that Barack Obama will be the 44^th President of the United States. “Obamaaa!” some white guy yelled out behind me. “Obamaaa!” I replied. We weren’t far from the party so we stepped outside and continued down the street. The streets were no longer quiet at all but now screaming with energy. Hope and anticipation pent up for months and months. And even some pent up for centuries. We strained our voices replying to any cry of, “Woooh! Obama! Yeah” alternating responses. Reaching and replying to passing cars honking as the cars themselves were celebrating. We reached the club in time to hear McCain’s concession speech. I respected McCain as well but desperation and dirty politics wouldn’t show us truly what a Maverick he is. There is a certain point in his speech that reached me better than any moment of that day. It was a short line that vindicated the success of African Americans in this country and the obstacles we’ve overcome. McCain agreed that we as African-Americans are denied the full blessings the American experience. This was the first time that I’ve heard a white man of power especially in the Republican party acknowledge the struggles of black Americans.