On liberation.

It’s been amazing to witness Obama’s election here in Cote d’Ivoire. No matter what your ideological persuasion, no one can’t say that the election of a black man as President of the US, even if he wasn’t a descendant of slaves, is an incredible victory for the unity of our country.

Most everyone knows that racism is something I think about a lot. When I was in France, I youtubed video of the civil rights movement on MLK Jr.’s birthday and watched television specials about MLK Jr’s life on the 40th anniversary of his death last April. I saw water from fire hoses pummel people and trap them against buildings. I saw white demonstrators shout with stark rage and fury as black students pursued their education at a formally all white school. I saw the demonstrators’ signs teeming with disgust and hatred at other human beings. Watching all this, I felt such hurt and disbelief – how could my people have treated other human beings like this? How could my people have taken away the humanity of other human beings like this?

During the whole 45 minutes of the show on MLK Jr.’s life and death, I cried, letting out a pain that came from somewhere deep within me. A pain that is still with me, the pain of division among our brothers and sisters in America.

I know this history is very recent, not even 50 years ago. I am filled with anger, sadness, and fear that we will never surmount it. My mind goes immediately to my really close black friends. They have taught me life’s lessons, helped me grow, and have been an affirming reassurance when I’ve been scared or nervous, like any good friend does. I watch these videos and acknowledge the fact that I would not have the joy and comfort these friendships give me if I was born in a different time or place. Then I think of an even worse reality – what if my black friends, who mean so much to me, were told they weren’t good enough to use the same space on a bus, restaurant, or toilet as me? What if they always had to hide their intelligence for fear of coming across audacious? What if their church was burned to the ground? What if they were constantly told in cold and cutting English, “Leave. You’re not welcome here.”

Lastly, the real worst, the heart-breaking truth. What if I was a perpetrator? What if I told black people they didn’t deserve to be in a public place or to get an education? What if I told them verbally and nonverbally that they were less than I? If I grew up with the idea that black people are less intelligent, less able, more brutish, more violent, why would I think otherwise? We are all raised with values. It’s completely possible. It’s cultural.

And yet, we are still in the 21st century raised with these values, even if they’re not in our own homes. The evening news wherein black men are almost always represented in situations of violence. The cartoons wherein the physically darker characters, whether by dress, features, or skin color, are the evil ones. This is why my black friends today talk of being followed in stores or seeing someone clutch their purse as they walk past.

Don’t get me wrong, I am proud of the progress our country has made. It was 25 years ago that MLK Jr. had a dream that “the sons of slaves and the sons of slave owners would sit down together at the table of fraternity.” And we are doing this more and more. But I just hope that we keep up the fight for the humanity of all of our brothers and sisters, because there is still much work to be done.