Let’s be clear about it; Barack Obama had my vote long before he made this brilliant speech:
I was stunned after reading only partial transcripts of it online. I instant message my ex-boyfriend, “Wow, did you see Barack hold it down?” Yes, he responds. “Barack ‘killed’ it.” I call my Dad while walking to the train, “I loooove Barack Obama,” I declared to him. “I love him too,” he replied. “I heard the speech–I wept.”
My dad does not cry (at least not often).
I sit on the train, dazed at something I haven’t even seen yet. From the mini-world of iPod, I overhear an Indian man talking to a white man about a “speech.” They both look impressed. I quickly remove my earphones and listen in, having them confirm what I instinctively know. If there were ever a critical speech about race, this was it.
I get home later that night and watch Jon Stewart (in what was probably in the top 3 of my all time favorite episodes of The Daily Show) make fun of Obama in his speech and then quip that “he talked to us about race like we were adults.” Grown indeed.
I finally, physically watch it really early the next morning. A good friend has already emailed me the link. Lying in my bed, stomach down, I watch the YouTube version, trying to make it bigger. And within minutes, I cry.
I mean, I cry. For a lot of reasons, a lot of them. Some mixture of surprise, pride and relief. Someone honestly, honestly, addressing racism. And making sure that a lot of people would hear. In between tears, I think that maybe I don’t care if he wins or not. I mean of course I care. But you know, if this is as far as he goes, if this speech ends up being the thing from the election season, then we’re not doing too badly. But then, you know, Barack–no matter what the news reports, the Clinton Camp, or the latest polls try to demonstrate–is ahead in the delegate count. Bottom line.
He might be the next president.
You can’t front on that.
But the tale’s in tears. Let me tell you. A couple of days later, I talk on the phone with an old friend. He revels about how he “can’t even tell what’s real anymore”, what with all the iPhones and the cell phones and the tv and the music and whatever else is about mediated contact. I reassure him that he’s only laying out the foundation of what is media studies. And after recommending a few books, I tell him that the best I can do as someone who is fascinated and overwhelmed by media, is to allow media to enhance rather than replace my “real” life. Adding another layer to connections and make new things possible. If I can respond to media, emotionally.
Case in point–a black man, living in my hometown, running for president who gives a speech a few states away, making me cry about it a day later.
That’s the kinda media I’m down with–can’t front on it.
