Now That President Obama Is 'The Man' . . . What Are Your 'Yes We Can' Plans?

So what's next?

Now that all of the cheers and tears have come to past . . . Now that all of the partying is over and the songs have all been written and sung . . . Now that Barack Hussein Obama has officially been sworn in as the 44th President of these United States and we've all claimed a bit of the historic moment for ourselves . . . what do we do next?

I'm saying, you do know there's still a lot of work to be done and even with all of his charisma, intellect, and unquestionable ability, President Obama can't do it alone? Really, isn't it time we stopped being the type of people who will show up for the party, but can't be found when it's time to roll up our sleeves and get to work?

No, I'm serious. Did we not all nod in agreement when Obama said, "We are the ones we've been waiting for?" Well, if "Yes We Can" is ever to be more than a catchy campaign slogan, don't we need to take that next step and start asking ourselves, "Yes we can--what?"

Perhaps, like me, you've already done so. When the Obamas, as a family, made a point of getting involved in community service projects on the MLK holiday, I'm pretty sure they were attempting to set an example. But the truth is, some of us, my family included, had already made plans to spend a portion of the day engaged in such endeavors. It's something we've done for the past several years now.

Of course, the truth of the matter is, I was on the Obama bandwagon long before he even announced his candidacy. After reading his book, Dreams From My Father, something inside of me said, you know, this guy just might be The One (as apposed to That One *smile*). But it wasn't until I heard his nomination acceptance speech at the Democratic Convention that I felt inspired to go beyond thinking and griping about the problems that faced our nation and becoming more involved in some community relief project.

The task I've taken on is helping to feed the hungry. In recent months, I've been moved by a number of different articles that have detailed the on-going fight to end hunger. One article in particular told the story about a group of kids, who though enrolled in an after school hunger program, were writing in their journals about being hungry over the weekends. To me, it is both heartbreaking and a disgrace that any child in the United States (or elsewhere in the world for that matter) would spend a day, much less an entire weekend, hungry.

So, I figured since I'm in the grocery store a couple of times a week, anyway, why not pick up a something or a few things for someone else, every time I go? And that's what my guys and I have been doing over the past several months. We keep a box in the kitchen and once it's full of items, we drop it off by the local food bank. It's a small thing, but I think it makes a big difference in some one else's life as well as in our own hearts. And for me and mine, it's a step and a start in the right direction.

Your contribution doesn't have to mimic ours. Your calling might be bigger or it might be something smaller. But I do think it's imperative that those of us who voted for and say we support the ideals put forth by President Barack H. Obama . . . Get Up . . . Go Out . . . and DO SOMETHING!

I've shared a bit of my plans and efforts. Now, what are YOU gonna do?

YES WE CAN . . . YES WE DID . . .

Barack Hussein Obama

The first Black President-Elect

of the United States of America

"Ah--so this is what the New World hath finally wrought . . . "

Joseph Asagai

from Lorraine Hansberry's

A Raisin In the Sun

A Vote For Change In 2008 . . .

I early voted yesterday. I live in North Carolina, one of those all-important "swing states" and folks here have been early voting since last week. Given all of the local new reports about the record turnout and having witnessed for myself the overflowing parking lot at the library when I intended to cast my vote, I knew to arrive early. So, even though the polling place didn't open until 11:00 am, I arrived at 9:30. It was good thinking on my part, because, sure enough, there was aleady a line of 15 or more people in front of me.

Patience is not one of my virtures. Most of my friends and family members know if they keep me waiting for too long without a damn good reason, I either leave or start (whatever it is) without their slow behinds. The last time I can remember waiting in a line with that many folks in front of me was for concerts tickets to see the R& B artist, Maxwell back in 2001. The main thing the Maxwell ticket line had going for it was constant and steady movement. In contraxt, the early voting line I joined yesterday at 9:30 was one that didn't lurch forward until 11:00.

Still, I resisted the urge to say, "later for this." No, I stood there with the others and waited, comforted by the fact that at least I'd arrived early enough to stand inside of the building as apposed to outside in the elements. My decision to endure the 1 and 1/2 hour wait was further affirmed when by 10am the line behind me was already outside and consisted of probably three times the number of people standing in front of me.

I first registered to vote shortly after my 18th birthday. Even though I haven't necessarily voted in every election since then, I've always taken the right to vote seriously. For me, it goes beyond "civic duty" or even the often touted, "folks died for your right to vote," line of reasoning.

I don't have any memories of the speeches, rallies, protests, marches, sit-ins, beatings and murders that took place during the Civil Rights movement. Even though I was living in Memphis, TN at the time, I was a preschooler when Martin Luther King was assassinated. All I can remember and never will forget from that chaotic and emotional period in our nation's history is the sight of my mother weeping . . . (see here for the full story)

But what I do know and fully appreciate is my history--my own personal history . . . my family's history . . . United States history as well as the history of African Americans in these United States. And I know it hasn't all been pretty and triumphant or the crystal stair (smile) that some might have us believe. There has been, on the other hand, plenty of inexcusable, unwarranted and unacknowledged horror, pain, struggle, poverty, depravation and inequality, the kind of wich doesn't necessarily fill me with pride for my country or fellow citizens.

Just this past weekend, a suspicious event at one of the local polling sites, prompted my husband and I talk to talk to our school-age son about the historic suppression of the Black vote, the Voting Rights Act of 1964 and the election tampering and tomfoolery that's occured in recent years in places like Ohio and Florida.

So, if you're waiting for me to say, "It doesn't matter who you vote for, as long as you vote," it ain't gonna happened (smile). Sorry, just because something is the nice, polite, politcally correct thing to say, doesn't make it a truth I'm willing to buy into. Nope, for me, the truth is, it does matter, this year more than ever. Our nation seems to be at a crossroads and I, for one, am fearful of what lurks at the end of the narrow and treacherous path we've been plodding and stumbling along for the past eight years . . . if not, all of my life and then some.

That's one of the main reasons why, yesterday, I was so willing and eager to wait in an unmoving line for however long it took to cast my vote . . . my vote for change. And if you really want to know the truth, some of us have been standing in this line for generations. When the time finally came for me to press that lever, don't think I didn't feel the presence of all those who dreamed of such a moment, but never lived to see it, standing right there beside me.

And later that evening, when my son arrived home from school and the first thing out of his mouth when he burst through the door was, "Mom, did you get to early vote?!" not only did his interest and enthusiasm make me smile, it made me view my relatively small sacrifice within the larger context of generations to come.

WHAT I LIKE ABOUT . . . BARACK OBAMA . . .

What I like about Barack Hussein Obama extends beyond his charisma, his candidacy or his politics. I read his first book, Dreams From My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance, well before he announced he was running for our nation's highest office. Matter of fact, I can remember saying in the book club in which I belonged at the time, "If there is to be a "Black" president in my lifetime, if will more than likely be Barack Obama."

My favorite section in Dreams From My Father is one entitled, "Origins." In it, Senator Obama speaks candidly about his family, his unique upbringing and his feelings about his racial/ethnic heritage. While writing about his college years, he mentioned a young woman he called, "Joyce." He described her as a "good-looking woman who had green eyes, pouty lips and honey-colored skin." He talked about the day he asked Joyce if, by any chance, she planned on attending the upcoming Black Students' Association meeting.

He said Joyce looked at him funny, shook her head and told him, "I'm not black. I'm multiracial." Then she went on to tell him about "her father, who happened to be Italian . . . and her mother who happened to be African and part French and part Native American and part something else." Then Joyce, who Obama described as being on the verge of tears at that point, went onto tell him that Black people were always trying to make her choose, while White people were willing to treat her as a person.

What Obama conclued about the experience, made me smile, if only because I've often thought/felt the same when I've encountered people like Joyce . . .

In Barack Obama's own words: "That was the problem with people like Joyce. They talked about the richness of their multicultural heritage and it sounded good, until you noticed that they avoided black people. It wasn't a matter of conscious choice, necessarily, just a matter of gravitational pull, the way integration always worked, a one-way street . . . Only white culture could be neutral and objective . . . Only white culture had individuals. And we, the half-breeds and the college-degreed, take a survey of the situation and think to ourselves, "Why should we get lumped in with the losers if we don't have to?" (From Dreams From My Father, pages 99-100)

In part, what I like about Senator Obama is that he appears to have made a conscious decision to cast his lot with those perceived as "the losers." It amuses me that so many (both Black and White) appear to take issue with Obama's choice to identify himself as an African American and align himself with the African American community. One has only to read his book, Dreams From My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance to understand that Obama fully appreciates all of the various elements that helped make him who he is. In fact, I'd dare say, even more so than his African father, the book is about how his White, mid-western bred mother helped shape and influence his African American identity. I view how Barack Hussein Obama has elected to define himself as both an act of love and one of defiance.

For me, the real beauty of Obama is, one, that he readily and proudly embraces ALL that he is, as well as ALL to which he is connected--his White American mother, his Black African father, his White relatives from Kansas, his Black relatives from Kenya, his Indonesian step-father, his half-White, half-Indonesian sister, his South-Side of Chicago reared African American wife and their two little girls. And two, Obama steadfastly refuses to embrace a solely negative and stereotypical view of what it means to be Black . . . African American . . . or . . . a person of color.

(Written while listening to Lupe Fiasco's "Kick, Push"; "I Gotcha"; "He Say, She Say"; and "Day Dreamin'" from the cd entitled Lupe Fiasco's Food and Liquor).