Yes, It Does Feel The Same
Photo by White House photographer Pete Souza.
The photo above is by far one of my favorite moments shared of President Obama. This New York Times article describes the moment:
The boy in the picture is Jacob Philadelphia of Columbia, Md. Three years ago this month, his father, Carlton, a former Marine, was leaving the White House staff after a two-year stint on the National Security Council that began in the Bush administration. As departing staff members often do, Mr. Philadelphia asked for a family photograph with Mr. Obama.
When the pictures were taken and the family was about to leave, Mr. Philadelphia told Mr. Obama that his sons each had a question. In interviews, he and his wife, Roseane, said they did not know what the boys would ask. The White House photographer, Pete Souza, was surprised, too, as the photo’s awkward composition attests: The parents’ heads are cut off; Jacob’s arm obscures his face; and his older brother, Isaac, is blurry.
Jacob spoke first.
“I want to know if my hair is just like yours,” he told Mr. Obama, so quietly that the president asked him to speakagain.
Jacob did, and Mr. Obama replied, “Why don’t you touch it and see for yourself?” He lowered his head, level with Jacob, who hesitated.
“Touch it, dude!” Mr. Obama said.
As Jacob patted the presidential crown, Mr. Souza snapped.
“So, what do you think?” Mr. Obama asked.
“Yes, it does feel the same,” Jacob said.
President Obama made it possible for this little Black boy, and so many other children, to feel the same as the leader of the free world. I was home with family in Florida for the weekend of the inauguration. My nephew was three at the time, and yelled when he saw “Rock Obama” on the television.
It is hard to say goodbye to the people who made so many of us feel like we had something in common with the first family. I did not watch the First Lady’s final interview with Oprah. I did not watch President Obama’s farewell speech. I’ve scrolled past clips on social media of the First Lady’s last walk through the White House and the President awarding Vice President Biden the Presidential Medal of Freedom. I’ve not read much news coverage, or the First Lady’s cover story in Vogue. As we say goodbye to our 44th President, it brings back memories of when we first realized his victory.
The photos from that night are unclear, but the memories are vivid.
The night of the election is one of my fondest Fisk memories. We all ran onto the yard to celebrate and cheer. Within a few minutes, we heard approaching car horns, music, yells, and chants. Hundreds of students from nearby Tennessee State University descended on the yard. We hugged and rejoiced together. Student leaders from each school gave speeches. At a tiny school like Fisk, without a football team or marching band, there are few moments that feel like they’re right out of the movies. With the right score and camera angles, this one would have been Oscar gold.
But amidst all of the joy and inspiration, I felt fear. That night, I felt fear for his life. I felt the imminence of death that plagued Black leaders of the past. When Obama was elected, I felt fear. I am an HBCU grad and a Black history buff. We know what was done to Black change makers like Malcolm. “Uppity” Black men like Martin. Black leaders who don’t know their place like Medgar. Black couples who have the audacity of hope like the Moores.
So as we welcome our 45th President, in some ways, yes, it does feel the same. But this time, I feel fear for many lives. I feel the imminence of death for civil liberties that plagues fascist regimes. We know what the President and Congress intend for people of color, Muslim people, low income people, gay and trans people, women, and every American who does not fit into the dominant culture.
Celebratory piggy back ride for my nephew while home with family during the 2009 inauguration.
I went into 2009 with a different mindset. In the two months between election night and the inauguration, I choose to lean on the joy and the inspiration, instead of the fear. Here’s the thing about inspiration: it makes you bold. Bold enough to condemn police brutality. Bold enough to demand marriage equality. Bold enough to confront the corporate greed that threatens what you hold sacred. Bold.
I am going into 2017 with a different mindset. In the two months since the election, I’ve felt fear, anger, disappointment, and despair. In the face of fear, there are two reactions: fight or flight. Though I made jokes about fleeing the country, the choice is clear: fight. I am choosing to be bold. Bold enough to continue the fights started under the 44th POTUS. Bold enough to fight new injustices under the 45th POTUS. Bold.
We must not despair. We must not be overwhelmed or throw up our hands. It is time to roll up our sleeves and fight for who we are.
— Kamala Harris (@KamalaHarris) January 20, 2017