The Black Presidency

by Michael Eric Dyson

  Obama spoke of the micro-aggressions that eat at black folk—being followed in the department store while shopping, people locking their car doors when you approach, or women clutching their purses when you get on the elevator. Those experiences colored how blacks interpreted the verdict and the criminal justice system. “The African American community is also knowledgeable that there is a history of racial disparities in the application of our criminal laws—everything from the death penalty to enforcement of our drug laws. And that ends up having an impact in terms of how people interpret the case.”

  After saying that black people were aware of how young black men are “disproportionately both victims and perpetrators of violence,” Obama argued that historical context is critical to understanding the violence they commit and endure—especially the poverty and dysfunction that shape their lives but which are often unrecognized by the larger society. Obama also expressed the frustration of seeing black youth “painted with a broad brush” as violent creatures to justify treating them differently. He summed up the injustice of their different treatment by drawing a contrast: “And that all contributes I think to a sense that if a white male teen was involved in the same kind of scenario, that, from top to bottom, both the outcome and the aftermath might have been different.”

  Obama posed the question of where the nation might go beyond vigils and protests. Besides a review of the case by the Department of Justice—which later found that it could not prove Zimmerman had intentionally violated Martin’s civil rights—he pointed to a few things that we as a nation might do to work through the pain of our racial fracture. First, he suggested efforts to “reduce the kind of mistrust in the system that sometimes currently exists,” a theme Obama has repeated after nearly every deadly interaction between the cops and black people over the last few years. He also cited “potential racial bias” in law enforcement in ways he has not always made clear. Second, the president argued for an examination of state and local laws with an eye to whether “they may encourage the kinds of altercations and tragedies that we saw in the Florida case, rather than defuse potential altercations.” Obama proposed that we find alternatives to the “stand your ground” law, alternatives that would counsel exit from a potentially dangerous situation. A national effort was mounted to overturn “stand your ground” laws after Martin’s death—although an appeal to that law was not made by the defense in the Zimmerman case. For those who resisted the notion that these laws should be reviewed, Obama offered a point made by many black critics. “If Trayvon Martin was of age and armed, could he have stood his ground on that sidewalk?” Obama poignantly and calmly queried. “And do we actually think that he would have been justified in shooting Mr. Zimmerman who had followed him in a car because he felt threatened? And if the answer to that question is at least ambiguous, then it seems to me that we might want to examine those kinds of laws.”

  Third, Obama offered the kernel of his “My Brother’s Keeper” initiative,15 saying, “We need to spend some time in thinking about how do we bolster and reinforce our African American boys.” Obama argued against “some grand, new federal program.” He encouraged the nation instead to “do some soul-searching” in the wake of the verdict. “I haven’t seen [it] be particularly productive when politicians try to organize conversations. They end up being stilted and politicized, and folks are locked into the positions they already have.” Instead Obama wished that Americans would be more honest in their own homes, churches, and workplaces, asking themselves a couple of questions: “Am I wringing as much bias out of myself as I can? Am I judging people as much as I can, based on not the color of their skin, but the content of their character?”

  Perhaps Obama could have sparked people to be more honest about their personal lives if he had spoken more forthrightly about the complicated jigsaw puzzle that is race and what we as Americans might do to make things fit more justly. Obama seems to believe, despite not buying the post-racial myth or the delusion that racism is dead, that “each successive generation seems to be making progress in changing attitudes when it comes to race.” It’s a belief that, while noble, may not be borne out by the facts: a recent study proves that, with the exception of interracial dating and marriage, “millennials are just as prejudiced as their parents.”16 Obama’s confidence that “kids these days, I think, have more sense than we did back then, and certainly more than our parents did or our grandparents did” simply is not supported by the facts and can’t be the basis of honest racial conversation.

  The Audacity of Nope

  Obama’s skepticism about how much he could positively impact race as president emerged when he sparked a controversy by saying that the Cambridge, Massachusetts, police “acted stupidly” in arresting black Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates Jr. for disorderly conduct. Gates had returned home from a trip to China to discover that his door was jammed, and as his driver helped him gain entry to his house, a passerby called the police, thinking it might be a break-in. The ensuing conflict between Gates and the police officer who responded to the call led to his arrest and a national debate about race and law enforcement. I address the Gates affair more extensively later on, but for now I will note that the Gates confrontation made Obama very hesitant to speak on race and led him to three fateful conclusions. One, never speak of race in a way that holds whites even partially responsible for black suffering. The subject of white guilt of any sort—even in circumstances of clear white culpability—is to be avoided at all costs. This is another way of saying that race is primarily the business and burden of blacks. Two, although they read it quite differently, both white and black communities are eager for Obama to excoriate perceived black error—for instance, in his warning to Morehouse College graduates against using racism as an excuse for failure—and to damn black pathology, such as absentee fathers. In black life such gestures are often read as tough love; in white America they are seen as heroic battles against black deficiency. Third, when the structural features of black suffering cannot be ignored, it is best to soften the blow with ample mentions of black criminality or black moral failure.

  When Obama addressed for the second time the racially charged situation in Ferguson, he held true to this racial template.17 He did not mention that a white policeman was responsible for the death of unarmed black youth Michael Brown, the crux of the uprising in Ferguson, although he mentioned people of color several times, reinforcing the view that race is a black issue, a black obligation, and not at all a white responsibility. Obama tiptoed around a discussion of structural forces and unjust practices—such as a racially charged criminal justice system, or the fact that black kids are expelled from school at higher rates than whites. He took on the issue in the politest terms possible, almost parenthetically, fearing to offend police forces throughout the nation, which are responsible for ungodly numbers of dead black bodies. True to form, Obama shifted from a discussion of the police to the subject of black responsibility.

  If Obama’s delivery on race is sad and disappointing, the failure of most black Americans to hold him accountable is no less so. Blacks are understandably reluctant to criticize the president. It is easy to see why. The election of Barack Obama in 2008 flooded black America with euphoria. There had been forty-three American presidencies stretching back to 1789, and not a single one was black. Two hundred and twenty years after George Washington was sworn in as the nation’s first president, Barack Obama was sworn in as the nation’s first black president. Obama’s win forced syntax and symbolism to get hitched in a shotgun wedding: the adjective “black” may have modified the noun “president,” but the change went far beyond a single man’s life or office and promised to transform the meaning of race in America.

  Black America beamed with pride when Obama became the most powerful black man in history. Many black folk believed that Obama’s victory was their triumph. They desperately hoped that his election was a gesture of respect for the black masses. Their hopes persisted even when mainstream media an
d political observers hailed Obama’s win as a beacon of post-racial America. Most black people were skeptical and knew that one black man moving into the nation’s most spectacular public housing could not defeat racism.

  Obama’s historic feat did not put a smile on every citizen’s face. Republican leadership did not want history to repeat itself and prayed for a single-term black presidency.18 The far right quickly got sick of Obama and took in plenty of tea parties as a cure. The political fringe tried to spook the nation into fearing Obama’s dangerous otherness, caricaturing him as a chimpanzee and, in a sobering denial of his humanity, as a black box, a dark cipher. Obama could not persuade his opponents that darkening the corridors of power posed no threat to the American way of life or the fortunes of white civilization. Hitting the links with Republican politicians for a friendly game of golf did not stop his critics from routinely teeing off on him or slicing his policies. At the same time, Obama’s power establishment comfort zone angered lots of progressives, who believed that he gave cover to American empire. Obama’s race seemed to matter most when it should not have mattered at all, especially in a society that had supposedly moved beyond color with his election. In such an atmosphere most blacks were hesitant to say a discouraging word about Obama.

  The failure of most black Americans to insist that Obama address race as a matter of course, honestly, accurately, has done two bad things. It offered Obama the preferential treatment he did not want, and it guaranteed that black Americans would continue to get what they did not deserve: a president who was afraid to address their concerns effectively. When he was campaigning for president, Obama was asked why Martin Luther King Jr. would have endorsed him. “Dr. King would [not] endorse any of us,” he answered. Instead, Obama argued, King “would call upon the American people . . . to hold us accountable.” Obama concluded that “change does not happen from the top down; it happens from the bottom up,” with activists “arguing, mobilizing, agitating and ultimately forcing elected officials to be accountable.”19 Obama, like all presidents, addressed race only when faced with principled critique and persistent pressure.

  Obama’s views on race and America have drawn considerable criticism from scattered quarters of black culture. How should black leaders and thinkers behave toward a president who is adored by the black masses and loathed by large numbers of whites? Pretending that it makes no difference that Obama is the first black president is either naïve or foolish. It is like ignoring the bruising battles that Jack Johnson endured to become the first black heavyweight champion and the grievous price he paid for being good enough to win. It is to ignore how Jackie Robinson was spiked with bigotry in baseball, or the difficulties endured by hundreds of other black firsts, whether they were medical pioneers or magazine editors. Black pride in Obama clashed with white resentment of his rise to power. The black urge to protect Obama is fueled by the belief that blacks must do everything possible to shield the president from racist rhetoric while refraining from criticism that might increase his vulnerability.

  Black protectionism presents black leaders, and black critics, too, with a tough choice: either side with an unfairly besieged president in a show of black loyalty or risk retaliation by black folk who hear a whisper of dissent as a hurricane of hate. Congressional Black Caucus chair Emanuel Cleaver, when asked in 2012 if Obama was being spared criticism for high black unemployment rates because of his color, explained the reluctance to go after the president: “Well, I’m supposed to say he doesn’t get a pass, but I’m not going to say that. Look, as the chair of the Black Caucus I’ve got to tell you, we are always hesitant to criticize the president. With 14 percent [black] unemployment if we had a white president we’d be marching around the White House.” Cleaver suggested that ethnic identification and racial solidarity would prompt most groups to avoid attacking the president, as blacks have done with Obama. “I . . . don’t think the Irish would do that to the first Irish president or Jews would do that to the first Jewish president . . . we’re human and we have a sense of pride about the president.” Cleaver admitted that Obama exploits black pride too. “The president knows we are going to act in deference to him in a way we wouldn’t to someone white.”20

  Black leaders and thinkers are often caught between white revulsion and black reverence, making it difficult to offer the president sensible pushback and enlightened criticism. Besides black conservatives, who largely echo the views of their white counterparts, at least five groups of blacks have criticized Obama: members of Congress who support the president but occasionally press him for more resources for their constituents; progressive intellectuals and ministers who call on history and politics to chastise the president for his neglect of black interests and suffering; feminist critics and public intellectuals who seek to combat the exclusion of women and girls from national and presidential conversations on race; critics on the far left who lambaste Obama as a prop for American imperialism abroad and a puppet of domestic financial exploitation; and public intellectuals and activists who often differ with the president yet offer either principled support or ad hominem attacks.21

  You Were Always on My Mind

  Obama’s nearly unanimous black support could not completely muffle grumblings about the ebony wunderkind among some black leaders. Senator Obama not only kept his Congressional Black Caucus colleagues at arm’s length but also continued the practice once he became president. Although black adoration has kept a lid on black disgruntlement with the president, Black Caucus members have periodically questioned Obama’s commitment to the black base that swept him into office.

  A few months after Obama’s 2012 reelection victory, Congressional Black Caucus chair Marcia Fudge sent a letter to the president chiding him for the lack of diversity in his second-term cabinet choices. At the time of Fudge’s letter, it had been at least 675 days since the president had met with his former Black Caucus colleagues.22 At the start of his second term Obama appointed nine new cabinet members, including three women and one Latino. Women’s groups had complained of low numbers among his cabinet members and were promptly rewarded.

  “I am concerned that you have moved forward with new cabinet appointments and yet, to date, none of them have been African American,” Fudge wrote in her letter to Obama.23 “You have publicly expressed your commitment to retaining diversity within your cabinet. However, the people you have chosen to appoint in this new term have not been reflective of this country’s diversity.”

  Fudge noted that CBC members had received many complaints from constituents questioning why Obama had failed to name blacks to his cabinet. “Their ire is compounded by the overwhelming support you’ve received from the African American community.” When the CBC was finally granted a meeting with the president in July 2013, their first since 2011, Fudge had reason to change her tune. “What I did today is I thanked the president for [Transportation Secretary] Anthony Foxx and for [Federal Housing Finance Agency director] Mel Watt,” Fudge said, suggesting that her tough public criticism had worked.24

  The CBC’s dilemma was perfectly summed up during its 2011 jobs tour, when California congresswoman Maxine Waters pleaded with black voters at a town hall meeting in Detroit to free black Democratic politicians to criticize Obama for his failure to help the black community. Obama was then on a bus tour of Midwest rural cities ravaged by deindustrialization; the president had no black communities on his itinerary. “We don’t put pressure on the president because y’all love the president,” Waters admitted. “If we go after the president too hard, you’re going after us.” Waters laid out her views in a fiery oration:

  When you tell us it’s alright and you unleash us and you tell us you’re ready for us to have this conversation, we’re ready to have the conversation. The Congressional Black Caucus loves the president too. We’re supportive of the president but we’re getting tired ya’ll . . . [W]e want to give the president every opportunity to show what he can do and what he’s prepared to lead on . . . but our people are hur
ting. The unemployment is unconscionable. We don’t know what the strategy is. We don’t know why on this [Midwest] trip that he’s [on] in the United States now, he’s not in any black community . . . we don’t know that.25

  Congressman Cleaver supported his colleague. “It’s not personal,” Cleaver insisted. Waters and other CBC members were “attacking his policies, or lack thereof, with regard to this gigantic unemployment problem among African-Americans. If we can’t criticize a black president, then it’s all over.”26

  Black political leaders like Marcia Fudge, Emanuel Cleaver, and Maxine Waters have offered criticism of Obama while remaining respectful of his position and conscious of the wishes of their black constituencies. Many black politicians, however, are motivated to protect Obama because the white backlash against him is inherently unjust. In protecting the president, they are also protecting the race, black power, and, indirectly, themselves: black politicians increase their standing with black constituencies that love Obama and wish to protect the legitimate black exercise of power in the White House. If black politicians believed that Obama might return the favor of support, they have, for the most part, been sadly mistaken.

  Obama has from the start had a vexed and ambivalent relationship with his black political elders. Despite his community organizing efforts, the Ivy League graduate, at the outset, was viewed suspiciously in black circles as an interloper who got his comeuppance through a drubbing at the polls by Bobby Rush, the seasoned former revolutionary and later Chicago congressman whose Illinois First Congressional District seat the young Obama brazenly sought in 2000. Once Obama had the presidency fixed in his sights, he hushed black doubts by boldly laying claim to bloodstained freedom struggles in Selma and Memphis. He quickly surged on a wave of black love past the sinking fortunes of Hillary Clinton. Along the way Obama rubbed shoulders with and ruffled the feathers of the black political elite, enduring sour grapes, raised hackles, arched eyebrows, standoffish vibes, and wait-and-see attitudes. Obama brashly took his case straight to the masses and forced even Clinton loyalists like John Lewis to switch sides and support the new kid on the block.