Releasing the grief

Over years of watching and listening, I've learned just a bit about the many large and small ways that people of color in this country have to swallow the rage they feel and experience on a daily basis. It seems to lay there just below the surface. But as Clarence Paige wrote, people of color are taught from a young age to not show their color when they're out and about in the world at large.

If you listen, sometimes you can get hints of the emotional burden people of color bear. Like the time a few months ago when an African American mother told me that she made her son cut his dreadlocks when he turned 13...she was afraid of the attention they might draw. Or the young African American man who still has his dreadlocks and tells me that he gets pulled over by the cops about once a week for "driving while black." The burden of rage and pain is built one brick at a time and must be managed in order to survive in this culture.

But recently, I've been trying to listen about something else I'm sensing. I know that many of us are relieved at the election of Barack Obama. But people of color, and especially African Americans, are feeling something special. While its easy to intellectually understand what that might be, this evening I heard a commentary on Minnesota Public Radio that helped me understand it a bit better in my heart. The commentary was by Rev. Gordon Stewart, who marched with King in Chicago and experienced race riots in Illinois and Wisconsin.

Throughout the next morning I wondered why I was so unmoved by the ceremony of the inauguration. I was watching, but it wasn't touching me. I was a distant observer…until… until Yitzhak Perlman and Yo-Yo Ma begin to play that sweet Shaker hymn "'Tis a Gift to Be Simple" … and the camera zooms in on the smiling face of Yo-Yo Ma with his cello. His face is beaming with joy! And now the camera moves to the President-elect sitting serenely, his posture erect, his head bowed, his eyes closed, the look of a man at prayer and peace. And I lose it. Tears and vocal sobs gush up in me like a geyser of tears blocked up for years.

They are strange tears, like none other I have ever felt. It confuses me. I wonder what they're about. It feels like joy. A joy I have not felt for a long time. Joy… and hope… that something really new is happening. Joy that all the struggles and all the marches that wore holes in my generation's shoes on behalf of civil rights and peace have brought us to this indescribably holy moment that transcends the old divisions.

For sure, the tears that rise up in me are tears of joy. But they're also about something else. They feel like the convulsing sobs of a prisoner released from prison. They come from a hidden well of poison -- the well of deep grief stuffed away over all the years because of all the marches, all the beatings, all the blood, the well of buried anger -- the silent tears of grief over the America we had almost lost.

Then I realize: Only the appearance of joy and hope can release such deep grief. It was the joy on Yo-Yo Ma's face that finally released the poison locked inside my soul. It is the joy and hope of a new generation that's able to take us where my generation cannot -- free of the taint of sore feet and scars and old grudges the new President says we must move past.

The inauguration felt like that moment -- a kind of ritual cleansing where grief gives way to joy and hope for a better tomorrow…where, in the words of Dr. Joseph Lowery's benediction, the silenced voice of his dear friend Martin once again rang out across the Washington Mall: "God of our weary years, God of our silent tears, Thou who hast brought us thus far on our way, Thou who hast by Thy might led us into the light: Keep us forever in the path."

Thank you Rev. Stewart.

Happy Birthday to a Dreamer (updated)

As I was thinking about the President's 50th birthday today, I was reminded of something I read a couple of years ago about an event that happened when he was only 8 years old that changed the potential for many children like him.

Helen Cooper points out that 1969 was...

the year that America’s most prestigious universities began aggressively recruiting blacks and Latinos to their nearly all-white campuses.

Just like the passage of Title IX in 1972 has been seen by many as the groundbreaker that led to things like the US Women's Soccer Team winning the 1999 World Cup, the affirmative action of Ivy League schools has given us many of the new power elite in this country today. And these folks are shaking up the status quo. Here are just a few examples.

Barack Obama - President of the United States and graduate of Columbia and Harvard Law School

Michelle Obama - First Lady of the United States and graduate of Princeton and Harvard Law School

Eric Holder - United States Attorney General and graduate of Columbia and Columbia Law School

Sonya Sotomayor - Supreme Court Justice and graduate of Princeton and Yale Law School

Deval Patrick - Governor of Massachusetts and graduate of Harvard and Harvard Law School

Cory Booker - Mayor of Newark, NJ and graduate of Stanford (and Oxford) and Yale Law School

These are just the few obvious ones that I thought of from the political arena.

We might react to all of this by decrying the hold that these elite institution have on the power base of this country. That would certainly be a worthy discussion. But Cooper, in her article, explains some interesting ways that this shift is impacting our politics.

But the children of 1969 dwell in a complex world. They retain an ethnic identity that includes its own complement of cultural, historical and psychological issues and considerations. This emerged at Judge Sotomayor’s confirmation hearings. And it emerged again last week, when Mr. Obama joked in the White House East Room that if he ran afoul of the police, “I’d get shot.” In saying this, he seemed to draw on the fears of black men across the United States, including those within the new power elite.

What Mr. Obama seemed to be demonstrating was what Mr. Lemann of Columbia calls a “double consciousness” that allows the children of 1969 to flow more easily between the world which their skin color bequeathed them and the world which their college degree opened up for them....

On Friday Mr. Obama said he hoped Mr. Gates’s incident might become a “teachable moment.” It is a daunting task for the children of 1969: finding out whether the double consciousness they honed in the Ivy League can actually get this country to listen — and react — to race in a different way.

This is the generation of African Americans that Ellis Cose in his recent book titled The End of Anger, calls "the dreamers" (as opposed to "the fighters" of the Civil Rights era who came before and "the believers" who came after). Here's how he described the dreamers:

Gen 2s (born between 1945 and 1969) did not, generally speaking, play a pivotal role in the civil rights movement. But they were, without question, the children of "the Dream." They took Martin Luther King Jr.'s words to heart and pushed America to make them come true. Gen 2 "Dreamers" were the first and second waves of African Americans to pour into universities, corporations and other institutions that previously excluded them. And many ran into a wall of prejudice once they arrived.

Here's one of the fighters reacting to the inauguration of one of the dreamers as President of the United States.

I was a distant observer until Yitzhak Perlman and Yo-Yo Ma begin to play that sweet Shaker hymn "'Tis a Gift to Be Simple" and the camera zooms in on the smiling face of Yo-Yo Ma with his cello. His face is beaming with joy! And now the camera moves to the President-elect sitting serenely, his posture erect, his head bowed, his eyes closed, the look of a man at prayer and peace. And I lose it. Tears and vocal sobs gush up in me like a geyser of tears blocked up for years.

They are strange tears, like none other I have ever felt. It confuses me. I wonder what they're about. It feels like joy. A joy I have not felt for a long time. Joy and hope that something really new is happening. Joy that all the struggles and all the marches that wore holes in my generation's shoes on behalf of civil rights and peace have brought us to this indescribably holy moment that transcends the old divisions.

For sure, the tears that rise up in me are tears of joy. But they're also about something else. They feel like the convulsing sobs of a prisoner released from prison. They come from a hidden well of poison -- the well of deep grief stuffed away over all the years because of all the marches, all the beatings, all the blood, the well of buried anger -- the silent tears of grief over the America we had almost lost.

Then I realize: Only the appearance of joy and hope can release such deep grief. It was the joy on Yo-Yo Ma's face that finally released the poison locked inside my soul. It is the joy and hope of a new generation that's able to take us where my generation cannot -- free of the taint of sore feet and scars and old grudges the new President says we must move past.

The inauguration felt like that moment -- a kind of ritual cleansing where grief gives way to joy and hope for a better tomorrow where, in the words of Dr. Joseph Lowery's benediction, the silenced voice of his dear friend Martin once again rang out across the Washington Mall: "God of our weary years, God of our silent tears, Thou who hast brought us thus far on our way, Thou who hast by Thy might led us into the light: Keep us forever in the path."

Happy 50th Birthday to our President - a Dreamer!



UPDATE: Here's a fascinating interactive feature from The Guardian on the 50 years of President Obama's life.

"The Dying Swan" performed by Yo-Yo Ma and Lil' Buck

From ColorLines:

Ma, a Presidential Media of Freedom Award Recipient, is already world renowned. But LA-based Charles Riley, known by his stage name Lil’ Buck, is just starting to make a name on the national scene. The twenty-two-year old is the 2011 Vail International Dance Festival’s Artist-in-Residence and does a style of dance known as “jookin’”, which originated in his hometown of Memphis, Tennessee...

“All the things that they talk about these days, with where our country is going — we need an innovative and knowledge work force,” Ma told Southern California Public Radio. “The best way to build innovation and creative imagination - and the most efficient way to do it - is actually by movement, visualizing, sound.”

Passing the Baton

As we prepare to celebrate Martin Luther King Day tomorrow, it strikes me that this is the first time in my adult life that we do so while another civil rights movement is underway. As Carla Murphy writes at ColorLines, that is causing some expected tensions.

It’s nearly six months since white police officer Darren Wilson killed 18-year-old, unarmed civilian Michael Brown in Ferguson, a St. Louis, Mo. suburb. There and around the country, the fatal shooting released a pressure valve of outrage about brutal and racist policing in black communities. Nationwide, people have marched, camped out in parking lots, blocked highway traffic, died in, sung in and even interrupted bourgie brunch. But to what end? What’s next?

Many are calling the Brown protests (and those about the fatal police chokehold of 40-year-old Staten Island father Eric Garner) “a new civil rights movement.” But as new, creative actions crop up to expand the common cry, #BlackLivesMatter, from the street to other areas of civic life, they’re butting up against the legacy and perceived perfection of the old movement. That 60-year halo burns bright not just for Boomers but ordinary Millennials, too.

The reason I suggest that this kind of tension is "expected" is because any movement for social change requires that previous generations pass the baton on to a new generation. The situation we face today bears the seeds of the issues tackled in Martin Luther King's era, but it's not the same.

Passing the baton to a new generation requires a very difficult letting go process. Rev. Gordon Stewart (who marched with MLK) expressed that beautifully when he wrote his about his reaction to the 2008 inauguration of President Barack Obama.

They are strange tears, like none other I have ever felt. It confuses me. I wonder what they're about. It feels like joy. A joy I have not felt for a long time. Joy... and hope... that something really new is happening. Joy that all the struggles and all the marches that wore holes in my generation's shoes on behalf of civil rights and peace have brought us to this indescribably holy moment that transcends the old divisions.

For sure, the tears that rise up in me are tears of joy. But they're also about something else. They feel like the convulsing sobs of a prisoner released from prison. They come from a hidden well of poison -- the well of deep grief stuffed away over all the years because of all the marches, all the beatings, all the blood, the well of buried anger -- the silent tears of grief over the America we had almost lost.

Then I realize: Only the appearance of joy and hope can release such deep grief. It was the joy on Yo-Yo Ma's face that finally released the poison locked inside my soul. It is the joy and hope of a new generation that's able to take us where my generation cannot -- free of the taint of sore feet and scars and old grudges the new President says we must move past.

Social change happens most effectively when cross-generational coalitions tap into both the wisdom of the elders and the passion of the young. That requires being willing to listen on the part of the young and a willingness to pass the baton on to the next generation by the elders.

Each generation must take on the battles of their time. And it doing so - are likely to bear the scars that can become a prison if not released to the passion of the next generation. When we won't let go, they become the seeds of anger and cynicism. Rev. Stewart was able to release himself from that prison by recognizing the grief - and almost simultaneously opening himself up to the joy and hope of the next generation. That's what it means to pass the baton.

And as Murphy notes, the young people who are picking it up have learned from their elders.

“We tend to get nostalgic about the way things used to be,” Davis says, pointing out that the Voting Rights and Civil Rights Acts did not begin as national demands. Rather, “they were concessions to things happening at local levels.”

Davis looks around and sees young leaders who’re purposeful about avoiding what they see as the classical movement’s mistakes: too much dependence on a single leader and marginalizing women and members of the LGBTQ community.

“If you speak to the leaders of this movement they acknowledge their limitations and blind spots,” he says. “Everything isn’t always gonna work. But they’re committed to figuring things out.”

“I’m not worried,” he says.

I'm not worried either. As they say, "the kids are all right."

Passing the baton

E.J. Dionne has written an interesting article about San Antonio Mayor Julian Castro. Reading it will explain why it is that President Obama chose him to give the keynote address at the Democratic Convention last year.

What makes Mayor Castro especially interesting is the interaction of his pragmatism with the early radicalism of his mother Rosie, his first political mentor. She was a founder of La Raza Unida Party — she eventually returned to the Democratic fold — and a poster from his mom’s unsuccessful 1971 city council race hangs proudly in the mayor’s office.

Between his mother’s past and his own present, Castro embodies the full range of progressive impulses, from the most activist and visionary to the most practical and middle-of-the-road. Castro says it’s not surprising that his approach is different from his mom’s.

“I had the blessing of opportunity,” he says. As a result, he sees a balance in what is required to achieve change. “You need the folks in the boardroom who have consciences and the people in the streets who can picket at the right time.”

Then he gets to his own role: “And you need public officials who can listen. I see myself as a bridge-builder who can understand both sides.”

When I read that I immediately thought of the recent work of Ellis Cose to define the generational differences in the modern movement for civil rights.

He calls the first generation The Fighters. They would encompass those leaders who - beginning in the 1950's - fought the legal battles against discrimination. The list is long, but includes people like Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, Malcolm X, Rep. John Lewis, Ella Baker, Cesar Chavez and Delores Huerta.

The next generation were The Dreamers. This is the generation that were the first to walk through the doors opened by the Fighters and continued the struggle for equality within the systems they entered. That generation - of course - includes President Barack Obama. But other public figures include his wife, Michelle Obama, Eric Holder, Sonia Sotomayor, Deval Patrick and Kamala Harris.

A few years ago Helen Cooper wrote a fascinating article about this generation - noting that they are the first to benefit from the Ivy League's attempts to aggressively recruit students of color in 1969.

But the children of 1969 dwell in a complex world. They retain an ethnic identity that includes its own complement of cultural, historical and psychological issues and considerations. This emerged at Judge Sotomayor’s confirmation hearings. And it emerged again last week, when Mr. Obama joked in the White House East Room that if he ran afoul of the police, “I’d get shot.” In saying this, he seemed to draw on the fears of black men across the United States, including those within the new power elite.

What Mr. Obama seemed to be demonstrating was what Mr. Lemann of Columbia calls a “double consciousness” that allows the children of 1969 to flow more easily between the world which their skin color bequeathed them and the world which their college degree opened up for them.

Julian Castro and his twin brother Rep. Joaquin Castro are representatives of the third generation - The Believers. We have yet to see what this generation can accomplish, but perhaps Mayor Castro's vision of being a "bridge-builder" says something about the role they will play.

Social change happens most effectively when cross-generational coalitions tap into both the wisdom of the elders and the passion of the young. That requires being willing to listen on the part of the young and a willingness to pass the baton on to the next generation by the elders.

I believe that the ugliness we see from people like Cornel West towards our President can be best understood by his unwillingness to let go of his role as a Fighter and pass the baton onto the next generation. By doing so, he is depriving them of the wisdom he might otherwise share.

I've posted this quote before. But to me, it captures exactly the kind of awareness that is required for a passing of the baton. Here is Rev. Gordon Stewart (a Fighter) reflecting on his reaction to the first inauguration of President Obama.

They are strange tears, like none other I have ever felt. It confuses me. I wonder what they're about. It feels like joy. A joy I have not felt for a long time. Joy... and hope... that something really new is happening. Joy that all the struggles and all the marches that wore holes in my generation's shoes on behalf of civil rights and peace have brought us to this indescribably holy moment that transcends the old divisions.

For sure, the tears that rise up in me are tears of joy. But they're also about something else. They feel like the convulsing sobs of a prisoner released from prison. They come from a hidden well of poison -- the well of deep grief stuffed away over all the years because of all the marches, all the beatings, all the blood, the well of buried anger -- the silent tears of grief over the America we had almost lost.

Then I realize: Only the appearance of joy and hope can release such deep grief. It was the joy on Yo-Yo Ma's face that finally released the poison locked inside my soul. It is the joy and hope of a new generation that's able to take us where my generation cannot -- free of the taint of sore feet and scars and old grudges the new President says we must move past.

Each generation must take on the battles of their time. And it doing so - are likely to bear the scars that can become a prison if not released to the passion of the next generation. When we won't let go, they become the seeds of anger and cynicism. Rev. Stewart was able to release himself from that prison by recognizing the grief - and almost simultaneously opening himself up to the joy and hope of the next generation. That's what it means to pass the baton.

We are in the era of the Dreamers. Rather than the post-racial world some predicted, the struggle continues as the dying beast lashes out in its death throes. But it won't be long now until the Believers are ready to take up the cause and face their own unique challenges.

One of the reasons I wanted to include Ella Baker in the list of fighters is that - as much as anyone - she understood the importance of passing the baton. Here's Ella's Song...

History has no "The End"

I'm old enough to remember when - just before a movie rolled the credits - you'd see a big "The End" splashed across the screen. You don't see that much anymore, but the sentiment persists...the story ends when the credits roll.

Today I'm thinking about how real life isn't like that - there is never a "The End." What happens today is always affected by what happened yesterday. And much of what happens tomorrow will depend on what we do today.

And yet, perhaps because of the movies (or more likely a whole host of things), we tend to persist in thinking that real life is like a story that ends at some point and then a new movie starts - with a totally unrelated plot.

In politics this leads us to evaluate winners and losers based on a singular event at one point in time. That's how the Republicans can fool so many people by suggesting that poverty rose under President Obama without mentioning that he inherited the Great Recession from his predecessor. But no, George W. Bush didn't single-handedly create the recession during his presidency either. The seeds of that were planted by previous administrations/legislatures and he merely watered the them to fruition.

This is also how someone like Rep. Paul Ryan can look at what is happening in inner cities and lay the blame solely on an existing "culture" without taking into account the impact of centuries of policies that created it. That's part of what Ta-Nehisi Coates was attempting to correct with this:

The notion that black America's long bloody journey was accomplished through frequent alliance with the United States is an assailant's-eye view of history. It takes no note of the fact that in 1860, most of this country's exports were derived from the forced labor of the people it was "allied" with. It takes no note of this country electing senators who, on the Senate floor, openly advocated domestic terrorism. It takes no note of what it means for a country to tolerate the majority of the people living in a state like Mississippi being denied the right to vote. It takes no note of what it means to exclude black people from the housing programs, from the GI Bills, that built the American middle class. Effectively it takes no serious note of African-American history, and thus no serious note of American history.

The question Chait is addressing in the back-and-forth he's having with Coates that prompted this comes down to: if history is one long chain of events rather than a movie with a "The End" at some point, how do we measure whether or not we're making progress?

An interesting frame on that question would be to ask whether or not the election of the first Black president has advanced or impeded progress towards addressing the issue of racism in this country. While some folks tried to claim in 2008 that it signaled a "post-racial America," the truth is that we've seen an outbreak of virulent racism over the last 6 years that can feel like a return of the last century rather than a door to the future.

In that sense, Chait is proposing a question that I think is important and will not likely be answered by simply referring to Malcolm X's quote about "You don't stick a knife in a man's back nine inches and then pull it out six inches and say you're making progress." Unfortunately history isn't like medicine. There is not going to be a singular point in time when we pull out the knife and heal the wound...The End. Instead, I would propose that we can move faster or slower on a trajectory that brings healing.

It has been my contention for years now that the election of President Obama and the rapidly changing demographics in this country have lanced the wound that had been festering in this country since the end of the Civil Rights movement. To be a bit graphic, we are in the process of releasing the puss that gathered under the skin as a result. The racist faction in America is coming out of the woodwork. But the truth is - they were just in hiding all along. If that analysis is correct, we're in a period of backlash to progress and the future depends on how we handle that today.

To adequately address the challenges we face, history must be recognized and honored. Listen to the words Rev. Gordon Stewart wrote about that on the day back in January 2009 when Barack Obama was inaugurated.

They are strange tears, like none other I have ever felt. It confuses me. I wonder what they're about. It feels like joy. A joy I have not felt for a long time. Joy... and hope... that something really new is happening. Joy that all the struggles and all the marches that wore holes in my generation's shoes on behalf of civil rights and peace have brought us to this indescribably holy moment that transcends the old divisions.

For sure, the tears that rise up in me are tears of joy. But they're also about something else. They feel like the convulsing sobs of a prisoner released from prison. They come from a hidden well of poison -- the well of deep grief stuffed away over all the years because of all the marches, all the beatings, all the blood, the well of buried anger -- the silent tears of grief over the America we had almost lost.

Then I realize: Only the appearance of joy and hope can release such deep grief. It was the joy on Yo-Yo Ma's face that finally released the poison locked inside my soul. It is the joy and hope of a new generation that's able to take us where my generation cannot -- free of the taint of sore feet and scars and old grudges the new President says we must move past.

To deny Rev. Stewart the sense of progress he felt that day is to deny him his joy - and yes, the release of the deep grief he had stuffed away. And yet there is no "The End" in his joy. He sees the struggle continuing in his hope that this generation can take us where his did not. His tears were the tears of progress in an ongoing struggle.

Taking on Cornel West's mistaken views about young people (updated)

This week Tavis Smiley hosted a forum titled Reawakening America: From Poverty to Prosperity.

Much of what came from Smiley and guests like Cornel West and Michael Moore was the same kind of thing we hear from them all the time. Bob Cesca did a great job of taking on the stupid that was uttered that night by Moore.

But right at the end, West said some things that have weighed heavily on my mind and heart ever since I heard it. I haven't been able to find a transcript, so what I'm about to quote comes from my own clumsy transcription from this video of the 2 1/2 hour event. I'll start at about 2:11:45.

But I'll say this about young folk in a critical way. I do not know of a wave of young people who are commensurate to the grandmothers and grandfathers and those ancestors that shaped me in terms of who I am. I just don't. And the reason is because young people have been so penetrated with the capitalist culture and the cultural superficial spectacle of instant gratification and overnight success and pushed button gettin over...So when we talk about the young people who are to make this fundamental social change, if you're not talking about courage and integrity and willingness to serve and sacrifice, then you're going to get bought out. You're gonna sell out quick. You're not gonna be a long distance runner. You're gonna be so obsessed with instant success and superficial status that you're gonna make your grandmama weep from the grave. Cause she wanted you to have earned greatness, not quick success. She wanted you measured by the love in your heart and the service that you rendered, not what your position is and how big your crib is. That's a very different sensibility. And that's a tradition we gotta keep. We gotta fight for that. We gotta keep it alive.

As I watched him say this, faces flashed across my mind...dozens of young people who's grandmama's heart would burst with pride in who they are, the sacrifices they've made and the service they've rendered.

You see, I work with young people like that every day. Many of them have battled through the most amazing odds to complete their educations, get degrees (a couple even went on to get their law degrees and license). And yet they have a commitment to helping the next generation be able navigate the difficult waters they passed through. And so they work for nothing in terms of money and prestige...every gawd-damned day. Not only that, they continue their service on their own time - doing everything from coaching kids in basketball leagues to serving on the executive board of our local NAACP. They live and breath service and sacrifice - away from the spotlight that shines on people like Cornel West.

And so it infuriates me to hear him talk like this. I happen to know that what I see every day is going on all over this country. These young people may not be marching in Mr. West's parade of outrage at the system...they're in there doing the dirty work of getting the job done. I've talked to them. They don't have time for Mr. West's pontificating and ego-driven tirades. They're too busy noticing that people are both literally and symbolically hungry. Their satisfaction comes - not in shaking their fist at why that is happening - but in making the bread to actually assuage the hunger.

Sometime in your life, hope that you might see one starved man, the look on his face when the bread finally arrives. Hope that you might have baked it or bought or even kneaded it yourself. For that look on his face, for the meeting of your eyes across a piece of bread, you might be willing to loose a lot, or suffer a lot, or die a little, even.

- Daniel Berrigan

Update: I want to include the words of some other wise people who have done a better job than I have in making these points.

First of all, back in October 2008, Newark Mayor Cory Booker (video) was interviewed by Bill Moyers. Booker is one of those young people who inspires me about the next generation. He doesn't have time for the fist-shaking. Its time to get to work!

But, I'm already getting fatigued with the conversation, and feeling that there's a dearth of action. That it may be in vogue right now because of this presidential election to talk about race, to study and to flip it over. But at the end of the day, is it gonna motivate action? We had the courage to deplore the reality in which we live, but will we show the equal courage to do something about it? Not wait. Not point a finger. Not sit and have debates about a divided America. But, to get into the trenches, to roll up your sleeves, to do the hard, difficult work it takes to manifest the greatness of this nation.

And no one has captured more eloquently than Rev. Gordon Stewart the importance of one generation stepping aside to let the next find their way forward. Here is his commentary on the inauguration of President Obama.

They are strange tears, like none other I have ever felt. It confuses me. I wonder what they're about. It feels like joy. A joy I have not felt for a long time. Joy... and hope... that something really new is happening. Joy that all the struggles and all the marches that wore holes in my generation's shoes on behalf of civil rights and peace have brought us to this indescribably holy moment that transcends the old divisions.

For sure, the tears that rise up in me are tears of joy. But they're also about something else. They feel like the convulsing sobs of a prisoner released from prison. They come from a hidden well of poison -- the well of deep grief stuffed away over all the years because of all the marches, all the beatings, all the blood, the well of buried anger -- the silent tears of grief over the America we had almost lost.

Then I realize: Only the appearance of joy and hope can release such deep grief. It was the joy on Yo-Yo Ma's face that finally released the poison locked inside my soul. It is the joy and hope of a new generation that's able to take us where my generation cannot -- free of the taint of sore feet and scars and old grudges the new President says we must move past.

Unlike Mr. West, Rev. Stewart was able to release the poison of the past and recognize that his generation needs to get out of the way and let young people carry the torch forward...in their own way.

President Obama: Finding Common Ground

I have to say that the threat posed by ISIS in Syria and Iraq has resulted in some fascinating changes to the dynamics in the Middle East. As we all should know by now, much of the conflict in that region has its roots in the divide between Sunni and Shia Muslims. Countries like Saudi Arabia (dominated by Sunni) have provided support to terrorist groups like ISIS who are fighting against the Shia-ruled countries of Iraq, Syria and Iran.

But then ISIS got out of hand. And now Sunni and Shia have found some common ground and are coming together to fight them. This is creating the possibility of a coalition President Obama is developing as his strategy to defeat ISIS.

American officials are hoping to expand the coalition against ISIS to include as many countries as possible, particularly in the region...

Enlisting the Sunni neighbors of Syria and Iraq is crucial, experts said, because airstrikes alone will not be enough to push back ISIS. The Obama administration is also seeking to pursue a sequential strategy that begins with gathering intelligence, and is followed by targeted airstrikes, more robust and better-coordinated support for moderate rebels, and finally, a political reconciliation process.

This is the Obama Doctrine at work - much as we've seen it create the coalition of countries imposing sanctions that brought Iran to the negotiating table as well as punish Russia for their incursions into Ukraine.  The difference between this example and the others, however, is that the end game is the destruction of ISIS rather than a negotiated settlement of differences.

However, after having worked together to defeat ISIS, you can bet that President Obama will attempt to use that same coalition to develop the "new equilibrium" he discussed with David Remnick that would both prevent extremism and benefit the citizens of their countries.

Ultimately, he envisages a new geopolitical equilibrium, one less turbulent than the current landscape of civil war, terror, and sectarian battle. “It would be profoundly in the interest of citizens throughout the region if Sunnis and Shias weren’t intent on killing each other,” he told me. “And although it would not solve the entire problem, if we were able to get Iran to operate in a responsible fashion...you could see an equilibrium developing between Sunni, or predominantly Sunni, Gulf states and Iran in which there’s competition, perhaps suspicion, but not an active or proxy warfare...

If you can start unwinding some of that, that creates a new equilibrium. And so I think each individual piece of the puzzle is meant to paint a picture in which conflicts and competition still exist in the region but that it is contained, it is expressed in ways that don’t exact such an enormous toll on the countries involved, and that allow us to work with functioning states to prevent extremists from emerging there."

There is a theme to President Obama's message here that he constantly comes back to. It might best be summarized by this quote from Guatama Buddha:

Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.

Our shared histories, be it in this country or around the globe, have given us many excuses to be angry.  But hanging on to that anger poisons us. To be able to move forward means letting go of the divisions that anger creates. Here's how President Obama talked about that in Cairo back in 2009.

So long as our relationship is defined by our differences, we will empower those who sow hatred rather than peace, those who promote conflict rather than the cooperation that can help all of our people achieve justice and prosperity. And this cycle of suspicion and discord must end.

I've come here to Cairo to seek a new beginning between the United States and Muslims around the world, one based on mutual interest and mutual respect, and one based upon the truth that America and Islam are not exclusive and need not be in competition. Instead, they overlap, and share common principles -- principles of justice and progress; tolerance and the dignity of all human beings.

He made a similar point in this speech about racism during the 2008 election.

I chose to run for president at this moment in history because I believe deeply that we cannot solve the challenges of our time unless we solve them together, unless we perfect our union by understanding that we may have different stories, but we hold common hopes; that we may not look the same and we may not have come from the same place, but we all want to move in the same direction — toward a better future for our children and our grandchildren.

As he's said many times, this doesn't mean ignoring our history or pretending like the differences don't exist. As a matter of fact, he often tells us that conversations that go on about that behind closed doors need to come out into public view.

But I am convinced that in order to move forward, we must say openly to each other the things we hold in our hearts and that too often are said only behind closed doors. There must be a sustained effort to listen to each other; to learn from each other; to respect one another; and to seek common ground.

Its that "common ground" that is the key for President Obama.  He believes that "what unites us is always greater than what divides us." That's because his own personal journey meant finding that common ground inside himself - the son of a black Kenyan and white Kansan.

Letting go of the old anger and divisions is difficult. A lot of the backlash we see against President Obama is a result of people clinging to that old anger as if their lives depended on it. But one of the most beautiful moments I've heard in the last six years came as Rev. Gordon Stewart described his own personal letting go during the 2009 inauguration ceremony.

They are strange tears, like none other I have ever felt. It confuses me. I wonder what they're about. It feels like joy. A joy I have not felt for a long time. Joy... and hope... that something really new is happening. Joy that all the struggles and all the marches that wore holes in my generation's shoes on behalf of civil rights and peace have brought us to this indescribably holy moment that transcends the old divisions.

For sure, the tears that rise up in me are tears of joy. But they're also about something else. They feel like the convulsing sobs of a prisoner released from prison. They come from a hidden well of poison -- the well of deep grief stuffed away over all the years because of all the marches, all the beatings, all the blood, the well of buried anger -- the silent tears of grief over the America we had almost lost.

Then I realize: Only the appearance of joy and hope can release such deep grief. It was the joy on Yo-Yo Ma's face that finally released the poison locked inside my soul. It is the joy and hope of a new generation that's able to take us where my generation cannot -- free of the taint of sore feet and scars and old grudges the new President says we must move past.

Rev. Stewart recognizes that it is likely up to a new generation - free of the poison from the past - that will be able to lead us to that common ground. This is something that President Obama regularly suggests both at home and abroad. But for us oldies who are interested in letting go of the past so that we can move forward, note that for Rev. Stewart, it was "the appearance of joy and hope" that released the deep grief. That's where we'll find our North Star.  

On Moving Forward - Generational Shifts

I would suspect that most generational shifts are hard to recognize when you're in he middle of them. But based on some of my professional experience as well as watching electoral politics in this country, I think we're beginning to see some generational shifts in the African American community that are affecting all of us.

Certainly the election of Barack Obama as President of the United States gives the nation and the world an opportunity to see this new generation of African American leadership at work. As I've tried to watch and capture what that change indicates, I see that Obama has signaled many of the subtleties in speeches he made both on the campaign trail and since he's been in office. 

Perhaps the most dramatic was when he gave what we've now come to call the race speech. In it, Obama went wide and deep in laying out his view of the racial tensions that continue to exist in this country. But ultimately, there was a theme that developed about where we need to go. In the midst of acknowledging all of the very real conflicts that exist around racism, he talked about what we need to do to move forward.

But race is an issue that I believe this nation cannot afford to ignore right now. <...>

The fact is that the comments that have been made and the issues that have surfaced over the last few weeks reflect the complexities of race in this country that we've never really worked through - a part of our union that we have yet to perfect. And if we walk away now, if we simply retreat into our respective corners, we will never be able to come together and solve challenges like health care, or education, or the need to find good jobs for every American. <...>

This is where we are right now. It's a racial stalemate we've been stuck in for years. Contrary to the claims of some of my critics, black and white, I have never been so naïve as to believe that we can get beyond our racial divisions in a single election cycle, or with a single candidacy - particularly a candidacy as imperfect as my own.

But I have asserted a firm conviction - a conviction rooted in my faith in God and my faith in the American people - that working together we can move beyond some of our old racial wounds, and that in fact we have no choice if we are to continue on the path of a more perfect union.<...>

In the end, then, what is called for is nothing more, and nothing less, than what all the world's great religions demand - that we do unto others as we would have them do unto us. Let us be our brother's keeper, Scripture tells us. Let us be our sister's keeper. Let us find that common stake we all have in one another, and let our politics reflect that spirit as well.

I heard many of these same themes in Obama's Cairo speech. Again, he laid out the particulars of why the various tensions exist both in the Middle East and with the rest of the world. But he calls on us all to find a way to work together and move forward.

Of course, recognizing our common humanity is only the beginning of our task. Words alone cannot meet the needs of our people. These needs will be met only if we act boldly in the years ahead; and if we understand that the challenges we face are shared, and our failure to meet them will hurt us all.

For we have learned from recent experience that when a financial system weakens in one country, prosperity is hurt everywhere. When a new flu infects one human being, all are at risk. When one nation pursues a nuclear weapon, the risk of nuclear attack rises for all nations. When violent extremists operate in one stretch of mountains, people are endangered across an ocean. And when innocents in Bosnia and Darfur are slaughtered, that is a stain on our collective conscience. That is what it means to share this world in the 21st century. That is the responsibility we have to one another as human beings.

This is a difficult responsibility to embrace. For human history has often been a record of nations and tribes subjugating one another to serve their own interests. Yet in this new age, such attitudes are self-defeating. Given our interdependence, any world order that elevates one nation or group of people over another will inevitably fail. So whatever we think of the past, we must not be prisoners of it. Our problems must be dealt with through partnership; progress must be shared.

The message I hear is that we need to acknowledge the past and the tensions it has brought us. But we also need to find a way to move forward...together. If we're ever going to get beyond the stalemates of the past, it will be because we are able to recognize the stake we have in each other - regardless of our past grievances - and find a way to move forward in addressing our common interests. And this applies to our relationships with other countries as well as to those we have deemed to be "other" here in the U.S.

But I've also noticed that this kind of message is not just coming from Obama. Way back in August 2008, Matt Bai wrote an article for the New York Times Magazine titled Is Obama the End of Black Politics? In it, he examined the generational shifts happening in political leadership within the African American Community.

Black leaders who rose to political power in the years after the civil rights marches came almost entirely from the pulpit and the movement, and they have always defined leadership, in broad terms, as speaking for black Americans. They saw their job, principally, as confronting an inherently racist white establishment, which in terms of sheer career advancement was their only real option anyway.<...>

This newly emerging class of black politicians, however, men (and a few women) closer in age to Obama and Jesse Jr., seek a broader political brief. Comfortable inside the establishment, bred at universities rather than seminaries, they are just as likely to see themselves as ambassadors to the black community as they are to see themselves as spokesmen for it.

One of the emerging African American leaders that Bai profiled was Cory Booker, Mayor of Newark, New Jersey. He is a fascinating young man who was also interviewed by Bill Moyers back in March 2008. You can watch the video of this interview here (25 minutes). As I recently watched this interview again, I was struck by some of the same themes we've been hearing from Obama.

Well, I don't want us to be an America that is sanitized, homogenized, "deodorized" as a friend of mine says, and forgets about race. The richness of America is that we are diverse. We're not Sweden. We're not Norway. We are a great American experiment. And as soon as we start trying to forget race or turn our back on race, number one, we don't confront the real racial realities that still persist. But, number two, is we miss the great delicious opportunities that exist in America and no where else.

So, I don't want to be a race transcending leader. I want to be deeply understood as a man, as African- American, as a Christian, all that I am. But, ultimately it's a portal to punch through to a deeper and more textured, more nuanced understanding of the beauty and the brilliance of America. So, that involves a difficult conversation -- not a sound bite.<...>

What I'm trying to say is that you can get so caught up in looking for blame. Who's to blame? Is society to blame? Is it white folks to blame? Is it the prisoner himself to blame? But at some point in America, we're going have to get beyond blame and start accepting responsibility.<...>

But, I'm already getting fatigued with the conversation, and feeling that there's a dearth of action. That it may be in vogue right now because of this presidential election to talk about race, to study and to flip it over. But at the end of the day, is it gonna motivate action? We had the courage to deplore the reality in which we live, but will we show the equal courage to do something about it? Not wait. Not point a finger. Not sit and have debates about a divided America. But, to get into the trenches, to roll up your sleeves, to do the hard, difficult work it takes to manifest the greatness of this nation.

Yep...that's what resonated with me...roll up your sleeves and do the hard, difficult work. Its exactly what I'm hearing from the emerging African American leaders in my community. They too are tired of talking about things and arguing over who is to blame for the problems that exist. They just want to get busy working together to fix it. And any partners that are ready to do that are the ones they're looking for.

I think I'll leave it to others to compare and contrast this attitude to previous generations. But as a boomer myself, I think it behooves us to take a look at this and begin to understand what it is these young leaders are saying and where its coming from.

What I hear most of the time is an honoring of what previous generations have accomplished, but also an awareness that the job is not done and that different approaches are necessary for them to take on the tasks that are in front of them today. And while I don't think that we should just abandon all we learned about the struggle and abdicate our role in it today, we need to hear what these young voices are saying and take it to heart.

To close, here's a beautiful piece that was written by a leader from the Civil Rights era reflecting on his experience of Obama's inauguration. I think it captures his recognition of the passing of the torch beautifully. From the Rev. Gordon Stewart, who marched with King in Chicago and experienced race riots in Illinois and Wisconsin:

They are strange tears, like none other I have ever felt. It confuses me. I wonder what they're about. It feels like joy. A joy I have not felt for a long time. Joy... and hope... that something really new is happening. Joy that all the struggles and all the marches that wore holes in my generation's shoes on behalf of civil rights and peace have brought us to this indescribably holy moment that transcends the old divisions.

For sure, the tears that rise up in me are tears of joy. But they're also about something else. They feel like the convulsing sobs of a prisoner released from prison. They come from a hidden well of poison -- the well of deep grief stuffed away over all the years because of all the marches, all the beatings, all the blood, the well of buried anger -- the silent tears of grief over the America we had almost lost.

Then I realize: Only the appearance of joy and hope can release such deep grief. It was the joy on Yo-Yo Ma's face that finally released the poison locked inside my soul. It is the joy and hope of a new generation that's able to take us where my generation cannot -- free of the taint of sore feet and scars and old grudges the new President says we must move past.