‘Obama and me’

Exactly eight years ago, I stood electrified, watching President Obama being sworn into office in an Arctic Washington DC. It was the dawning of a new era not just for Americans but an event that would have both personal significance and international ramifications. 

On inauguration day in America on January 20, 2009, I did not go so far as some were doing to declare that we were moving into a post racial society in either America or UK. But I did feel that we were moving into something new and different. A period that we could optimistically speculate would only improve global race relations. 

Given the racism I have witnessed in my life l really should have known better. History has taught us that after every step forward in race relations comes a wave of disappointment. After slavery came segregation and Jim Crow.  Six weeks after Dr King’s “I Have a Dream” speech and the end of the Bristol Bus Boycott in August 1963, sticks of dynamite were ignited at the 16th St Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama killing four little girls, followed by the assassination of President Kennedy. In 1964 after US civil rights legislation was passed came bloody beatings on a bridge in Selma, Alabama including to Senator John Lewis who had his skull cracked open by a policeman’s baton. Donald Trump seems to have forgotten his actions spoke more than words in confronting racism and inequality. 

America is a place of fascination for me. It’s where the extremes are easiest to find in a lifetime quest of answers to issues of race, identity and humanity. During Obama’s presidency these issues have reopened like an unhealed scar. Black Lives Matter has come of age in the digital age. But as someone who has the physical scars of encounters from Police and racists and read of the killings of Emmett Till and Stephen Lawrence and supported SARI (Stand Against Racism and Inequality) for over 20 years Obama’s presidency has merely lifted the veil of what lies at America’s faultiness. Racism it seems is like an ever mutating virus for which we have yet to find a remedy. 

But that was for the future. For one moment in time I was there to witness as a global citizen a momentous passage of history, the first black President of the United States of America. My moment shared with friends and fellow Bristolians Ruth Pitter and Valerie Glenn to visit former Bristol resident Janet Allen married to Jamaican-born Rory Teape living an hour from the US capital. As the President took oath she was going into labour to give birth to her first child Olivia Teape.

That day was a time to feel special. The day when America and the world gathered on America’s front lawn to celebrate the birth of a dream, where hope met (civic) action to deliver a change that could never be erased from anyone’s memory and indelibly printed in a history book. It was as I will suggest as far away from Trump’s inauguration as day is night.

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Read more: ‘The election of Trump could be a good thing’

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The day inspired me to not only give voice in written and spoken word but also to be more socially active, moving from a Radio DJ to become Executive Chair of Ujima Radio. I celebrated and documented the journey of my parents as part of the Windrush Generation via the West Indies to Britain with links to America and the Deep South of America. I became an author writing My American Odyssey From The Windrush to the White House. Most of all I was inspired to become an active citizen and inspire others. Being in Washington that day was  not only inspirational, not only life affirming it was life changing. I was given new hope, I embraced change and I began cementing a mind-set and attitude. And Obama aside most of all I   was inspired by the millions from all over the world celebrating with me that day, inspired by the words “yes we can!”.     

On that day I wrote:

In  my  home,  amongst  the  treasured  pictures  and  memorabilia  from  my  travels,  is  a  picture  of  President  Barack  Obama.  Underneath  his  smiling  face  are  the  words  ‘I  was  there,  January  20th  2009’,  and  I  was  indeed  there  on  that  momentous  day.

When  the  first  black  American  president  was  inaugurated,  I  was  standing  on  the  Washington  Mall,  with  two  million  jubilant  others,  cheering  and  congratulating  and  feeling  truly  blessed  to  be  at  this  incredible  occasion.  On  that  bitterly  cold,  sun-blessed,  winter  day,  we  were  all  part  of  history  in  the  making.  In  possibly  the  most  racially  segregated  country  on  earth,  with  its  dark  and  violent  history  of  slavery,  there  was  now  a  black  man  at  the  helm.  It  was  something  I  never  thought  I  would  see  in  my  lifetime,  yet  here  I  was  witnessing  it  first  hand  –  even  if  he  was  a  tiny  speck  on  the  steps  of  the  distant  Capitol  building.  Plus  here,  on  the  jam-packed  mall  known  as  America’s  front  lawn,  people  of  all  colours  were  united  together  in  happiness  and  hope  for  the  future.  

President  Barack  Obama’s  incredible  speech  penetrated  deep  into  my  soul.  Each  word,  phrase  and  cadence  of  the  extraordinary  orator  carried  a  signal  to  be  or  become  a  better  person  and  to  do  your  bit  for  one  another.  His  positive  message  was  for  everyone  listening  around  the  world,  not  just  those  of  us  who  were  there  in  person.  It  truly  felt  like  things  were  changing,  at  long  last,  and  you  could  really  be  anything  you  wanted  to  be.  

After  the  tears  of  joy  dried  on  my  face,  I  was  hugged  and  congratulated  for  being  there,  for  what  seemed  like  the  thousandth  time,  by  another  total  stranger.  We  all  felt  part  of  a  select  club,  celebrating  this  amazing  day.  I  thanked  them  warmly,  and  returned  the  praise,  my  English  accent  cutting  through  the  sub-zero  temperatures  like  a  bullwhip.  

‘Oh, you’re British?’  They said smiling.  

‘Yes,’  I  replied,  sounding  more  like  Prince  Charles  than  Dizzie  Rascal  or  even  Huggy  Bear.  

‘Oh, we didn’t realise there were black people in England?’  

I  smiled  politely,  long  used  to  this  oft-repeated  ritual  concerning  my  identity  in  America.  Rather  than  be  upset  at  the  inaccuracy  or  offended  by  it,  I  had  learned  to  use  it  to  my  advantage.  My  accent  in  America  had  opened  more  doors  than  I  care  to  remember,  be  it  an  extra  helping  of  food  from  a  silver-haired  waitress,  a  discount  in  a  shop  or  car  rental  agency  or  getting  my  overweight  luggage  waived  through  by  a  smiling,  sympathetic  attendant  at  the  airport.

You  see,  I’ve  travelled  all  over  America,  on  20  trips  or  more,  since  I  was  16.  At  first  I  came  to  visit  family,  who  migrated  from  Guyana  to  the  USA  instead  of  the  UK,  as  my  parents  did  (Dad  in  1958  and,  as  was  the  trend,  sent  for  my  Mum  and  my  sisters  in  1960).  I’d  stay  with  my  brother,  cousins,  aunts  and  uncles  scattered  along  America’s  eastern  seaboard,  from  Connecticut  to  Florida.  Then,  later  on,  I  purposely  planned  trips  to  explore  and  witness  everything  about  black  culture,  from  sport  and  music,  to  religion  and  politics.  From  a  young  age,  I  couldn’t  help  comparing  how  black  culture  differed  so  much  from  that  back  home  in  the  UK.  I  wrote  my  own  version  of  Letters  from  America,  as  my  personal  American  odyssey  began  to  unfold.  

As  a  black  kid  growing  up  in  Bristol  and  London,  in  the  1980s,  with  little  of  my  own  culture  to  look  up  to,  and  certainly  no  role  models,  I  looked  to  the  United  States  for  inspiration  and  found  heroes,  leaders  and  a  sense  of  pride.

I  was  part  of  a  new  generation  born  in  Britain,  searching  for  our  identity.  Before  we  fully  acknowledged  our  African  roots  of  heritage,  we  turned  to  America.  In  leadership  we  found  icons,  such  as  my  ultimate  hero  Dr  Martin  Luther  King,  as  well  as  Malcolm  X,  campaigning  for  civil  rights,  dignity  and  social  justice.  We  gained  strength  and  meaning  in  our  lives  from  the  likes  of  Rosa  Parks  or  the  Black  Power  movement.  We  saw  the  first  images  of  successful  black  people  in  sport,  with  Jesse  Owens  and  Muhammad  Ali.  In  music  we  found  pride  from  the  successes  of  Motown,  followed  by  Hip-Hop,  which  when  mixed  with  those  Motown  harmonies  from  RnB  has  become  the  biggest  selling  music  genre  in  the  world,  and  created  a  new  counter-culture  with  its  own  look  and  language.  Finally,  in  entertainment,  personalities  such  as  Sidney  Poitier,  Denzel  Washington  and  Oprah  Winfrey  became  trailblazers  in  showbiz.

Five  decades  after  receiving  the  right  to  vote,  and  with  some  of  the  older  generations  in  America  still  able  to  recall  their  time  on  the  plantations  fields,  the  first  black  man  is  now  in  the  White  House,  completing  a  remarkable  journey  from  the  plantation,  to  the  polling  booth,  to  the  Presidency.  

Roger Griffith is the author of My American Odyssey From the Windrush to the White House, and executive chair and broadcaster at Ujima Radio CIC.

Read more: ‘The election of Trump could be a good thing’