Kirafa’s Revolt

I haven’t been writing long, so forgive me if my style isn’t pulitzer prize winning, but this post is for me, heart wrenching though it may be.  Many of you who have responded to posts or something I have written, have said they were interested in what exactly threw me aboard the Obama train and later, what caused me to jump off, bruised and battered.

Well, for what it is worth, here it is . . .

I began my life as a southern, republican, conservative girl, my parents were conservative republicans and as such, so was I. However, for some reason, I was also a very inquisitive young lady and have been told by my family, that after every question they answered, I asked, why? I suppose some of us are wired differently and a pat answer is not enough.

We were not an extremely wealthy family, if I needed new shoes, I got them, but there were occasions, when I had to wait until the next week to get them.  I suppose that made us normal, albeit, lower middle class, but still, middle class. 

I remember, when I was about 5 years old, a man was shot riding in a parade.  My grandmother said he was a good man, even though our family didn’t vote for him.  I wondered why we didn’t vote for the good man, when I saw his little boy salute his father at his funeral.

In second grade, there were new people in my school.  People who looked diferent than me, but who were kids, just like me.  Older people were going crazy over it, but they were just children and some of them became my friends.  I wondered why the older people didn’t understand, that for me, these were just kids whose hair was maybe not blonde, or whose eyes weren’t blue.  I know that later on a man tried to make a difference for my new friends and he too, was shot. 

I was watching tv the next year when another man was shot.  My  mother told me that he was running for president and his brother was the man I has seen shot when I was five.  She told me that he too, was a good man.

I also remember seeing images of a war on tv in a country far away from me.  By my 11th or 12th birthday, these images were much scarier.  Young men were dying, families were sitting around their tv screens waiting on a lottery of some type and afterwards the families would cry. 

At thirteen, I decided I had seen enough good men dying and announced to my family, I was a democrat.  I am not sure I understood the difference, but it made sense to me.  My family laughed and thought it was really cute.  They stopped laughing, when I starting hanging posters up and wearing peace symbols.  I was too young to be involved with this whole hippie movement, it had to be just teenage rebellion.

I grew up, went to school, learned the difference between a democrat and a republican, and stayed a democrat.  I got married, bought a house, had children, and stayed true to my beliefs.  The images from my childhood had a very lasting impression on me and the things that mattered to me.  I cared about civil rights, equal rights for womenand wanted no more wars that scarred, maimed or killed young men.

My children were raised to believe that bigotry and racism was wrong, we were all alike.  My husband and I had friends of every nationality, race, religion and sexual orientation.  However, we still lived in the south and there were constantly questions.  How on earth could I let a gay woman babysit my children and why in the world, would I allow a black man to drop my daughters off to cheerleading practice?  I never knew that someday, my children would put me to the test on my beliefs.

When my oldest daughter was twenty, she announced that she was getting married and that her husband to be was black.  She had not yet finished school and furthermore, she was pregnant.  To this day, I don’t know if I objected so strongly because she was too young, not yet through with school or because we were southern and knew they would face so many obstacles.  I threw out every reason to her for this marriage to fail.  When I look back, I have to ask myself if I contributed to it’s ultimate demise.  Her fiance’s family was opposed to the marriage as well, their main objection was race.

Besides the obvious reasons for the marriage to fail; their age, lack of education and complete financial insecurity; our society was not going to openly validate their relationship.  I have often wondered if parents of GLBT feel the same way.  That it is not opposition to the lifestyle, but simply knowing, that this is not going to be easy and we want our children’s lives to be easy.  I love my daughter and wanted her to have everything; love, children, a good marriage and society’s blessing.

The marriage took place and I paid for it, but my daughter and I had a strained relationship for years.  The divorce took place three years later, I paid for it as well; and out of it, I have two beautiful bi-racial grandchildren and I think I want more for them, than I wanted for their mother.

In 2004, I watched the democrat convention, and watched a young man take the stage.  He started to speak and I was mesmerized.  By the time he was through with his speech, I was openly crying.  Who was this man?  My wow factor was in overdrive, did everybody see him, did they feel like I did, could he change the world; I was almost stuttering with glee.  This man could be president, he could lead the way for others, he could unite our country, he could do it all; my loyalty was unquestioning.

Months passed and the presidential election season was approaching; knowing that I was such an avid political junkie, friends and acquaintances would ask who I thought should run, my response was always an emphatic-Barack Obama.  They would say things like, he has no experience, he is too young or he is just a junior senator.  This did not sway me at all, I wanted my grandchildren to see that there were no limitations for them, the sky was the limit.  I was asked by the same friends and acquaintances, “Well, what about Hillary Clinton?” I would say, “She’s old-school, been there, done that.”

When Barack Obama announced his candidacy, I was on board immediately.  What could I do to help?  Just tell me where you need me, no questions asked. I started out phone banking, I had done this before, so I didn’t need much help.  I started making the calls and although this may sound racist, it did not take me long to figure out, I was only calling African Americans.  This surprised me, because I thought this campaign was all about UNITY; not black, not white, nor red or blue, but coming together.  My loyalty was true though, so I blocked it out and kept on calling. 

Several months passed and I was given new call sheets.  These call sheets were to white registered democrats.  I won’t go into detail, but the responses I was getting were not what I had expected.  Most were hateful, vile, mean and cruel.  The more calls I made, the more depressed I became.  Were we still bigots and racist here in the South?  After a month or so, I completely withdrew from the campaign.  I wanted nothing more to do with politics. 

But, I had been a political junkie and activist too long and I needed to get out of this funk.  I started working with the HuffingtonPost “Off the Bus” citizen journalist project.  I had to know if the rest of the world felt like so many I had spoken with, while phone banking for Obama.  Soon enough I got my answer. 

I had met many Obama supporters while I campaigned for him and they had an almost blind loyalty to him. There had been some, I had spoken with while phone banking, that mentioned backgeound issues.  I knew nothing of these things they mentioned and decided to do some investigating of my own.  I had always looked at a candidate’s history, their previous policies and experience, evertime, except this time.  I started looking into his background and history and saw there wasn’t much there, it was almost a blank.  On important issues, he had voted present and sometimes voted the wrong way, and then claimed that he had flubbed and pushed the wrong button.   He had some dubious affiliations and friends that had questionable backgrounds.  He did not have a great resume, because, no sooner did he land one position or seat,  than he was out campaigning for another.  Was it possible that I had let my emotions control me and had jumped on a bandwagon for someone who could do more harm than good?  Could his candidacy be more for his own ego, than the good of the country? 

The primary in my state was gearing up and I was determined to check out the rest of the candidates.  I went to hear John Edwards and he was okay, but I was still looking for the thrill factor.  Hillary and Bill were making the rounds, but I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to them.  The day of our primary came and I still did not know who I was voting for when I walked into the booth.  I voted for Sen. Clinton, it wasn’t the Bradley effect, it wasn’t because I was a woman; it was her experience and nothing more.  I wasn’t ecstatic about my choice, but just very comfortable with it.  It wasn’t until the New Hampshire primary that I got my wow factor, Senator Clinton found her voice and I found my goosebumps. 

When I look back on my time on this election season, I have come to a few realiziations.  The Presidency of the United States is a job and a damn hard one.  We as citizens, need to know this.  As President, we expect you to make the right decisions, because they affect us, the constituency.  We need to base our decision on which candidate to vote for based on their experience, not our emotions.  It should not be a popularity contest, but rather an interview process.  We should check references and do a thorough background search.

I didn’t do these things, when I jumped on the Obama bus.  My past experiences made me think this was the right choice, the things I had experienced as a child and as a parent.  I wanted to show the world that we had come a long way and that I was on board.  Some of my reasoning was right, but I know now that my choice was wrong. 

I thought that when I told my children I could no longer support Barack Obama, I would get some backlash from this decision, after all, he was the hip, young candidate that most of the young people adored.  They just looked at me and said, “Well mom, he really isn’t qualified.”

I guess there were some some things I did right after all.

During a recent meeting with the Black Caucus , our presumptuous nominee,  Sen. Barack Obama was asked how he was going to mend the discord in the democratic party, particularly amongst women.  Sen. Obama was quoted as saying,

“ I need to make a decision in the next few months as to how I manage that since I’m running against John McCain, which takes a lot of time. If women take a moment to realize that on every issue important to women, John McCain is not in their corner, that would help them get over it.”

Please note the last three words, “Get over it.”

So, exactly what is it, that Obama wants us to get over?  Does he want us to get over the fact that the the more capable candidate, that had more experience, did not win the nomination?  In my opinion, she did, in fact, win and the DNC handed you the nomination; despite the fact that you do not have the experience necessary to become the President of the United States.

 But, should my opinion really matter to Sen. Obama?  After all, who am I? 

I guess my friends and acquaintances consider me to be “likeable enough”.  I have  been married, so I suppose some may have considered me to be  “just a wife”.  I am a democrat, which means I may have “hollered at republicans”.  I don’t think I have ever “looked like a dancer”, but I have been told I am “gorgeous”.   And lastly, because I am a woman, “periodically, I launch attacks” and “let my claws come out” but I know, that does not “boost my appeal” nor does it make me a “sweetie”.

But, Senator Obama, rather than trying to heal myself of all these terrrible afflictions you have reputed women to have, I think I would prefer to lie under the bus.  After all, I would have excellent company with your white granny, Hazel Johnson, Alice Palmer, 51% of the American population, the GLBT population of the United States, Geraldine Ferraro and Senator Hillary Clinton.

Hey, Senator Clinton, pass me the whiskey.  I am so happy to know that they do not serve kool-aid under this bus.