Poor People

That season seemed so long ago, like a precious dream that swept us off our feet; we were lifted to historical heights and taken to unprecedented territory by this idea of hope that was foreign in our lives. By then, all hope had been crushed. Jobs were lost, businesses gone; empty storefronts, vacant lots, and lost souls created inner-city ghost towns amidst unrelenting poverty. Children were being murdered, husbands jailed and communities destroyed, leaving gaping holes where humanity once lived. Change came along like a cool breeze on a hot, summer day; it had its way with our hearts, and we were thrilled to be taken so abruptly. Like a star landing in the hood, we examined it from afar, keeping our distance for fear of being burned again. We were perplexed by its simplicity and thrilled by its potential, yet wary of its promise. Hope took flight on a cold, February morning in 2007. We were skeptical. Others had promised change and not delivered; stars often shined, and faded. This one didn't. It got brighter, so bright we had to shield our souls from its poignant rays. We weren't use to stars landing in our midst and shining so brilliantly. There had been brighter stars; politicians, musicians, actors, athletes, but none had swept us off our feet with such elegance and grace. Our imaginations were lifted by this breath of fresh air. The American dream was placed in our sightlines, and we recognized its tangibility. We inhaled deeply, taking in increments of hope while change stirred quietly in the distance. There was suddenly a light at the end of the tunnel, a glimmer of hope that might lead us all to the Promised Land. And the bottom was so painfully crowded we all needed some relief. Before this light shined on us, there was no reason to hope; no one was willing to lend a helping hand, or reach down and lift poor people onto the American platform. Of course we wanted change. If anyone needed inspiration it was those living at the bottom. America's soul was dying, and the poor needed emergency surgery to repair a human spirit destroyed by the rich and powerful. Maybe this guy had the skills to perform such a complex procedure? In spite of our skepticism - our inability to dream any bigger than our faith could sustain us - hope was on the horizon. Everyone felt it. We had seen glimpses before, but none were like this one. He had the whole package; young, smart, decent, not to mention his confidence. He seemed to believe in the American Dream like no one before him. Then we heard him speak. Some of us had heard him before, but nothing like this time, when all the stars had finally aligned. Poignant, charismatic, funny, and with a table spoon of "ism" that didn't come across as being "too" black; too black would have been a deal breaker in 2008. His blackness paralyzed opponents and enthralled a nation. "Black" and "President" combined into a monumental, euphoric moment that lasted for months. Each speech, each gathering of ten, fifteen, and twenty thousand Americans packing arenas all across the nation and singing his praises, meant that dream might someday become reality. He didn't just have "ism," he also had "game." He raised more money and seemed smarter than all his opponents. History was in the making, and we were all participants. We agreed overwhelmingly; America's future was bright again. We had found our shining star. Martin, J.F.K. and Bobby were shot down halfway up the mountain, maybe this one would carry us to the top. This one was a keeper. He would lead every American to the promised land, and the promised land sounded a whole lot better than the hell we were feeling at the time. He was our knight in shining armor, and we would follow him anywhere. That's the thing about fairytales; we want them to be true, but they're never quite what they seem.