Reflections on Dreams from My Father in 2016

I began reading President Obama’s first book, Dreams from My Father, earlier in the fall frustrated with the state of politics. This was sometime in October so the idea of a Trump presidency seemed like a far cry, and while Hillary appeared to be the presumptive president-elect, I was not inspired by her campaign. I admit that part of this lack of inspiration could be a factor of gender-bias in what society considers charisma, but there were a number of other reasons I was less excited about Hillary. I still would vouch for Hillary as an effective president, but I could not help but feel a sense of loss thinking about a White House without its first black president and first family. No matter who was elected, we would have less adorable pictures of the Obamas on Halloween and definitely less DJ Khaled in the west wing. More importantly, I felt that no one would be able to inspire the kind of hope Obama inspired in me over the past decade.

So I decided to relish in this nostalgia and read the book that first shifted America’s attention toward Obama. Dreams is split into three sections: Origins, Chicago, and Kenya. In Origins, you start to understand how unique of an upbringing ‘Barry’ had. From being brought up by loving white grandparents in relatively more tolerant Hawaii, an influential environment Ta-Nehisi Coates has emphasized, to living with his mom and second husband in politically unstable Indonesia for several years, there’s little doubt Obama saw a lot of different places and people growing up.

Origins illuminates Obama’s eclectic upbringing, but I found Chicago to be the most captivating section of Dreams. After leaving a finance job in Manhattan which he settled for after graduating from Columbia, Obama departs for Chicago to begin his first forays into politics as a community organizer. The organizer job was even less well understood at this time than it is today, but much of it consisted of Obama meeting with local residents, moms, and pastors and figuring out what problems in their communities they could solve together.

I personally resonate with Obama’s desire to be a community organizer especially in how it relates to my teaching aspirations. For a time, Obama worked to develop stronger relations between schools in the South Side and their students’ parents. But it is not the exact public service context that I relate teaching and community organizing, but our motivations to commit to such public service. Countless times throughout the Chicago section, South Side residents ask Obama why in his right mind did he come to Chicago to help people with their relatively small problems. After avoiding this question multiple times (probably without a well articulated answer rather than none at all), Obama finally responds to one of the community moms he knew well. He says that, in addition to seeing what he could do to help the community that had been neglected by traditional forms of government, he also wanted to learn something about himself.

I too am often questioned about why in my right mind and with a Harvard economics degree do I want to go in to teaching. And similarly to young, community-organizing Obama, I often find it challenging to explain why I feel the need to teach. But I think it comes down to also believing I will learn a lot about myself by dedicating several years to young students. It is a gut feeling really that emphasizes truly knowing and understanding the roots of the communities you wish to serve. And I believe it is often challenging to foster that understanding at a level farther away from the roots.

There are numerous other intriguing passages in the Chicago section including Obama’s and others’ thoughts on the dynamics of segregation in the city and the comparison of Obama’s upbringing in Hawaii to the upbringings of black youth in Chicago. There’s no doubt that it is my favorite section of the book.

But while the Chicago section is the most captivating section, it takes until the second to last page of the final chapter of the Kenya section for Obama to deliver what feels like the thesis of the book. This final chapter revolves around the story of Obama’s father’s upbringing as remembered by one of the wives of Obama’s grandfather. By the end of this story, Obama drops to his knees beside his father’s grave in rural Kenya sobbing. After finally realizing that his father grew up in much the same confusion that he had in Hawaii, Indonesia, and elsewhere, Obama finally feels he has come to understand the trials and tribulations of his father and how they have affected him too.

By the end of this realization, Obama admits that the silence between his father and grandfather led to the death of a certain kind of faith for his father. He describes this faith as,

“a faith that wasn’t new, that wasn’t black or white or Christian or Muslim but that pulsed in the heart of the first African village and the first Kansas homestead — a faith in other people.”

Reading this, one gets the feeling that Obama had been saving this line for the entire book. It is strikingly similar to his 2004 DNC speech where he declared that there’s no “black America and white America and Latino America and Asian America; there’s the United States of America.” And this passion or faith in other people is what I see as the defining legacy of Obama. I think this legacy or life motto is what has always inspired me about Obama and what seems so lacking from the 2016 election and its aftermath.

But it is also this legacy that has been the subject of criticism from Coates and others who believe, rightfully so, that the historical legacy of white supremacy has not earned this faith for white people. These authors make a very convincing argument. There’s no doubt that white people, including myself, have a lot of work to do to earn the faith of other races after centuries of oppression and only slight improvements.

So was Obama completely off the mark in Dreams, in his DNC speech, and as time comes to a close on his presidency? Is faith in people — all people — necessary? Is it realistic or optimal? I see this question as the central dilemma in American politics. Will we be able to move forward with two divided Americas lacking faith in each other?

I have witnessed countless moments recently illustrating a lack of faith in the other side. There’s no doubt that many who did not vote for Trump lost a lot of faith in those who did. My mom for example told me how she had fallen out of contact with a friend who voted for Trump and did not plan on talking to her anytime soon. I don’t think it would be an exaggeration to say she has lost most if not all faith in that friend. The other day I was reading the preface to Strangers in Their Own Land: Anger and Mourning on the American Right, an ethnographic look at the white working class of America that has been particularly popular since the election. I could not help but recognize the difference in my interest in the book — to further understand a significant amount of the American population — and the dismissal of white, rural people when I brought up the book to a friend later on. That friend told me that there was no hope in and no reasoning with the type of people who voted for Trump.

So what is the way forward after 2016? I believe it is finding ways to bring back the faith in all people in the United States. I recognize it is my privilege to argue this and not feel personally threatened by the hateful rhetoric and policies supported by Trump. But I have to believe that this lack of faith in the other side has in part gotten us to this state of politics where people cannot even talk to those on the other side. I am not arguing for anyone to compromise on their most passionate beliefs especially those regarding human rights and what is just. There has to be some benefit from listening to the other side and having a little bit more faith in them. If you think you know the way forward on this question of faith, let me know, I’m all ears.

I definitely got lucky in my chose to pick up Dreams earlier this fall. It opened my eyes to many things about myself and the President who wrote it. Here’s to hoping the Chicagoan will put out more writing in 2017. For now, I will be listening to another Chicagoan. Happy Holidays.

~ You can read the original post on my blog here ~