For a long time in this Democratic primary of ours, I was undecided. I had hoped that Al Gore, a man whom I would be honored to vote for, would enter the fray. That hope, however, was tempered by an absolute certainty he would not run. As such, I never became too emotionally attached to any particular candidate.
Barack Obama’s speech at the Ebenezer Baptist Church has changed this.
There is a young, twenty-three year old white woman named Ashley Baia who organizes for our campaign in Florence, South Carolina. She's been working to organize a mostly African-American community since the beginning of this campaign, and the other day she was at a roundtable discussion where everyone went around telling their story and why they were there.
And Ashley said that when she was nine years old, her mother got cancer. And because she had to miss days of work, she was let go and lost her health care. They had to file for bankruptcy, and that's when Ashley decided that she had to do something to help her mom.
I’m the same age as Ashley, and to a small extent, I know what it’s like to grow up as Ashley did.
My mother never had cancer, thankfully, but my father (as I have shared with the Daily Kos community) is a disabled veteran. Dad tried his best, but it was difficult for him to keep a job. My mother worked, but it was unskilled work. Nothing that could support her husband and the two children who still lived at home.
My school had a sophomore field trip for all biology students. We would head to the Detroit Zoo, and fill out whatever busywork was required of us. The cost of attendance was $5.
My family couldn’t afford to send me. I borrowed a dollar here and there from some friends.
And that is the reason I got to see the giraffes at the zoo.
I remember having to file for bankruptcy. To me, it wasn’t some abstract legal move. It was a move that meant we would lose our childhood home. "Notes" were the prevalent from of communication for high school students. So I wrote a note to my group of friends, explaining to them why I was moving, and how I didn’t know where we were going to live.
I remember becoming furious with a boy in my debate class around the same time. You see, to him, there was no reason for a person to lose their home. Why, if they didn’t have any money, that was their own fault. I shot back at him, "What did I do that makes me deserve to lose my home? What did my family do that makes us deserve this fate? My father served in the United States Army, and the United States has done nothing but fuck him ever since!" The boy didn’t know what to say to that.
She knew that food was one of their most expensive costs, and so Ashley convinced her mother that what she really liked and really wanted to eat more than anything else was mustard and relish sandwiches. Because that was the cheapest way to eat.
One day, before the day we lost our house, my mother pressed a $100 bill in my hand.
"If a bill collector comes to the door saying they need money or they’ll cut us off, give them this."
"Okay, mom."
Another day, I was called down to the counselor’s office. I thought that it was because my counselor, picked because he advised all the students whose last name started with my the same letter as my own, had found another scholarship I could apply for.
I was called out of my AP literature class.
And was punched in the gut when he informed me that he heard my family was having problems with money. He could arrange for a food package so my family could have a decent Thanksgiving dinner.
"No, Mr. J. Give it to someone else. Someone who really needs it. We’ll be okay."
This was two years after my economics teacher described to the class what food stamps and welfare were.
"Now, none of you will know what food stamps are..."
My family was on food stamps at the time. I knew what they were.
She did this for a year until her mom got better, and she told everyone at the roundtable that the reason she joined our campaign was so that she could help the millions of other children in the country who want and need to help their parents too.
So Ashley finishes her story and then goes around the room and asks everyone else why they're supporting the campaign. They all have different stories and reasons. Many bring up a specific issue. And finally they come to this elderly black man who's been sitting there quietly the entire time. And Ashley asks him why he's there. And he does not bring up a specific issue. He does not say health care or the economy. He does not say education or the war. He does not say that he was there because of Barack Obama. He simply says to everyone in the room, "I am here because of Ashley."
I am here because I know, to a tiny extent, what it’s like to grow up poor in this country.
I am here because I know that, despite my poverty, I was privileged because I grew up in a neighborhood with a decent school. And in Michigan, that means a white, suburban school.
I am here because I had the honor and privilege to be taught by one of the first African Americans to serve on the Detroit Police Department after it integrated. A man who worked the riots.
I am here because I study community, community development, and community organizing.
I am here because every step in my relatively short life thus far, has led me to identify with this moment and this candidate.
I am here because I desperately want to believe in the America that Sen. Obama makes me believe in when he speaks.
I am here because I know, at least a little bit, what it’s like to be Ashley.
I am here because of Ashley.