I am forty-seven years old, middle-aged, the same age as Barack Obama when he assumed the presidency in 2008, becoming one of the few men in American history to achieve this feat before the fiftieth birthday. So, I am very viable still, spry even, with all of my mental faculties intact.
I can recount significant memories from my early childhood, with an innumerable number of them containing poignant scenes with my father. Often, I will scour through recollections of 1984, when I was a callow child with a cursory knowledge of politics.
After dinner, Dad and I sat before our minuscule black and white television, watching Ronald Reagan as he delivered soaring speeches to the people. Reagan was massively appealing, a skillful and charismatic orator with neatly coiffed hair. Optimistic and comforting, Reagan smiled as he spoke about his belief in the United States of America.
“I like this Reagan guy, Daddy,” I said one evening, sitting on the carpet, twisting my neck until I was facing my father, who sat on the living room couch situated just behind me. “He seems nice. I think I’d like to meet him in person one day.”
Dad took a few moments to process my words, exemplified by his pursed lips and furrowed brow. My elation at seeing the Great Ronald Reagan was drained from me, precipitating the formation of an abject frown. “What’s wrong Daddy?” I said.
Dad, after completing his consideration of a reply, said, “You are telling me that you like Reagan?”
“Yes,” I said, whispering and unconsciously shrinking from my father’s gaze, which could sometimes be withering. “Is that bad?”
Dad broke into a knowing smile before cocking an eyebrow. “You are not doing anything bad. You’re very young now. When you grow older and you do some research, you will learn a few things about Reagan. He is dangerous for people like you and me, black citizens with African roots. He thinks we are lazy freeloaders and he doesn’t want us in this country.”
Suddenly heartbroken, I whipped my head around until I was facing the television. Ronald Reagan was still speaking, lighting up the dour screen. It cannot be true, I thought. A nice guy like Ronald Reagan, a good man, would not hate people like my father, hardworking immigrants who were trying to carve out a viable life in this country.
Reagan handily won re-election in 1984, accumulating majority votes from forty-nine of the fifty states in the union, a historic shellacking that left the Democratic party in shambles. Shortly after the race was called, my father rose from his chair, muttering curses in Igbo language. I still could not understand my father’s distaste for the man. Because Reagan’s charisma was so powerful and unwavering, a force of nature that cowed detractors into silence. If an individual said something negative about President Reagan in public, he or she could expect to be confronted by spirited admirers.
Four years later, George H.W. Bush, Ronald Reagan’s Vice President, easily dispatched Democrat Michael Dukakis to become the forty-first president of the United States, cementing at least twelve consecutive years of Republican rule.
Three years into his first and only term (1991), Bush declared War on Iraq, a Middle Eastern country that was ruled by Saddam Hussein, the reputed strongman, torturer, and murderer. It only took six months for the United States to “win” this war, yielding a sudden and temporary boost to Bush’s popularity, reflected by a ninety-one percent approval rating when at its peak. Even as a hormonal teenager who was obsessed with becoming popular in high school, I found time to read about the Iraq War and deemed it as a consequential event, one capable of propelling George Bush to a second term. And yet, the successful prosecution of the Iraq War was not the most important action he’d taken.
Thurgood Marshall, the first black Supreme Court Justice, retired from the high court the same year the Iraq War ended, allowing Bush to replace the progressive Marshall with a more conservative interpreter of the law. After an exhaustive search, Bush tapped Clarence Thomas, a former head of the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission under Ronald Reagan.
Clarence Thomas is a conservative black man, a graduate of Holy Cross College and Yale Law School. As a fifteen-year-old kid, I admired Clarence Thomas, a relatively young (43) man who had made something of himself. When Dad, a graduate of Regis University, complained about the lack of opportunities for people of color, I responded by speaking about Clarence Thomas, the second black man nominated for the high court.
One evening, Dad and I sat together as we watched the evening news on our relatively new color television. “But shouldn’t we be supporting him, Dad?” I said.
“Supporting who?” Dad said.
“Clarence Thomas, Dad. The man has a chance to make history.”
“He is the man who worked for Ronald Reagan and was chosen by George Bush, right?”
“Yeah,” I said.
Dad sighed before shaking his head. “Eze, my son. You do not know what you are saying right now. Just do a little bit more growing and you will see.”
I felt dismissed by my father at that moment, adding fuel to my exasperation. Clarence Thomas’s political affiliation should not have mattered because he was a historic man, an ambitious and enterprising individual who succeeded despite racism. “I don’t know, dad. I think we should be cheering for the man.”
“You are free to do what you like, Eze,” said Dad. “But I am not going to celebrate him.”
Clarence Thomas’s glide path to the Supreme Court was nearly derailed by Anita Hill, a former colleague who had accused him of pervasive sexual harassment. Ms. Hill sat before the Senate Judiciary Committee, maintaining a firm resolve as committee members attempted to poke holes in her story.
As a teenager, I chose to dismiss Anita Hill’s claims. The accusations were beyond salacious, reflecting a depraved and hostile individual, perhaps rising to the level of criminality. Why would someone make a joke about pubic hair in an office space? Especially a man like Thomas, who understood the importance of being judicious and tempered in the workplace. And he was so strong, clear, and cogent, categorically denying Ms. Hill’s allegations before the committee.
Thomas used racist imagery to apply context when describing the supposed injustice of the hearings. It was like watching the climax scene of a tense and exciting fictional drama, when the main character, under duress, performs miraculous actions to achieve an eventual victory. Just enough Senators confirmed Thomas to the high court, which enraged my father. Assuming the role of contrarian, I enthusiastically exalted in victory, but when out of earshot.
After four years of hobnobbing with liberals and progressives at my university, I changed my political views. As a young adult, I wanted the chance to vote for politicians who vociferously advocated for traditionally undervalued members of the American society; women, gays, immigrants, and individuals who shared my visage.
In February 2007, as Barack Hussein Obama spoke before a large crowd of people in his home state of Illinois, announcing his candidacy for president, I knew, right away, that Obama was the guy I had been waiting for. As a second-generation American, Obama represented a complete divergence from Ronald Reagan, the traditional, septuagenarian white man from California who had disbanded employee unions and sicced the police on inhabitants of the inner cities. However, Reagan and Obama shared a few important characteristics, as they are both charismatic and aspirational articulators of vision, capable of convincing millions of Americans of their position, killing the opposition party with soaring rhetoric and a smile. And to my complete surprise, Obama won the election easily, besting his erstwhile opponent by more than ten million votes.
Obama’s ascension to the American presidency united my father and me, two descendants of Amaigbo, a portion of Nigeria that is commonly referred to as the cradle of Igbo civilization. Because Obama was also a descendant of a redoubtable African country, Kenya; and knowing that we shared a commonality with Obama was invigorating for both of us. Dad and I, traditional devourers of news events, increased consumption of the news in the age of Obama, though we often utilized different sources (I curated most of my news from progressive internet sources and Dad watched MSNBC) to satiate our thirst for current events involving the forty-fourth president.
Obama signed the Affordable Care Act into law in 2010, ushering the arrival of universal healthcare into American society. Suspicious conservatives across the nation revolted, derisively labeling the ACA as Obamacare, thus prompting the hysterical filing of court cases designed to jettison the law. One of those cases arrived at the Supreme Court of the United States in 2012, where Clarence Thomas sided with the three other conservative justices who deemed the healthcare law unconstitutional. Thank goodness for John Roberts, the staunchly conservative justice who exhibited some courage in drafting the opinion that preserved Obamacare for the masses.
Dad and I were intently absorbing coverage of the Supreme Court’s decision on our flat-screen television, reveling in Obama’s hard-won victory. After we had had our fill, Dad shut off the television and nudged my shoulder. “I told you, Eze,” he said.
“Told me what?” I asked.
Dad flashed a smile, which elicited a smile from me. “You don’t remember the conversation we had when you were younger?” asked Dad.
I shook my head from side to side. “No,” I said.
Dad laughed and said, “Don’t you lie, Eze. You are thirty-three years younger than I am. I know that you understand what I am talking about.”
After folding my arms across my chest and sighing, I said, “You’re talking about Ronald Reagan and Clarence Thomas.”
“That’s right!” Dad said, clapping his hands. “You should have listened to your father, right?!”
“Okay,” I said as I rolled my eyes.
Dad kept on laughing.
“You are so petty, Dad” I said.
“I’m being petty because I was right, my son.”
Approximately one year after health reform was upheld by the court, Dad and I were watching cable news at the hospital. He was confined to the bed, a byproduct of his struggles with multiple myeloma cancer, dementia, and acute renal failure. Nevertheless, he still loved ingesting news about Barack Obama, flashing a broad smile when the former president appeared on the screen. Obama was calmly discussing the next steps required to halt an unnecessary government shutdown, an event brought on by Republicans who were intent on repealing health reform, Obama’s signature domestic policy achievement.
“The Republicans always underestimate him,” Dad said.
“You’re right, Dad,” I said. “They’ve always thought of Obama as really stupid. And he always seems to outsmart them. Remember the shocked look on Karl Rove’s mug when Ohio was called by the news networks? Watching his eyes bulge and his lip quiver had to be one of the highlights of my life.”
Dad and I shared an extended chitter at Karl Rove’s expense. “You could see the color drain from Rove’s face, yes? He could not fathom America electing a black president for a second time. But Obama did it. And now he is outsmarting the party of Reagan consistently and with class. I am glad to be alive to see it too,” said Dad.
“He’s got heart,” I said. “It takes a lot of heart and grit to do what he does.”
Dad reached for my hand and squeezed with all his might. He was so weak, so I barely felt the pressure he exuded. “He does have heart, just like my son, who I love very much.”
As I shook my head, I said, “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I have been a coward. Sometimes I feel as if I’m a disappointment.”
“No, Eze. Stop that nonsense. You are not a disappointment. Look where you came from. And you still have more time to learn and grow. You have the same grit that Mr. Obama has. You are just as educated and smart. I love you and I have faith in you.”
“I love you too, Daddy.”
Dad passed away one month after the government shutdown ended, leaving me with a formidable legacy to cultivate and protect, with political activism being a major component. Today, I do what I can to prevent the advent of an extended republican epoch, as I assiduously write, volunteer, and vote because the party of Ronald Reagan has devolved into an extremist Trump cult, bent on preserving white supremacy whilst denying the rights of the traditionally marginalized.
