“The Invisible Man,” a literary tapestry, skillfully woven together by Ralph Ellison more than half a century ago, depicts the experience of the Black man in America. Several years ago, this book was highly recommended to me, independently by three different people over the space of a fortnight.
Some time later, I bought him, barely glanced at him, then placed my “Invisible Man” upon the shelf, where he remained in his place for many years.
On the eve of this year’s U.S. presidential election, I was on a Greyhound bus, en route to Minneapolis, Minnesota. What more opportune moment could there have been for me, a British-born Canadian of Jamaican ancestry to retrieve my man from the shelf, dust him off and invite him to open up his world to me?
Fast forward 24 hours. It is a little after 6 p.m. on November 3, 2008. I have just arrived at the Greyhound terminal in Minnesota. I detect no air of mystery; no hint that a heretofore unimaginable, inconceivable phase of U.S., nay, world history is about to unfold.
Fast forward once more. It is the evening of Tuesday, November the fourth. The news anchors have all declared Barack Obama to be the president-elect of the United States of America. John McCain, his Republican rival, has called to congratulate him.
What are the implications of Barack Obama’s historic election victory to:
- the Black child living in abject poverty in the deep south?
- the pregnant Hispanic single mom whose partner left her the week before their son would be born?
- the thousands of Berliners who cheered for him when he spoke to them in their once divided city?
- thousands of U.S. managers and middle managers whose positions have been amalgamated or eliminated as corporations trim the fat in a sometimes futile attempt to remain competitive in a global market place as the world teeters on the brink of one regional crisis after another?
For me, Mr. Obama’s win confirms the hopes and dreams, the belief in the possibility of success in any realm that my mother, late father, Sabbath school teachers, close family friends and school teachers instilled within me.
Has the day arrived in America where a man “shall not be judged but the color of his skin but by the content of his character”? It appears to have knocked on the door of the White House and gained residence therein; but has it worked its way down to the grass roots?
I shall conclude with words of a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow that my mother taught me when I was in my formative years.
“The heights that great men gained and kept
Were not attained by sudden flight;
But they, while their companions slept,
Were toiling upward in the night.”
