The Audacity of Honesty

In February 2007, I alluded briefly to Barack Obama's then-new book -- The Audacity of Hope -- in a blog post about my pregnancy and cancer. In February 2008, I sat in the Key Arena listening to Senator Obama address a huge and enthusiastic crowd. He said many things but I remember this: My faith in the American people has been vindicated. Obama is no longer an underdog. A year ago, I hoped he might be the "Next Howard Dean" -- an unlikely if inspiring candidate whose campaign brings politics into a new generation -- but now I'm hoping he'll be the next President. And I'm not alone. I was joined that day in Seattle by the Mayor, the Governor, thousands of convicted supporters, my son, and my six-month-old daughter. In the past year, our faith indeed has been vindicated. So I see our journeys as intertwined, as presumptious as it is to compare myself to him. He's emerged as the best public speaker of our day, so blogging about his writing feels like cribbing John Lennon lyrics. He's so good that paraphrasing him always feels cheap.

And as we've all recently learned, it was Chicago Pastor Jeremiah Wright who coined the term "Audacity of Hope." So it's really Wright who I hear, whenever my audacity calls to mind that phrase. It's Wright who has become "controversial" now, that we've seen quips from his angry "Anti-American" sermons to his African-American congregation. Of course, a competitive Presidential candidate can't say these things any more than he could burn a flag and still be electable. But how bad are Wright's comments? When the U.S. invaded Iraq, I can't count the white liberals who joked that they would move to Canada. Or flew flags of the UN or France when they disclaimed the War. Lots of people were this upset. But dissent isn't un-American -- it's America's lifeblood. This is easy to understand until it gets threatening. And "God Damn America," coming from a pony-tailed geek in a bike helmet, isn't as scary as when it's yelled by a black man.

Obama took this on: the bitterness within black congregations, the racism of our Depression-era white grandmothers. These are obvious and prevalent in the American experience. When our grandparents (who we love) say racist or ignorant things, we're torn between condemning them or excusing them. So we ignore them, and hold ourselves to an impossible standard -- especially in public and among the media -- where bitterness and racism is always condemned but never contemplated. This makes it impossible to honestly discuss even the most basic questions of race and politics. We worry about whether Geraldine Ferraro is "a racist" without critiquing the merits of her comments on race and politics. In doing so, we rush to judge a person -- and sacrifice our capacity to identify and support (even love) them -- but also impair our ability to honestly judge their comments.

But Obama refined the debate. He did so by reminding us that we can love and identify with a person -- our grandparents, our pastors -- while condeming their attitudes (if we indeed do). When we separate our feelings for a person from our judgment of their actions, we refine both. This comes up a lot with moms -- do we "feel judged" when we read critiques of our parenting style (even by someone who's never met us)? Do we "feel guilty" when we do something we know might be wron g(even if we don't really regret the decision?) These are complicated "feelings." But they untangle when we separate our gut feelings from our discernment of information. We can feel fear of hurting our children, desire for approval and belonging, the uncertainty and overwhelming nature of being a parent. But we still can know -- discern information on nutrition and safety, gather new perspectives on discipline, observe what is works for other parents (and what doesn't). If we start by loving and accepting ourselves -- and others -- we should be able share this information, even when it's "negative," without feeling threatened or threatening. With love, we can make friends with moms who are different with us, without feeling vulnerable to their disapproval. And we should be able to speak up honestly when we see right from wrong (where my judgment leads me on the issue of circumcision, for instance), and judge the issue without ever presuming to judge a person.

When speaking of race, Obama said the obvious -- that America is not perfect, but can start to make steps toward perfecting itself. But he went ahead and spoke lovingly of his pastor and his grandmother while condemning what he saw as wrong in their divisive and bitterness. We can't wait for perfection in order to love each other -- or ourselves. But with love can we discern right from wrong, and only then can we move toward a more perfect anything. Now that's audacity. And my faith in Senator Obama (and myself) is vindicated again.