Rising to the American Dream

This week, the Democratic Party of the United States of America nominated a Black, Indian-American, woman as the Vice Presidential candidate. Kamala Harris, in that moment, stepped into a space unoccupied ever before by a woman like herself. The child of two immigrants, Kamala Harris leaned into the dreams of so many Americans in the moment that she accepted the nomination. For herself. For her parents. For Black people. For Indians. For Jamaicans. For immigrants. For women. For America. 

And still, as the American Dream has come to signify for any but the most privileged, the experience was a little broken. A little damaged. It wasn’t what any Vice Presidential nominee before her had had. Geraldine Ferraro and Sarah Palin spoke to filled auditoriums. Screaming crowds. Exalting allies. They had the benefit of functioning systems standing behind them. Instead, Kamala, like so many Black women, stepped into an imperfect situation. A broken experience. A situation she was expected to rise to. One she will be expected to fix. A moment that was made for her and still not worthy of her greatness. 

There is something that is so perfectly, beautifully American about Kamala Harris. My husband and I discussed this over dinner the other night. He is an immigrant, the child of immigrants, one of whom, like Kamala, is a Howard University graduate. For him, her nomination signaled the value that immigrants bring (have always brought) to the U.S. It was confirmation that immigrants have as much worth as anyone else. That the immigrant experience means as much as anyone else’s. It was validation. 

For me, Kamala’s nomination sent the message that strong, smart, tough women really are valuable. Sure, Hillary sent that message. But I saw how she was torn down. There is something a little different about Kamala. I identify with her just a little bit more. She is like me in a way that Hillary wasn’t. We both married a little older. Neither of us has kids. We made our careers our legacy. We don’t give a shit what others think about us. And her nomination sent the message that, even if we don’t follow the conventional path, we are worth something. That a career is just as worthy as a traditional family.  

And that was just how we identified in our house. One American household where two of us, in very different, very personal ways identified with the Vice Presidential nominee. And we are just two ways. This is the incredible beauty of who Kamala Harris is. That so many Americans can identify with her, in so many diverse ways. I can only try to imagine the effect the nomination of a Black woman has on the Black community. I won’t even try to speculate -- but I can grasp its weight. Personally, I can only acknowledge what I felt, as a woman, seeing another woman I admire and respect -- one who has made similar choices to mine -- ascend to the role she achieved and deserved. 

And, still, as I watched Kamala’s acceptance speech, I felt a twinge of sadness. I felt sad that her mother wasn’t there to see this tremendous achievement. I felt sad that the room was empty. I felt sad that she couldn’t hear the cheers of her fellow Americans reverberate through the room as they had for every other vice presidential nominee before her. I felt sad that, because of the actions of the current Administration, she had been robbed of a moment she deserved. I felt sad that she couldn’t hear all of us who identified with her in one way or another with her in that moment. A moment she had earned. 

And isn’t that indicative of the woman, the immigrant, the Black experience? Being robbed of what you have rightfully earned. Smiling through an inferior experience. Accepting what you’ve been given, even though you know you deserve better, more. Giving so much more, but getting a little bit less. Isn’t that exactly where we are, and where we have always been? Isn’t that what we have all gotten used to? 

Yes, I felt sad for all of the things of which Kamala had been robbed. What she deserved but didn’t get to have. But make no mistake, I did not, for one second feel sorry for her. There was not an ounce of pity in what I was feeling. Because, even though I identified with it, I felt resolute. I understood. I felt empowered. I felt ready. Because, Kamala, like so many of us, knows how to rise above. Knows how to make the best of the least that we are given. And she, like so many, has continued to come out on top. 

I am a privileged white woman. I know that, and I know that my sense of loss is only a fraction compared to my brothers and sisters in the Black and immigrant communities. And still I see when another of my sisters gets less. This week, Kamala got less. And yet, in the words of the immortal Maya Angleou, she rose. Because that is what we do, those of us who are used to less. That is what Kamala did. And my god, will I always admire, aspire to, and emulate that for the rest of my days. And still, like Kamala, will I rise.

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops,

Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don't you take it awful hard

’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines

Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I've got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame

I rise

Up from a past that’s rooted in pain

I rise

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.