A few headlines from the Democratic National Convention earlier this week have given me pause, in particular, the ones that followed Michelle Obama's speech on Monday night.
From
The New York Times: "
Appeals Evoking American Dream Rally Democrats"
From
The Boston Globe: "
Reaching Back to Her Chicago Roots, Obama Tells an American Story"
From the
St. Petersburg Times, which is owned by The Poynter Institute: "Day 1: Obama Lives an American Story" And the jump: "
Theme: Obama, the American"
The headlines give me pause not because they are inaccurate, but because they make me a little sad. Yes, Barack Obama's presidential run signifies how far this country has come. But the fact that he and his campaign team must prove, after a year and a half in the spotlight, that he is an American with American values and not "the Other" –- all of that signifies how far we still have to go.
During
her opening night speech, Michelle Obama's goal was to help voters get to know her husband and find something familiar in him.
"Even though he had this funny name, even though he'd grown up all the way across the continent, in Hawaii, his family was so much like mine," she said. "He was raised by grandparents who were working-class folks just like my parents, and by a single mother who struggled to pay the bills just like we did. And like my family, they scrimped and saved so that he could have opportunities they never had themselves.
"And Barack and I were raised with so many of the same values: that you work hard for what you want in life; that your word is your bond and you do what you say you're going to do; that you treat people with dignity and respect, even if you don't know them, and even if you don't agree with them."
To be sure, presidential campaigns always seek to mythologize the candidates' lives during the political conventions. Bill Clinton's 1992 video, "The Man from Hope," certainly comes to mind. Part of it, too, is what's not always said: The Obama campaign must get voters to trust putting a black man and a black family in the White House.
But what puzzles me is why, in this 21st-century multicultural society, political campaigns still must resort to the classic (or reductionist) American narrative as a touchstone: Barack and Michelle started from modest means and, through hard work and lofty dreams, made something of themselves and their family.
Is that truly what "American" means –- the story we're most familiar and comfortable with?
I ask this question as a person with a "funny name," as the son of Others, as an American.
I ask this question, because the Americans I count as my friends, family and colleagues –- their stories are all over the place: Some are multiracial. Some are the sons and daughters of illegal immigrants. Some are in interracial relationships. Some are divorced. Some are single mothers. Some are single fathers. Some are in same-sex partnerships. Some have adopted children from different races. Some of them started off poor, some of them started off in the middle class, and some of them started off rich.
I ask this question, because Barack and Michelle Obama's life stories may actually represent the start of a new American narrative (even though they may not want to admit it), a complex narrative that is hard to reduce to one or two sentences.
And with that next generation will come a whole host of other narratives. Given these immense societal changes and given what we've learned with this presidential race, what is our responsibility as journalists?
At the very least, we need to be more skeptical about the narratives that political campaigns spoon-feed us. At the same time, we need people in our newsroom whose backgrounds enable them to ask: "What do we mean when we say 'American story'?"
We need to pursue all of those other narratives of the next generation and make sure they are reflected in our journalism. And we need to explore, understand and explain what it is about our country and our citizens that compels them to create simplified mythologies about themselves.
