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William Jelani Cobbs
Don’t be rude Sapp; Maybe he just has one of those sleeping disorders or something…

 I sat fifth row back, inside the Free Library’s conference room, trying my hardest to concentrate on what William Jelani Cobbs, who was reading from his new book, The Substance of Hope, was saying.  It wasn’t that he was boring or anything.  To the contrary, his theories on the relatively short rise in popularity of Barack Obama were quite thought-provoking.  Not to mention that he wasn’t bad on the eyes either.  Tall, brown, bald-head, strong-physique and smart; if I had a type, Cobbs would be it.  He looked like the type that if some random dude decided to take him for bad, he would beat his ass down to a pulp - and then pick the dude up and give him a good lecture about choosing your opponents wisely.  And as a black history and sociology professor (at Spellman no less), Cobbs can study my social impact anytime, if you catch my drift.  But as fascinating as Cobb spoke - and looked - I still found myself distracted.
 It wasn’t his bewitchery that steered me away from his dialog. No, I have mastered the art of combining intellectual discourse into my fantasies years ago (It’s how I got through college. One day, I’ll share with you my tantalizing tale of how I envisioned Manifest Destiny really happening). No, I was distracted by the white middle age man, sprawled out on two chairs, sitting directly in the row in front of with me.  He looked like one of those old-school hippies that never grew out of the sixties. Talk about getting your bubble burst.    He kept fidgeting around and adjusting himself in the seat, never seeming to get himself completely settled.  Occasionally he would cough and make these noises like he was gargling phlegm or the likes around in his throat.  It was quite off-putting, especially since I was trying to sneak and record the discussion to later play on my blog. Actually, I wouldn’t call it sneaking as it was a public event in a public space, which technically means that I am legally absolved of any criminal liability (glad to know those years in J-school paid off). Let’s just say that I was trying to avoid questions as to why I was recording. Anyway, I had to hold my recorder’s microphone away from him, which meant that it was away from Cobb, who was articulating handsomely at the podium, just to avoid catching any audio of the gargling hippy man’s coughing and fidgeting. It wouldn’t be until I got home that I realized just how much of detriment my constant shifting had on the quality of the audio.  So consider this an apology in advance (distorted audio below).  

Anyway, the gargling hippy had finally settled down long enough for me to redirect the mics to the front of the room.  Actually he fell asleep.  But as long as he was quiet, I was cool.  During the gargling hippy’s nap, I found out that Cobbs and I shared some of the same views about Obama’s rise in popularity.    I too have long held the belief that most of Obama’s attractiveness was based on a combination of his ability to remain ambiguous on many issues and the unrealistic expectations set upon him. I would even take it a step further to say that Obama’s main appeal to voters was that he was polished and black. Meaning that it really didn’t matter what he said, just as long as he looked and played the part quite well. During his campaign for office, I remember getting into heated debates with my black friends about their cult-like support of Obama. I mean, it was one think to enthusiastically support a candidate for office, but the whole Obama-mania thing – including the Obama paraphernalia, the Obama songs and artwork,  down to the Obama decked out car I witnessed along Germantown Avenue – came mostly from folks that never paid much attention to the happenings in political prior to the 2008 election.  

My frustration levels sometimes would max out and I’d ask, “What have you heard from Obama that you hadn’t heard from other middle-of-the-road politicians? What has he said that he plans on doing that different than Hilary [Clinton] which compels you to parade down the street in full Obama gear and pledge your unwavering support to his campaign? He’s a politician, not Jesus you know.”  

I never could get a straight answer. Sometimes their only reply would be to sucked teeth, roll eyes and hurl nasty accusations of haterism (which happens to be one of my favorite meaningless street terms). But no one ever admitted that the main reason they had planned on voting for him were largely due to his race. Nothing wrong with that per say. I mean, when I watch Jeopardy, I always route for the black guy too.  

Alex: “This president pledged to pursue more aggressive strategies in two unpopular wars against terrorism despite public outcry and no definite reasoning as to why America is over there in the first place.”

Tyrone: [hits the buzzer] “um…Who is Bush?             

Alex: “oooooh sorry Tyrone.  The answer is President Obama.  You would probably know that if you didn’t vote for him because he was black.”

Damn, we never win on Jeopardy.

The reality is that for many folks – black, white or in between - Obama became a symbol for a vision of a country we all wished we lived in; folks thought that by casting their ballot, they would somehow reverse 400 years of race relations and mistreatment of black folks in America.  However, as we are witnessing now, some things are just so engrain in the fabric of our society that it will take more than electing our first black president to cure them.

Anyway, back to the gargling hippy dude. Perhaps he knew all of this, which is why he fell asleep during the reading and discussion. However, he did manage to scribble some notes down on a notepad prior to drifting off.  It actually looked like he had fell asleep mid-sentence as the pen was still stuck in his hand. During Cobbs question and answer session, gargling hippy man committed a major faux pas; he started snoring.  I mean wide mouth, deep throat snoring. I took it upon myself to elect me as library regulator and kicked the shit out the back of his seat. The pen fell to the ground. Nobody interrupts my Cobb/Obama fantasy.

 


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