I was tired, cranky, sweating in line at a Stop 'n Shop in a poor part of New Haven to cash in my returned-bottle receipts. Somehow, the talk turned to the recent debate and the impending election. The woman ahead of me, a fiery Black lady of middle age, shot back that she was staying with Joe.
"People are afraid of a little age. 81. So what! Look at all the good things he's done. He's not perfect, but who is? I am staying with him. He's a good man."
And someone brought up Obama's name. I said you could be sure he'll be more in his ear than ever if he continues.
She: "That's just fine. I won't let people try to replace JOE!"
I have to say, this Democrat was moved. Her love for him shook me to the core. Until I realized what was really happening. The Black community was so thrilled to finally have a person of color in office that they naturally loved his "this is a big effing deal" sidekick, Uncle Joe. The Barack Obama legacy pervades even through the darkest of illness-cum-ego-cum-loquaciousness that defines Joe Biden Redux. And as I write, I realize I might be missing some new soundbite or image caught by CNN or Fox. Remember the frozen look as he walked off stage? Obama had to lead him off, like he would have done to his dad or our grandpa. None of us bought that Uncle Joe was just taking in the crowd, taking in the moment.
None of us bought it, but one community in particular was not holding it against him: African Americans. And it goes deeper even than Obama. Our sick history of slavery in this country means any man who represents the antithesis of that will be a savior. Trump does not represent that. His MAGA love-ins are whiter than Biden's teeth.
Biden is rightfully bragging about his ongoing support by the Congressional Black Congress, as he relishes what could be near full support from the 45 million Blacks* in a country of over 300 million. That is a good chunk of the electorate to have on your side. Joe knows it. Jill knows it. And Trump definitely knows it.
* 2022 statistics, more or less
Photo: By The White House - President Joe Biden crosses the Edmund Pettus Bridge with civil rights leaders to commemorate the 58th anniversary of Bloody Sunday on Sunday, March 5, 2023, in Selma, Alabama. (Official White House Photo by Adam Schultz) https://www.flickr.com/photos/191819781@N02/52752304975/, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=129795898
Watching the second of the presidential debates the other night, I winced when I watched Biden speak, react, squirm, half-raise his pointer finger. He does not look well. It is not just his age; he looks frail. I thought he was older than Bernie, but the latter is more than a year older. Everyone knew that beside Mayor Pete, Biden would look about a hundred; but what no one had reckoned was how that young whippersnapper Kamala Harris would eclipse the vice-president like a bull at a meat parade. She took her bites laced in pink, but with a venom that stung into the morning and will resonate for years to come. Biden not only looked weak, but out-of-touch, old in the way my late mother (who died at 79) never did. His ideas were old, his approach was arrogant, and his self-importance wreaked. Bernie was better, and his youthful following will always love him. I am impressed by his vigor and vim, and like him more this time round than I did last time. But that may be because compared to...
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