black men; that mystery was part of what had brought me to Chicago. And now, now that I was leaving Chicago, I
wondered if I understood them any better than before.
I hadn’t told anyone except Johnnie about my decision. I figured there would be time for an announcement later; I
wouldn’t even hear back from the law schools until January. Our new youth program would be up and running by then;
I would have raised next year’s budget, hopefully brought in a few more churches. I had told Johnnie only because I
needed to know whether he’d be willing to stay on and take my place as lead organizer-and maybe, too, because he was
my friend and I needed to explain myself. Except Johnnie hadn’t seen the need for explanations. The minute I told him
the schools to which I’d applied-Harvard, Yale, Stanford-he had grinned and slapped me on the back.
“I knew it!” he shouted.
“Knew what?”
“That it was just a matter of time, Barack. Before you were outta here.”
“Why’d you think that?”
Johnnie shook his head and laughed. “Damn, Barack...’cause you got options, that’s why. ’Cause you can leave. I
mean, I know you’re a conscientious brother and all that, but when somebody’s got a choice between Harvard and
Roseland, it’s only so long somebody’s gonna keep choosing Roseland.” Again he shook his head. “Harvard!
Goddamn. I just hope you remember your friends when you up in that fancy office downtown.”
For some reason, Johnnie’s laughter had made me defensive. I insisted that I would be coming back to the
neighborhood. I told him that I didn’t plan on being dazzled by the wealth and power that Harvard represented, and that
he shouldn’t be either. Johnnie put his hands up in mock surrender.
“Hey, you don’t need to be telling me all this. I ain’t the one going nowhere.”
I grew quiet, embarrassed by my outburst. “Yeah, well...I’m just saying that I’ll be back, that’s all. I don’t want you
or the leaders to get the wrong idea.”
Johnnie smiled gently. “Ain’t nobody gonna get the wrong idea, Barack. Man, we’re just proud to see you succeed.”
The sun was now slipping behind a cloud; a couple of the old cardplayers pulled on the windbreakers they had hung
on the backs of their chairs. I lit a cigarette and tried to decipher that conversation with Johnnie. Had he doubted my
intentions? Or was it just me that mistrusted myself? It seemed like I had gone over my decision at least a hundred
times. I needed a break, that was for sure. I wanted to go to Kenya: Auma was already back in Nairobi, teaching at the
university for a year; it would be an ideal time for an extended visit.
And I had things to learn in law school, things that would help me bring about real change. I would learn about
interest rates, corporate mergers, the legislative process; about the way businesses and banks were put together; how
real estate ventures succeeded or failed. I would learn power’s currency in all its intricacy and detail, knowledge that
would have compromised me before coming to Chicago but that I could now bring back to where it was needed, back
to Roseland, back to Altgeld; bring it back like Promethean fire.
That’s the story I had been telling myself, the same story I imagined my father telling himself twenty-eight years
before, as he had boarded the plane to America, the land of dreams. He, too, had probably believed he was acting out
some grand design, that he wasn’t simply fleeing from possible inconsequence. And, in fact, he had returned to Kenya,
hadn’t he? But only as a divided man, his plans, his dreams, soon turned to dust....
barré
(Barré)
#1