I woke up Election Day with a great sense of excitement...and paranoia. The idea that Obama could become the first Black President made me ecstatic; but the notion that racism was still prevalent and elections had and can be stolen made me nauseous. All day I prayed for my people and my future President. After reports that two skinheads had planned to assassinate Obama surfaced earlier during the week, I was positive the KKK had devised a plan to exterminate anyone who looked like they would vote Democratic or did not pass the paper bag test. However, when I heard that people in Harlem were waiting in line for more than four hours to use one working polling machine at a particular location, my paranoia subsided.
The lines at the local Harlem polling locations were reminiscent of those that formed on the election days that occurred after the Voting Rights Act passed in 1965. And at my particular polling location the machines looked like they were from 1965. "Excuse me Miss, I'm supposed to step behind this curtain, go through the board, switch the buttons for my selections, and pull the lever all the way across to the other side???" My voting experience was one unlike any other voting experience I had ever had. While in the ballot booth, I took a minute to think about how peaceful this day was going. Everyone there exuded an enormous amount of pride, class, and dignity; it truly reflected the entire Obama campaign. Disappointed that I was unable to attain a voter confirmation ticket or an "I Voted" sticker, I called my grandmother to see if she would be able to make it out to vote. She wasted no time telling me, "I'm going to go vote for Obama baby...that's my man. You know I saw him when he came to the church. There were more secret service men there than members."
As the night drew nearer, I prepared to go to my aunt's election party. I stopped by
Make My Cake Bakery to pick up some treats. In less than a minute I had a dozen Obama cupcakes and information on the largest outdoor election viewing party in Harlem. I stopped by the viewing party on 125th street before going to my Aunt's and was amazed by three things: the size of the screen streaming live CNN coverage, the size of the crowd, and the number of Black people selling bootleg Obama paraphernalia. About an hour after I arrived at my aunt's party, they declared Obama the winner. I was the youngest person at the party, yet I cried like a runaway slave that finally made it to freedom.
After some time, I found myself being drawn back towards the 125th street viewing party. The minute I, and a couple of folks from the party, walked out the apartment, I heard the people of Harlem roaring. Harlemites walked down the street congratulating one another and singing newly fabricated Obama songs. Standing in the center of 125th street and Adam Clayton Powell Blvd., I noticed the swarms of people coming from every direction making their way to this prime celebratory location. Eventually, the police gave up directing traffic and buses had to find an alternate route as the people continued to trickle in. I had never seen soooooooo many different races and ages of people joined together to celebrate in the magnitude they did that night. And with the African drummers playing in the background igniting the crowd that surrounded me, I found myself at a stand still thinking about one simple statement a young woman made as I was walking towards the festivities..."Finally, the first lady looks like me!"
♥ J'aime Bianca
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