Michelle Obama's Convention Speech Lives Inside Me

I don't know about you, but I'm getting tired of professional pundits commenting on professional political candidates. I'm even getting tired of my own bitter analysis of said candidates. So today I'm exploring Michelle Obama's speech, delivered on Monday, August 25 at the Democratic Party's National Convention in Denver, Colorado.

The first thing I noticed was the way Michelle spoke. Her voice did not have the polished, smooth sound that we've come to expect from politicians. While I am sure that she is an accomplished speaker at small meetings where she works, and even before good-sized crowds on the campaign trail, she betrayed just a bit of stage fright when speaking to the very large gathering in Denver. It was enchanting, and lent sincerity and passion to her words. It said, "Yes I am nervous speaking to you, but I want so badly to get my message across, I'll face down my fears." The thought that she might make a mistake (she didn't) also gave the event an aura of excitement. I hung on her every word. When Barack Obama or John McCain speak, I am lulled into complacency by the knowledge that they have done those speeches many dozens of times and could probably perform them while asleep. Michelle's periodic slight hesitations brought back the thrill of what only live television broadcasts can deliver.

Now, let's look at some of her words, and how they affected me.

As someone who, like Michelle, was born and raised on the South Side of Chicago, I felt a thrill each time she mentioned that part of town. The South Side of Chicago is, for the sake of this post, broadly defined as that part of the city south of Madison Street. South-Siders are from an area that, especially when Michelle and I were growing up, was the industrial, blue-collar heart of the city. The Union Stockyards, the steel mills, factories, junk yards, lumber yards, and gangs vying for control of my public high school, all remain vivid in my memory.

This industrial strength, however, resulted in a social price: residents of the more 'gentile' North Side of the city, as well as the outer suburban ring of towns and villages, and the more spacious, sometimes even rural 'collar counties' (geographically forming a 'ring' around metropolitan Chicago) often looked down on South Side residents. White collar versus blue collar. Managers versus union workers. Rich versus middle class, lower middle class, and poor. Also, as most African-Americans were segregated into neighborhoods on the South and West sides, and the aforementioned North Side and suburbs were virtually all White, a strong racial division was also part of the scene. With these separations in place, there was still a sense of pride in living on the South Side. An 'us' versus 'them' grittiness that, at least for a moment or two, transcended race.

So, when Michelle expressed her pride in coming from the South Side, and described her life there, my own memories and emotions rushed forward. Some negative, but mostly positive. I wonder if that's because our brains constantly filter out the painful while retaining, and even enhancing, the joyous? She united me with her and her family. I wanted to visit with them, ask what their daughters wanted to be when they grew up. What high school will they attend? How are their neighbors? Is their garbage being picked up regularly, and if not, have they complained to their Alderman? Yes, all politics are grounded in basic needs.

But, moving on, Michelle also discussed her father:

"My dad was our rock. Although he was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in his early thirties, he was our provider, our champion, our hero. As he got sicker, it got harder for him to walk, it took him longer to get dressed in the morning. But if he was in pain, he never let on. He never stopped smiling and laughing — even while struggling to button his shirt, even while using two canes to get himself across the room to give my Mom a kiss. He just woke up a little earlier, and worked a little harder."

Who amongst us cannot imagine a loved one, or perhaps even ourselves, in her father's shoes? Who amongst us would have the courage, every single day, to reach within, swallow those waves of pain, and not give up or even complain?

In music, lyrics are the most important factor in my judgment of a song. Yet there are times when the instrumental accompaniment has such an infectious beat, that you simply cannot resist it regardless of the silliness of the lyrics. It just so happened that, on August 25, 2008, Michelle's lyrics and her vocal instrument were both strong and proud.

Her emotions reached out from the television screen and grabbed my heart. I was moved on a human, not political, level. Michelle crafted a phrase that was particularly poetic and powerful. In describing how we, as a people, have an obligation to fight for the world as it should be, she went on to say, "That is the thread that connects our hearts. That is the thread that runs through my journey and Barack's journey and so many other improbable journeys that have brought us here tonight, where the current of history meets this new tide of hope."

WHERE THE CURRENT OF HISTORY MEETS THIS NEW TIDE OF HOPE.

My apology for the caps, but it was I felt it was worth shouting. Thank you, Michelle.