I'm all into shifting paradigms. Makes life interesting, shakes dumbasses up. Even that pedophile-for-fifteen year old black girls on our nickels, Thomas Jefferson, once said that a little revolution now and again is a good thing. I've been espousing it in African American prose like a rash throughout this blog...and in politics.
I'm no talking about Obama and Hillary now, or even McCain and the queerish, silent civil war in the GOP. I'm talking about my congressman, Albert Wynn. Yeah, Fat Albert bit the dust in the primary...FINALLY...at the hands of Donna Edwards. And it bodes ill for a lot of people in the Congressional Black Caucus, for individuals like Tavis Smiley, and yeah--even for our own shuffling, slurring legend, Marion Barry. Why?
In 1992, the CBC doubled in size due in part to gerrmandering new "black" districts. Amid much black tie fanfare, I recall that night when I and the vicious high yella gnome who was the former Mrs. Nat Turner attended the CBCF Gala...and it was like Dr. Zhivago before the Bolsheviks and famine put a foot in everyone's ass, including their own. File that allegory, fanboys and girls, 'cause there's gonna be a quiz later. Slick Willie and Hillary were there, all the captains and doyennes from Bob Johnson and Earl Greaves to Susanne dePasse and sitcom and rap stars...Lord it was like God smiled on black folks!!! It was...allegory here, too...Reconstruction, all over again. Black yuppies were going to rule DC's nightlife (the first young professionals' affiliate of the Urban League began in '92), and we had the literal takeover of Prince Georges County Maryland by blackfolks, including one Albert Wynn, taking a congressional seat in what had once been Maryland's hotbed of the Confederacy (who do you think helped John Wilkes Booth and Dr. Samuel Mudd?)
Ah, but reality set in, mah chillun. Cronyism (called "small business development), self-dealing, self-aggrandizement..."relationship building" as Marion Barry calls it. I call itbullshit. I call it the same thing, year after year. As with Bill Clinton, the promise and glitter of '92 was just a smokescreen, a destraction and self-masturbatory illusion as in Dr. Zhivago...and as in the end of Reconstruction, a self-congratulatory respite before the world schooled us that partying and fluff and bravado weren't the tools we needed to survive...
So in 2008, Al Wynn is deposed after he waged a nasty campaign, reminescent of old timers like Sharpe James or Barry. After his craven embracing of Obama whilst his peers like Maxine Waters and Ron Dellums clung to Hillary Clinton. Hopefully, they will be next, as their constituents--the regular people, rebel. Our people's wealth is destroyed by predatory lending, mortgage fraud--and yet he's supporting Bush and bigshots' "reforms" to bankruptcy, and hums and hahs as people drown in debt. Not just the newbies to PG Co.--but the very folk who partied in 1992. Broke, some in jail, divorced. Still buying luxury SUVs with $500/month notes, however. Still--hopeless.
Funny thing about hope, though. You can always get it back. We saw this as Albert was shown the door, and Marion Barry's hedging on who he'd support in the presidential primary bites him in his whithered ass. I'd like to see the rest of the Congressional Black Caucus's Class of '92 step, and let a re-invigorated generation take the reins. I vowed to myself I'd fight and die before I saw another and another and another Post-Reconstruction period, where retards like George W. Bush or facists like Dick Cheney can rise to such prominence while we grouse and crow and do the Soulja Boy dance. Through the ice and gloom this Wednesday, perhaps there's some hope.