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I’m Black, and Jimmy Carter is My Favorite President
Circa, 1976, I was a graduate student at Columbia University School of Social Work, and a white man from the Deep South was running for President of the United States of America. His name was Jimmy Carter.
I didn’t know much about Mr. Carter’s history back then, nor could I imagine the type of President he would become. Our country was healing from the Watergate scandal and the Vietnam War. Blacks, in particular, pushed back against the apartheid system of South Africa. As black students, we stood in solidarity with our brothers and sisters in Soweto.
The one and only time I saw President Carter in person was at a Harlem rally on 125th Street. He stood on a podium and said to a sea of Black faces, “Hi. My name is Jimmy Carter, and I’m running for President. Will you help me?” His southern drawl stood out like a sore thumb. Each vowel he articulated was long and drawn out, but there was a refreshing honesty in his tone. We admired his courage to come uptown and speak to us, the descendants of enslaved people. Finally, a brother with a deep voice yelled back, “Yeah, Jimmy. You got our Yankee vote!” and the crowd roared in support.
A year later, my date introduced me to a young woman named Andrea at a concert of the late Gil Scott Heron. I don’t remember the venue, but it was somewhere in Manhattan. Brother…
