Swift-Boating Barry

Whatever one thinks of Hillary, Barrack, and the Democratic party, there is no question that yesterday was an milestone in America's history. The scene of first viable woman candidate for president in America's history calling for the nomination by acclamation of her rival, the first viable black candidate, was a touching moment, and there was weeping in the audience, not without reason. Tonight, the Democratic party celebrated in front of 70,000 cheering fans in a stadium and millions of the faithful on TV.

For all of that, Barrack has a big problem. The image of the Republican Party is tarnished by eight years of falling incomes, war, debt, and economic uncertainty. Yet Barrack barely leads in the polls, and sometimes trails. Why can't he “close the deal”? One reason may have to do with a conversation I recently had. It went something like this:

“I think that Barrack Obama is secretly a terrorist,” my friend said.
“A terrorist? That's a pretty strong charge. Why do you think that?” I asked.
“I am not saying,” he replied, “that all Muslims are terrorists, but I am saying that all terrorists are Muslims.”
“But Obama is a Christian.”
“Well,” he replied, “his father was a Muslim, and the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.”
“How about Timothy McVeigh?” I asked. “Was he a Muslim?”
“He had many ties with the Muslims.”

Asked about where this information came from, my friend admitted that he got his news mainly from right-wing web sites. Now, my friend is not an unintelligent person. He is a successful businessman, one who happens to do business with many Muslims. The right-wing sites are indeed pushing an Obama-Muslim connection, usually spoken of in terms of terrorism. And there are even those sites that will claim a connection between McVeigh and the Muslims. Since their story is that all terrorists are Muslims, McVeigh must be made into a latter-day Mohammedan to complete the logical circuit. But why should anyone believe these stories, particularly anyone as intelligent as my friend? The truth about humans is that stories are what they always believe; they do not believe in something called “facts,” they must have stories around which any set of “facts” can be organized. Indeed, there are no facts apart from the stories that connect them, as any good author or trial lawyer knows instinctively.

The truth about Barrack's story, however, is far more interesting than any of the stories written about him by either friend or foe. The product of Kansas and Kenya, black and white, Indonesia and Hawaii, given a first name that is odd to English ears, a middle name that is common in the Arabic world, common enough to be attached to our opponent in Iraq, and a last name similar to that of the world's greatest terrorist. His Kenyan father was raised as a Muslim but became an atheist. After his Kenyan father abandoned his family, his Indonesian step-father moved him to the other side of the world, where he attended both Muslim and Catholic schools, neither of which are likely to mollify the fundamentalists. When Indonesia didn't work out, he was raised by his white grandparents and spent his formative years in Hawaii. During that time he was known as “Barry.”

And that is the interesting thing about Barrack: he could have been Barrack or Barry. From the diverse materials of his youth, he had to choose his cultural identity. He had no driving tradition behind him to accept or reject. Rather, from a racial and cultural grab-bag he had to construct his own identity. And his choice is interesting. A Harvard-trained lawyer, with the whole world open to him, he chose to move to Chicago, a city to which he had no ties and no knowledge, and become an organizer on the famous (or infamous) South Side of that city. Obama is not an American Black in the same way that the people on the South Side of Chicago are. Barrack had to “integrate” into that community; he was not really part of it, but had to make it his own. He did, not by history but by choice. He joined the Black church, with a radical brand of liberation theology. He stayed there until it became politically untenable. He chose neither his father's atheism nor his stepfather's religious indifference. And whether he chose his religion out of theological conviction or cultural necessity, we cannot know and perhaps have no right to ask. We can only know that his choice was unforced, not dictated by his history. And he joined the church as Barrack rather than Barry. Barrack is the Arabic and Swahili form of “Baruch,” Hebrew for “blessed”; Barry is the American form of an indeterminate name with no particular meaning at all. He chose meaning over anonymity.

All of this gives Barrack both a certain chosen intimacy and a certain inherited distance from the American project. And to really understand anything about the world, one has to have both an intimacy and a distance. One has to be the intimate outsider to really see a people or a place. This is why young people often have to leave home in order to come back and find it again. Only the prodigal son who had traveled the world really knew his father; the dutiful son stood outside the tent in anger, not knowing that he too could have had a party whenever he wanted. Always living with his father, he did not know him. Only seeing the alternatives grants real knowledge.

But the question is, can the American people accept such an intimate outsider? The same historical materials that Barry used to become Barrack can be used by political operatives to make Barrack into whatever they like. It is hardly necessary to swift-boat Barrack with lies; his own history makes nearly any story plausible. What stories will the public believe? As of this moment, they have not made up their mind. Next week, the Republicans will start to construct their story of Barry, and sell it to the public. But the real work will be through other channels, shadowy but well-funded channels. These channels have already reached my well-heeled friend. How far into the public subconscious will they extend? I do not know, but I suspect they can be made very effective. Any good trial lawyer can make either a credible defense or prosecution from these same materials.

I always thought Barrack was too young, and likely to end up as another Carter, earnest but ineffective. But he will at least be interesting, in the way that outsiders are always interesting. I do not know if he will be a great president, or even a good one. But he will be interesting. Perhaps much too interesting ever to become president.