Democrats from a mostly white state feel the legacy of a black president
PHILADELPHIA — Deep into Wells Fargo Arena, past the racially diverse hordes from Democratic strongholds and swing states that get prime spots on the convention floor, sat Donna Pence, retired schoolteacher from Idaho.
Pence, 74, a state legislator wearing a “Feminists for Hillary” button, was once a supporter of segregationist Barry Goldwater. But on Wednesday night, Pence was cheering for a different Barry, a president she has grown to admire.
For vast swaths of the country, President Obama might be the most familiar black man in people’s lives. In Idaho, public discussions often revolve around the growing presence of primarily Hispanic migrant workers and issues between police and Indian tribal communities. It is hard for many of Pence’s constituents to wrap their minds around a movement such as “Black Lives Matter,” she said, because there are so few black lives around.
But Obama’s tenure, she said, has helped to educate her state, which is 1 percent black, on such issues by simply talking about them.
“Some people don’t like it,” Pence said, “but I think he’s shown people in my state a lot. Most of all, I thought he showed Idaho that anyone can do anything they want, regardless of their background. I always told my students that as a teacher, but he made a lot more people believe it.”
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On this night, Obama would give one of his last high-profile speeches — a valediction of sorts. Conversations buzzed about the country’s first black president from the spots near the front rows to the worst seats in the house, occupied by delegates from heavily white, conservative states that were never part of Obama’s political coalition.
“He challenged us,” Pence said.
Growing up, Pence said, it would have been impossible for her to imagine a political convention that looked like this — a multiethnic crowd, waving rainbow flags everywhere and preparing to support the country’s first female major-party presidential nominee.
Of the 4,766 delegates attending this week’s Democratic National Convention, more than 700 were Latino and 1,200 were black, according to organizers. At the Republican convention, which had much fewer delegates overall, about 130 delegates identified as Latino and 18 were black.
According to delegate Chelsea Gaona Lincoln, the makeup of the crowd she saw on TV at the Republican convention was more like Idaho. This week, she said, was a little harder to describe. Mostly, it was a relief.
“I have a lot of difficult conversations around dinner tables,” Lincoln said. “So it’s good to be here and hear people taking pride speaking Spanish. It is good to be in a place where I can hold my partner’s hand in a sports arena and not have to look over my shoulder.”
She worries about the fracturing of the United States, and that political parties seem to be falling even more along racial and generational lines: Will this be the future of the country?
Many Republicans hoped not. During the primaries, Sen. Marco Rubio (R-Fla.) campaigned with Sen. Tim Scott (R-S.C.) and South Carolina Gov. Nikki Haley (R). A Cuban American, a black man and a South Asian woman. They hoped to foster a new generation of the Republican Party. Instead, Republican voters chose Donald Trump, who has offended many minorities with his comments about Mexicans and Muslims.
“Republicans in my state have tried to recruit me to join them,” Lincoln said. “But I tell them, ‘I’m Latina and a millennial and gay — what can you offer me?’ This is the world Democrats are offering me.”
Lincoln saw Obama during his visit to Idaho in 2015. It was the second time he had come to the state — the first was while he was campaigning in 2008. Even though Obama was walloped there by his Republican opponents in both elections, delegate Bert Marley, 68, said he was struck by the energy and hopefulness that filled the packed stadiums where Obama spoke.
It reminded Marley of when he was a teenager and cobbled together money he had saved from potato farming to go see Harry Truman speak and shake his hand.
“Emotionally, that’s the reason I became a Democrat,” Marley said.
In a deep-red state, Marley said his party felt obligated to find members by recruiting in all sorts of communities — migrants in farm towns, and on college campuses and Indian reservations. To many Idaho Democrats, Obama’s legacy cemented the idea that the Democrats were a party of diversity.
Marley marveled at the diversity in the state party. Of Idaho’s 27 delegates, there were at least two Latinos and two African Americans. James Fletcher, a vice president at Idaho State University, spoke of how Obama helped to ease the burden of being a person of color in an overwhelmingly white state.
Students from Saudi Arabia attending the university still hear people call them “sand n----s,” he said. He has been pulled over by the police when he committed no crime. According to Fletcher, the other black person in the state delegation received praise for his “articulate” defense of Sen. Bernie Sanders at a meeting here. But that man supported Clinton.
“I made the speech,” Fletcher said. “They couldn’t tell us apart.”
After the death of Freddie Gray last year after his arrest in Baltimore, Fletcher said, two of his colleagues asked him why communities in Baltimore would be just as mad at the police as communities in Ferguson.
“It is the first step that a lot of people would not take if it weren’t for him,” Fletcher said of Obama. “People are having the conversations now. But there’s tension there, to have to explain and explain. This isn’t easy. At least we had the president to help us.”
Fletcher also attended the convention in 2008 that first nominated Obama. He remembered the excitement, dancing with his white peers to the song “Love Train” as they were witnessing history.
“I knew that no matter how he did, life would be forever changed,” Fletcher said. “Obama was a symbol for our sons and daughters.”
As he reminisced Wednesday night, the lights in the hall dimmed. The images of Obama’s finest moment in offices flashed on a giant video screen. Fletcher said he could only imagine what the president had gone through. He pointed to the delegation.
“Some of the delegation gets this, and some will never get it,” Fletcher said. “What he did was so hard.”
He felt he understood the toughness of the president’s task — to be the first black anything, to be a leader in a majority-white organization, or to be a beacon of racial understanding when people around you don’t fully understand. As Obama came out smiling and waving, ready to give one of his last high-profile speeches, Fletcher’s eyes welled with tears. They cascaded down his face as he held up a “Yes We Can” sign. And when the thunderous applause had settled down and the rest of the delegation had taken their seats, he still stood frozen in time and whispered the words: “Thank you.”
Democrats from a mostly white state feel the legacy of a black president