Thursday
What times we are living through! At the same moment that we experience an endless pandemic and a crashing economy, we see one of the two major parties nominate for the vice presidency a charismatic woman of color. This in the same month that we celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Civil Rights bill and the 100th anniversary of women’s suffrage.
We could even add to that—although Kamala Harris is of South Asian descent, not East Asian—the 75th anniversary of the ending of World War II and of the internment of Japanese Americans, one of American history’s most shameful episodes. Joe Biden’s selection of his running mate is a celebration of America’s immigration history, featuring in this instance Jamaica and India.
My 94-year-old mother, an Elizabeth Warren supporter who is nevertheless as excited about Harris as my wife and I, now sees a second message in the poem she chose this week for her “From Bard to Verse” column in Sewanee’s weekly newspaper. She had picked Maya Angelou’s “Still I Rise” to celebrate passage of the 19th amendment, but the poem’s celebration of sassiness and what men regard as haughtiness applies as well to Harris. We already see “bitter, twisted lies” and “hatefulness” being directed her way:
Still I Rise You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries? Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard ’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin’ in my own backyard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.
Apparently, some around Biden were worried about Harris’s ambitious nature, a concern that doesn’t arise about male politicians and that in the end he ignored. For his part, Donald Trump is calling her a “nasty” woman, his preferred adjective for strong females who stand up to him. As a response, let’s turn to a different adjective, featured in another Angelou poem that gets at the power Harris exudes:
Phenomenal Woman Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size But when I start to tell them, They think I’m telling lies. I say, It’s in the reach of my arms, The span of my hips, The stride of my step, The curl of my lips. I’m a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That’s me. I walk into a room Just as cool as you please, And to a man, The fellows stand or Fall down on their knees. Then they swarm around me, A hive of honeybees. I say, It’s the fire in my eyes, And the flash of my teeth, The swing in my waist, And the joy in my feet. I’m a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That’s me. Men themselves have wondered What they see in me. They try so much But they can’t touch My inner mystery. When I try to show them, They say they still can’t see. I say, It’s in the arch of my back, The sun of my smile, The ride of my breasts, The grace of my style. I’m a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That’s me. Now you understand Just why my head’s not bowed. I don’t shout or jump about Or have to talk real loud. When you see me passing, It ought to make you proud. I say, It’s in the click of my heels, The bend of my hair, The palm of my hand, The need for my care. ’Cause I’m a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That’s me.
Harris, like Angelou, is comfortable in her own skin, which is why some of her most powerful moments (such as examining William Barr and Brett Kavanaugh) have been quiet ones. She walks into a room “just as cool as you please.”
At the same time, one can see
the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
And also
the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
Kamala Devi Harris, a phenomenal woman and the Democrats’ vice-presidential nominee.
