Hope we can believe in

With due respect and apologies to Barack Obama, we always hoped; we just never believed. That was your challenge.

I cast my very first vote in a presidential election for Jesse Jackson. I was a freshman at a historically black college, and Rev. Jackson was the first serious Black candidate for president that I had seen. When Jackson visited our campus for a campaign rally, he held court for almost an hour -- preaching to us in a way that only a Black candidate could. When he closed with his signature, "Keep Hope Alive!" we went nuts. We were proud. We were hopeful. But we never really believed he could be president.

Just an election cycle ago, there were whispers of a young African American senator from Illinois who might be well positioned to be president. We indulged the fantasy, but he is so young. And that name? He's talented but it wasn't likely. Not in America.

From our perch of disbelief, he seduced us with his electrifying 2004 convention speech, and our hearts yearned to believe. We swooned...cautiously. We'd been here before.

We're pretty used to seeing African Americans in the highest rungs of power. Ron Brown, Alexis Herman, Colin Powell, and Condoleeza Rice will no doubt make their way into Black History books. Logically, it should have been a short step from a cabinet member to the president, but we have learned not to believe.

Carter G. Woodson warned us a century ago that if you controlled a man's thinking, you don't have to worry about his actions. If a race or class of people believed they couldn't make a difference, or that people who looked like them could have a place in this democracy, that is the ultimate form of voter supression.

We saw the effects in this election cycle. Early in the primary, Obama polled poorly with Black voters, who never really thought he had a legitimate chance at being elected. We were hopeful but wary. Many opted for Hillary Clinton, the better known candidate. She had the more realistic chance of being elected, went the thinking.

In the midst of our skepticism, something stirred in Iowa, and we got our first permission to believe. Obama's candidacy became our generation's March on Washington. He empowered us to work for change. We emailed small contributions, volunteered in our communities, called voters across the country. As we took ownership of our campaign, the dream became more real every day.

This morning when the polls opened, I joined a line of African American voters that snaked around a soccer field, zigzagged through a parking lot, weaved into and out of a church sanctuary and ended at voting terminals in a church gymnasium. It was the last four hours of this incredible journey. Across the country, we were all coming together, White and Black, young and old, rich and poor, to send a message and claim our future.

There's only one reason we could do that. You asked us to hope. You taught us to believe. That is your legacy, Mr. President.