Folks,I remember having cried only twice as a grown man. The first time was when I was walking past the Toronto City Hall in the middle of winter and a five story high TV screen was showing an old man slowly walking down the street. I looked at the caption, I looked at the caption again and it still said the same thing. The last known picture of the old man - one that was published frequently in Tanzania - was taken 30 years prior and was that of a heavyweight boxer in his prime. Could the old man on the screen be someone with the same name? I stood still for a minute in the cold slush and finally it sank in that one of the most revered men in Africa, one that every youth on the continent had spent 30 years yearning to see as a free man - was now walking down the road, smiling. Nelson Mandela was free. The year was 1990.
The other time I remember crying was in 2008 when a young Obama gave his victory speech in Chicago. I expected him winning. However, I did not expect him to survive till election day. The hatred in some sectors of the US for that man matched or exceeded the hatred in S. Africa during the apartheid era. The haters were defeated and hope restored. This afternoon was another occasion to cry with joy. The daughter of Indian and Jamaican immigrants got chosen as the U.S. Vice-President candidate. Imagine her struggle! Imagine facing hurdles every step of the race and imagine her overcoming them all. Those with privileges are not going to relinquish the same. As such, I will paraphrase a comment I heard on TV: With the choice of Kamala Devi Harris, the U.S. has shifted from the way it used to be, to the way it can be. Mervyn
