...has a great new article online.

"This morning, I read a Zambian proverb that advises, 'The worlds of the elders do not lock all the doors; they leave the right door open.'

I don’t know which of the 70 languages or 72 ethnic groups of Zambia it comes from. And I didn’t imbibe the tribal wisdoms of my own elders from sitting under a tree in my village. Like most Africans today, I didn’t grow up in a village or a rural setting.

No, the African proverbs that feed my nostalgia for the calm perspective of the past come in a daily dose from my African cellphone, courtesy of Twitter.

Social media have enabled us to bypass the limitations and biases of traditional media. Here in Nigeria, websites and blogs such as SaharaReporters.com routinely publish stories no newspaper would have printed in the past. As they are everywhere else, the old orders are struggling to contain the shifting shape of this irreverent new movement.

The question I keep asking myself is how these cultural networks will engage with the old political order. Do any of my colleagues in government have the vision and conceptual tools to channel this youthful energy to the common good?"

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about this question of youth and the changing face of politics (which has unfolded quite dramatically in recent weeks).

I am not really political, not to say that I am not interested in politics but rather am agnostic in these matters. It is all too messy and complicated and I am not capable of asserting certainty in ever-uncertain times. Let the politicians and pundits do the dirty work; I'd rather be writing (or filming or dancing or singing).

Nevertheless, I have several close friends involved in youth movements (and it has always interested me, as well, that many so-called youth are approaching their forties) who would rather I be more certain and interested than I am. They are busy building coalitions and news websites and organizations and it is all very inspirational and exciting.

And I sometimes wish to be carried along by this naked energy into a future of reformed, accountable governments that meet the needs of their people. But I think I would rather have it happen by magic--without conflict or violence or even a hint of disagreement. That we should all shake hands and agree to work together, compromise, and make the world a better place; redistributing land and wealth and media control as necessary.

I realize that this future may never be. But in my own small way I hope that by writing (or filming or dancing or singing) I can imagine and create my own fictive, egalitarian realities that could be a source of inspiration for real change. I think it is certainly a valid form of activism, and that we all have to figure out what shape our own will take.

For a little more inspiration, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie riffs on a new Nigerian order taking shape in pop music.

Today at work was so blessed to meet Ellen Schneider of Active Voice, formerly of PBS's POV, one of a handful of activists invited to a private White House briefing on the impact of grassroots arts, environmental, and social justice activism on US economic recovery.

First off, I don't know why there has been such paltry coverage of this meeting.

Secondly, I don't know why arts activists don't get out the vote better on their issues. If I were Jawole Willa Jo Zollar (also in attendance), of Urban Bush Women, I would have issued a press release around this briefing and some kind of "recommendation" to the Obama administration.

Lastly, I sincerely hope something substantive comes of this -- beyond a poetry jam @ Chez Obama, Michelle's recent meeting with arts leaders at the American Ballet, and the administration's 4% increase to the National Endowment of the Arts' budget, still a paltry sum.

Artists will continue to labor in poverty and obscurity, but I certainly hope the powers that be finally give them their due. I think artists can change the world.

It's been sixty days, Michelle. When I first heard your message of change and hope (and love, too), I couldn't wait for a bona fide woman -- sexy, smart, talented, graceful, and powerful -- to be the First Lady of the United States. Wanted so desperately to see you there because of the glorious disappointment that was Condolleezza, that woman who wasn't ours.

But you, Michelle, you are mine and my mother's and my mother's mother's. Like the old grandmother in Maya Angelou's poem, that I memorized in the fifth grade, who lay face down in the moist dirt muttering, "I shall not be moved," you staked a claim in the world of a million women long dead. Their spirits witnessed Obama's arrival on that cool, crisp day in January, but they really came to see you -- in all your glory, decked in gold that glittered and sparkled just as much as their dreams.

I was there, too. And I couldn't wait for your change to manifest in the world. To compare our dreams of transformation in our communities, nation, and around the globe.

I need you to tell me what a Harvard-educated healthcare executive from Chicago's South Side really thinks about sleeping in the same house as Eleanor Roosevelt once did. Tell me how you stayed focused in school, went corporate, but still kept your eye on the prize. How you reconciled your working class upbringing with the elitism attained through your education, while still remaining a down sista on the block. How you met your Barack, commanded the respect due a brilliant woman, won his hand, and raised two well-adjusted young women with high self esteem that will never compromise their self worth. How you inspired those girls, and your husband, to pursue their boundless potential in a racialized/sexist/classist world.

I want to be like you, Michelle: a black woman in a high profile position whom others can look up to and emulate. And I wonder if, when I get there, they'll be looking more at my arms and backside than my brains. Whether they'll be more interested in what I'm wearing than what I'm saying. Whether my power will be marginalized by my appearance and I will find myself in a cage on display for universal womanhood. I want it all, Michelle--for you and for me. To be all that we are in our infinite complexity, to command respect for our contributions, and to not be moved by other people's expectations of being mothered, coddled, and aroused by black female sexuality. I dream for you that world, but I also dream it for me.

And for all women who one day hope to be free.

Respectfully,

Iquo B. Essien ('Alligator Legs')

Update: Read my thoughts on the American Presidency two years after the inauguration here.

Sixteen days before Election Day, I found myself on a half dozen interviews for campaign positions with several of the hundreds of grassroots’ nonprofits canvassing for Obama. The position of choice was canvass director, though I admittedly had no organizing experience.

At the time, I was on leave from NYU film, having recently moved out of my apartment and into my sister’s, living out of a duffel bag while working at a freelance editing job I hated. Since I wasn’t doing anything particularly meaningful, I figured I might as well pack my things, take a bus to Virginia or Ohio, and start working for change.

According to the pundits, Obama has had that same effect on a lot of people, the formerly apathetic turned staunch activists.

As basic as his message of hope and change seemed, what excited us most was the idea that changing our level of civic engagement was both the means to Obama's victory and an end in itself. That we could potentially overturn an entrenched political regime, dating back to the Reagan era, while becoming agents of change in our communities and the world – some for the first time ever.

I was inspired, albeit late in the political game, and spoke with a few friends about my intentions to work for change.

"You're not a white college boy from Nebraska," one retorted, unimpressed with my vision of leading a struggling campaign office in a swing state. I had always been a person with vision, he said, who needed no compass guiding me in the right direction.

Having gotten a campaign job offer, I found myself stalling and ultimately turning it down. Come November 4, I was still stuck to my sister's couch, leaving early that morning to vote, joining a line that stretched around two Brooklyn city blocks. As the day wore on I was cautiously optimistic, watching as Obama took Ohio and Florida. When the results came in and he was named President so easily, so elegantly, without the Supreme Court battle I had expected, I was filled with a mixture of joy, hope, and disbelief.

Screaming, crying, and dancing, I spent the night at the Libation party watching Obama’s acceptance speech, as accompanied by DJ Ian Friday’s afrobeat grooves, projected on a white bed sheet suspended from the ceiling. Outside the streets were teeming with happy, hopeful people, strangers laughing and embracing.

Together we – a collection of black, brown, yellow, red, and white; old and young; gay and straight; male and female; rich and poor people; who were never supposed to have the right to vote – had helped change the world.

The celebrations around the globe validated the fact that Obama's victory was a win for us all – a collective exhalation of a centuries-held breath waiting to see if we, as oppressed peoples, would ever be deemed worthy, trusted, respected, and intelligent enough to become the masters of our own destiny, and ultimately lead the world.

Seeing a bit of Obama in myself, I was left wondering, "What is the change I wish to see in my own life?" Wondering why – apart from a short doc I shot of some canvassers in downtown Brooklyn – I sat idly by as history was unfolding.

I offer that, perhaps, it is only through Barack Obama's election to the Presidency that I have seen my full potential. Reflected in a way that is both dazzling and blinding as a minority, as a black woman, and as an African. It was the unattainable, now attained, that leaves us all questioning how we've set our own goals and measured our successes. Whether we truly believe that we are deserving, capable, and intelligent enough for our wildest dreams to come true.

As did the President elect, I realize that there is an uphill climb where we're going, and that hard work is the only way to get there. While I am elated to be on the path – with him in spirit – I am equally sobered by the journey ahead.

And I hope that Obama’s message of change will catalyze an era that revolutionizes and transforms each and every one of our lives toward something bolder, prouder, and more audacious. Now and forever.
--AL.