Dear Barack,
Is it alright if I call you Barack? After all we’ve shared over these past eight years, “Mr. President” feels a bit too formal. It’s hard to believe our journey together has come to an end. To say I’ll miss you is putting it mildly—if I could, I’d hug your legs and plead for you to stay. But alas, I must embrace adulthood and let you go, even though it’s the last thing I want. You’ve earned your peace, and I can’t fault you for moving on.
I graduated college in May 2008, drowning in debt and disappointment. The recession hit just before my graduation, and finding a job felt impossible. I was searching for a hero, and when you secured the Democratic nomination, my heart lifted. When you proclaimed, “Yes, we can,” I believed every word. You were the hero I needed.
Voting for you was a proud moment. Standing in that school gym with my mom, I felt a swell of pride, knowing I was voting for a man destined to be the first black president of the United States. Honestly, I thought I’d be telling my grandkids about it before it happened. Watching you and Michelle step onto that Chicago stage brought tears to my eyes, and I wept again as you took the oath of office. The tears flowed freely that night as you and Michelle shared your dance to “At Last.”
You stood tall against a nation that hoped for your failure. You faced relentless attacks, especially from our now president-elect, who questioned your American identity simply because of your Kenyan heritage and middle name. You and Michelle carried yourselves with such grace, like majestic swans, letting the negativity roll off your backs. When I encounter adversity, I often think, WWOD (What Would Obama Do)? And it helps me let it slide.
You had the monumental task of getting our country back on its feet, tackling the economy (though I still wish you’d bailed out student loan debt instead of the banks—Congress really dropped the ball there!). Gradually, things improved. I found a job, but I had to set aside my dream of being a working actor to focus on paying off my debt. I remember the night the Navy Seals took down Bin Laden; as a New Yorker, that was particularly satisfying. It felt like a turning point for you, and you truly found your stride.
By the time the 2012 election rolled around, I was confident you’d win. The Republicans tried to throw you off with their “family values” rhetoric, but we were stronger than that. I celebrated with a good bottle of wine when California clinched the win for you.
The last four years have been a whirlwind. We’ve shared tears over tragedies like school shootings and incidents of police violence. I often wondered how many times you wished you could convey to the nation the urgent need for change.
Yet there were joyful moments too. Your announcement of the Affordable Care Act brought tears of happiness. It may not be perfect, but it’s a step forward. And when marriage equality was finally achieved, I cried again, knowing my friends could finally marry. Through every challenge, you maintained your composure. I never lost faith in you.
Thank you for championing the arts and bringing music into the White House. Your parties were legendary, and you weren’t afraid to let loose and dance. Thank you for giving Lin Manuel Miranda a chance to shine with Hamilton; we really needed that! Your recognition of Black artists helped create a space for them to thrive.
Most importantly, thank you for being a devoted husband and father. Your love for Michelle and your daughters showed many of us what a strong relationship looks like. As a new mom, I see the value in that. My son shares some of your experiences—like you, he’s mixed-race and being raised by a single mom. He may not remember your presidency, but I’ll tell him that if you could achieve greatness, so can he. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
With all my love and admiration,
Sa’iyda Shabazz
In summary, this heartfelt letter expresses deep gratitude and admiration for Barack Obama’s presidency, highlighting personal growth, shared struggles, and moments of joy over the years. It captures the essence of a connection that transcends political boundaries and emphasizes the importance of representation and hope.