As I continued to stare creepily at Eddie Murphy, a few people in suits and earpieces emerged by the sliding glass door to the house. Senator Obama was here, ready to kick off this bougie breakfast affair. Someone made brief introductions, and Obama hopped up in front of the crowd in slacks and a button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up. He grabbed a microphone.
As he started in on his speech, it was clear that Obama could read a room and land a joke, even if he’d told it a dozen times before. He spent most of the speech laying out his plan for universal health coverage, talking about pressing challenges in national security, and outlining a vision for the economy. Then he got to talking about clean energy and the environment. That’s when everything changed for me.
Midway through a riff on climate change, he stopped midsentence and seemed to take in the vast space. As the $2,500-a-ticket crowd used dainty miniature spoons to stuff their faces with passion fruit–infused Greek yogurt, the senator went off-script. “I’m really curious about something,” he said. “When my motorcade pulled up, I noticed there were a bunch of huge Hummers parked outside by the valet. Who drove a Hummer to a Barack Obama breakfast?”
The crowd knew what he was getting at—the Hummer is basically a rebranded war vehicle for rich people that gets terrible gas mileage. They laughed in that good-natured way in which people getting made fun of by a close friend laugh at themselves. Wow, that’s a fun burn, I thought.
But the senator kept pushing it. “I’m serious, guys,” he said. “Who drove a Hummer here?” The relaxed vibe in the backyard turned awkward. What was this guy doing? He was down thirty points in the polls! What was the upside to publicly calling out the rich donors who drove Hummers to his fundraiser?
The uncomfortable silence felt like it lasted for hours. “My point,” he said finally, with the tone of someone who wasn’t angry as much as he was disappointed in you, “is that if you can afford $2,500 to have breakfast with me, then you can also afford to buy a hybrid car. That way, we can incentivize American-made environmentally friendly vehicles, so that everyone will be able to buy them one day.”
I had never heard of a politician risking their relationship with donors, yet here this guy was, calling out some powerful, deep-pocketed Angelenos directly for the gas-guzzling vehicles they drove while simultaneously taking their money AND making them love all of it, AND empowering them to feel like we each had some personal responsibility in making the world a better place for everyone. What a skill! Obama wasn’t even angling for a good headline in the press the next day; this fundraiser was a private event, and no media were present. I was witnessing something rare: a politician saying what he really thought, even if it cost him votes and dollars. Could someone like this actually get elected? Would the system allow it?
I left that “don’t eat any of the food” fundraiser feeling inspired (and super hungry). I drove back to my apartment, pounded some tacos, and spent the day reading through the policy papers on Obama’s campaign website. In the evening, I showered and got ready for the reception with Olivia.
* * *
The artists’ reception was held in a small room on a lower floor of the fancy-pants Beverly Hilton hotel. There were about fifty actors and musicians there, enjoying the wine-and-beer open bar. Obama rolled in a little late, announcing, “I’ve done my stump speech a few times today at our different fundraisers, so if it’s okay with you, I’d like to just spend some time walking around the room, getting to know you instead. Any opposition?” Obviously not. “Before I do that, I just wanted to say one thing: I think what you guys do is pretty incredible. I like to think I’m a pop culture–savvy guy. I love music and film—my wife, Michelle, and I are passionate about the arts. Some of the work you guys do… that stuff is among our greatest cultural exports. Movies, television, film, music—these things capture the spirit of the American people: the way we live, the way we work, the things we love. They make so many people around the world happy.”
Then Obama shouted out a few individuals he recognized, starting with Justin Timberlake (maybe Obama just couldn’t see me from where he was standing?). “Justin. Because of you, a single mom somewhere is listening to your songs on her iPod and keeping her head up just a little while longer as she takes the bus to her third job. Olivia, because of you, a latchkey kid whose dad might be locked up and whose mom is working hard to feed the family can come home and take his mind off of things for a little while—you’re the solace and the humor that brightens the day. You all bring hope to so many people. I’m here today to ask for your help in Iowa, so we can get elected and start to make these folks’ lives better in a substantive way, by changing policy.”
I was stunned. This dude was definitely for real. Here I was expecting a tamer, more hollow politiciany ask, and instead, Obama was making a genuine connection between the arts and real people’s lives. He was inviting us to be part of a solution, and he was connecting our very privileged existence to something worthwhile in people’s everyday struggles.
No matter what you do for a living, whether you’re an artist or not, it’s easy to get lost in the minutiae of the day-to-day. But in that split second, Obama reminded us about the audiences who watch and listen to what we create. He connected it to an opportunity to help. Like everyone energized by his campaign, it made us feel like we were invited to be a part of something bigger than ourselves.
* * *
It’s tough to explain that special moment on its own, unless you also have a sense of how more-traditional campaigns operated. Obama’s pitch—genuine, heartfelt, sincere—stood in contrast to the more calculating way an acquaintance working on the fundraising team of another campaign had approached me. A few weeks earlier, she had asked me to consider speaking at an event designed for the South Asian American community in New York.
As you know by now, while I’m mindful that many demographic groups (like South Asian Americans) are underrepresented in media, entertainment, politics, and policy, I generally dislike things that are exclusively couched in race or ethnicity. So, I asked a few questions about this South Asian political event. My finance acquaintance didn’t sugarcoat it: The reason she wanted my help was because there was “a lot of untapped money in the Indian American community.” She didn’t pretend that there were deeper reasons: It all came back to You’re a draw as an actor, Elections require fundraising, and You can help get the Indian money. As always, I appreciated the honesty, but this seemed a bit patronizing, so I politely declined.