by David Greenberg

The commentary on Barack Obama and his possible presidential candidacy has become too voluminous to keep up with. On Open University alone we've heard from Dan Drezner (here and here), who wonders about his policy chops; Mike Kazin who admires his genuine and non-threatening talk of religion; Cass Sunstein, who likes what I would call Obama's refreshingly non-polarizing style (here and here); and John McWhorter, who has dared to say publicly what I have heard elsewhere privately: that Obama's race is no small factor in his wild popularity among liberal whites. As much as I've read on Obama--and readers, please tell me if I've missed something--I've seen little analysis of the political traditions from which he hails. Political traditions are an important indicator of what a politician is likely to do in office. What is the political culture from which a politician hails? What are the historical sources of the rhetoric he uses and the goals he endorses? Who are the regional, ideological, and historical models that shape his aspirations? Who are his primary constituents and what are their traditional concerns? Much of the Obama commentary paints him as a man without a past, a cosmopolitan who came to Chicago via Kenya, Jakarta, and Hawaii. How does he fit in, then, to the American political landscape. Political traditions can be used, of course, to stereotype a politician--as a Rockefeller Republican, or a libertarian Westerner, or a genteel Southern patrician---and therefore to reduce him to a formula. But they can also give us insights that a mere reading of a candidate's biography, speeches, or congressional votes cannot. Understanding Bush requires knowing about both the world of Connecticut bluebloods and that of Texas oil speculation, as well as that of the evangelical revival. So where do we locate Obama in the vast American political pageant? One insight, I think, came from a writer named Steven Barnes on NPR Barnes noted that the only other black public figure whose (potential) presidential candidacy attract such a groundswell of across-the-spectrum, multi-racial support was Colin Powell. And both Powell's and Obama's black ancestors, he noted, had not been slaves in the United States. I wasn't persuaded by Barnes's main argument: that this lack of "cultural baggage" gives Powell and Obama a self-confidence and ambition that's rare among African-Americans. After all, there have been many black politicians who had the stuff to be president if only society would have given them a fair shot. But I do wonder if the uncharacteristic elements of Obama's and Powell's black ancestry affects the way that whites view them. An acquaintance of mine calls Obama, "The Great White Hope." This is decidedly not a jab not at Obama--just as John McWhorter made clear that his skepticism about Obama's sudden rise should in no way be mistaken for an unwillingness to believe that he's a man of enormous talent and promise. Rather, the moniker identifies something about the droves of mainly white supporters who have been thronging bookstores. Understanding Obama-mania requires more understanding not just of the candidate but of his audiences. And taking their statements at face value isn't enough.