A House Visit That Left the Door Open

 

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A House Visit That Left the Door Open: Bernie Sanders, Black Voters, and the Weight of 2016

February 12, 2016 — North Minneapolis, MN

On a bitterly cold winter night, the gymnasium of Patrick Henry High School in North Minneapolis transformed into a town hall forum brimming with historic energy. The gathering, dubbed the Black Forum Minnesota, was an intimate, mid-century-style political conversation, and its guest of honor was none other than Senator Bernie Sanders, then a Democratic candidate for President of the United States.

At a time when many African Americans were politically disillusioned—disappointed in the Clinton's contribution to increased African American incarceration with the legacy fallacy of the "Super predator" with regard to a black population where the Clinton's historically derived so much political support  and wholly unconvinced by the Republican front-runner Donald Trump—there was an urgent hunger for a new path, because alternative was "Holy God Conditions"— mass exodus from the current political system until reform is achieved. For many, Sanders was sold as a representative of a new that reformed path: progressive, bold, and unafraid to challenge the economic and racial status quos that had long failed Black communities.

And so he came to our house.

A Community Conversation—Or Something Else?

The forum was billed as a conversation with the community. But once the cameras rolled and the media filled the space, it became clear that the event carried more weight than a neighborhood gathering. This was a national political moment staged in a local high school, one that aimed to showcase Sanders’ willingness to hear from and engage directly with Black voters.

And yet, from my seat in the crowd, it felt less like dialogue and more like friction due to the expected performative forum which wasn't at all the expectation of the crowd.

Moreover, there was "crashers." Local indigenous communities crashed the forum in traditional garb—boisterously expressing anger that such a forum was hosted without reaching out to the reservations. Of course, the outrage failed to acknowledge that the reservation didn’t reach out to Black communities—or to the Sanders campaign. Minnesota’s history shows Black populations repeatedly committing themselves to the protection of Indigenous people. What that history doesn’t show is the same commitment flowing in the other direction.

That’s worth sitting with—especially when there’s still this ongoing expectation of Black delay, Black support, and Black sacrifice for everyone else’s causes, while Black issues are treated as solely Black responsibilities.

That’s not sustainable. So we might as well confront the false entitlement at the root of these expectations—and start having more honest conversations now, not later.

Cultures clashed. The questions posed to Sanders were direct—hard, yes, but honest. Questions about systemic racism, police brutality, and the racial wealth gap weren’t just abstract policy issues to us. They were everyday life. And while Sanders’ platform addressed economic concerns with vigor, he seemed caught off guard when the conversation turned to the issue of systematic racism with the depth and urgency it deserved. At times, he appeared frustrated—perhaps not expecting that the “conversation” would be genuine or so expect concrete plans for resolution.

It was not lost on us. Many in the audience, myself included, were left wondering: Did he truly come to listen, or just to be seen listening?

@NorthStarEditorial - Hosted by North Minneapolis, Minnesota agency Neighborhoods Organizing for Change

Hope, Hype, and the Aftermath

In the months that followed, Sanders’ campaign would become a juggernaut of grassroots energy. My inbox, like many others, filled with fundraising emails—calls to donate small amounts of money to fuel a political revolution. People gave. Broke people gave. And for a moment, it seemed like they felt like they were part of something transformational.

Then came the withdrawal.

Sanders suspended his campaign before the Democratic convention. There was no formal apology, no returned donations, and for many, no closure. The disappointment wasn’t just political—it was emotional. A generation of first-time voters and disillusioned elders alike had placed fragile hope in the idea that Sanders was different.

Instead, his exit from the race was widely seen as a key factor in enabling the rise of Donald Trump—the very outcome his campaign had framed as catastrophic. Sanders’ message had been one of resistance to oligarchy, xenophobia, and racism, but the result was the empowerment of all three and Sanders earned plenty donation funds in the process.

For those who gave their time, their platforms, their trust, and their dollars, the disillusionment ran deep. For those of us willing to keep an open-mind and investigate this message—the Bernie Sanders experience was one of learning that probably damaged creditability. 

A Distracting Revolution?

Looking back, I can’t help but reflect on the way movements can become distractions when not followed by accountability. Sanders galvanized millions, yes—but what did he leave behind?

If I were a different person, I might call it a frontline to the financial hustle of politics. A movement turned moment, a candidate turned celebrity, donations turned disappearance. And while I won’t go that far, I can’t shake the sense that people were used, or at least unprotected, by a campaign that promised to fight for them, but folded when the stakes required real plans, for real delivery. 

Sanders performance suggested an expectation of business as usual—meaning an American society in which Black issues aren't sincerely addressed, let alone resolved. From the crowd, it seemed like someone without much direct contact with black voters, discovered who black voters are majorly—informed, prepared, sincere, capable and ready to work.

That night at Patrick Henry High School, we opened our doors. We opened our minds. We opened our wallets. But when Sanders left the race, many were left holding a plan for new direction that never arrived.

The Lesson

For Black voters in Minneapolis—and across the nation—the 2016 election was a lesson in political discernment. We do not have the luxury of performative politics. Our lives are not branding opportunities, and our support cannot be taken for granted. As new candidates emerge and more town halls are staged in gymnasiums like ours, the message must be clear:

Do not come to our house unless you are prepared to contribute to it and remain when things get hard—just as black citizens have contributed and remained throughout the long, hard-way in the United States of America.