The 12th Annual Black History Oratorical Festival at Harold Washington College begins, appropriately enough, with "Lift Every Voice and Sing," the black national anthem. As the stirring chords fill the room, I'm trapped for one panicky moment in a classic anxiety dream: Glancing up from my half-assed humming, I realize that everyone present knows all the words except for me. Feeling conspicuous, I suddenly imagine the music stopping abruptly so I can be exposed for the ignorant white boy that I am.
I breathe a sigh of relief when the first of the six competitors steps up to the podium, for clearly I'm not the only awkward caucasian in attendance. Glenn is a pale, bookish character with glasses and a receding hairline, who, it is noted in his introduction, "in his spare time likes to talk about politics, organize demonstrations and cook." Each competitor in the festival has been charged with preparing a speech about a famous African American, and Glenn's is a slightly stumbling but impassioned recitation on death row inmate and radical Mumia Abu Jamal.
As she did for Glenn, moderator Barbara Allen of the Trinity United Church of Christ brings up April, the second rhetorical combatant, by announcing her impressive grade point average: "Now that," says Allen, leading us into applause, "is cause for celebration." April is a pretty, poised ex-dancer with a closely cropped afro, and it's immediately apparent that she is eons more comfortable on stage than Glenn. As she works her way with precise diction through a reverential rundown on the life of Brown v. Board of Ed hero Thurgood Marshall, April trips on nary a word. On the several occasions when she forgets a section of her presentation, she closes her eyes for a long moment and takes a deep breath, as if imploring the spirit of the Supreme Court superstar to descend and cue her on what comes next.
None of today's rhetoricians has prepared a speech on Harold Washington himself, but they don't need to: the entire event is dedicated to the memory of the man who, according to the program, "often spoke on our campus, dazzling us with his verbal pyrotechnics." Somewhat dazzling in itself is the range of subjects. After the dizzying leap from Mumia Abu Jamal to Thurgood Marshall, we hear of the exploits of speedster Florence Griffith Joyner, Illinois Poet Laureate Gwendolyn Brooks, heavyweight champ Muhammad Ali, and, yes, "talk show host, actress and philanthropist" Oprah Winfrey.
There's much discontent in my row when the decision comes down. The woman sitting next to me, who has allowed me to peek at the rankings she made in her program, shakes her head with astonishment at the judge's verdict. We agree that the Gwendolyn Brooks speech was the clear victor, but April's Marshall piece has taken the top honor, a $200 scholarship. My seatmate shakes her head with disgust and reports her verdict: "It's all political."
(Ben Winters)
copyright 1999 New City Communications, Inc.