Last night James Baldwin blew through the New York Public Library and had everyone gasping for air—in a good way. The Library organized a symposium on Baldwin moderated by my good-friend Walton Muyumba and a panel which included John Edgar Wideman, Colm Toibin and Michael Thelwell.  What does that have to do with New Millennium Children.  Well, hold up a minute, I'll tell you.

For two hours, Muyumba and his panel discussed Baldwin's relevancy in the era of Obama, the presence of activism in his writing, failed love in Giovanni's Room and the scripture that is The Fire Next Time.  And more importantly, Baldwin's ability to corral black, white, gay, straight and everything in between by simply exorcising the truth of his time, through the lens of his beautiful incendiary vision.   

Then came the post-show.  A group of us had congregated near the stage, full of grins. One, we were proud and inspired by our colleague Walton, and come on, the words of Jimmy B have a way of setting off the firecracker that is you everytime.  But something else was amok.  It was the afterglow from the impact of Obama's speech in Philly earlier in the day.  A speech that cracked open everything tabloid and diseased about racism and the race for presidency in this country.  Not since the footage of Malcolm X have I heard a public icon contextualize America in such a courageous and intelligent way.  That's when an aquaintence said, I'd like to talk about New Millennium Children.  Yeh, my brow stretched in an arch too, because I had no idea what she was talking about.  

Obama, she said, was New Millennium, James Baldwin was New Millennium, WE, she stressed, were New Millennium. People of African descent who have come into the world with the impulse to question everything, cut through the barbed wire of their insulated communities, and actually follow through with the impulse.  People of African descent who, she said, see the entire world as their playground and develop a language and ritual to express it.  Then she said something kind of apocalyptic:  The New Millennium Children have arrived.  [I like a good sci-fi reference, so I acquiesced to the moment quickly.]  I looked around at our group and there we were:  a few Africans born off the Continent, the surviving son of a pariah, the granddaughter on a blues singer whose only option for performance in 1920 was white gay bars.  We all had testament to share and have found platform to share it. 

The acquaintence said not only have the New Millennium Children arrived, but we have actually moved into a position of national recognition.  The country is listening to our wide-scoped vision and may possibly elect one of us as president. Oh yeh, chills ran up and down my arm.  Her theory did not exclude the lives and impulses of those who came before us [we were congregated in the Public Library to honor Baldwin on the eve of Obama's speech for chrissakes].  But the difference, she said, is that Obama is opening the flood gates for us NOW and we may very well take over the world.