Stand down, Jesse

Dear Rev. Jackson:

After seeing the videotape of your derogatory remarks about Senator Barack Obama last night, I felt compelled to write to you.

I heard your apology on CNN yesterday, and I don't think you ever meant to harm the Obama campaign. But I do think your criticism of Obama reflects a deeper issue about your role in the black community.

I don't know you very well, but I do know a little bit about politics, and I think you might want to listen to this. No disrespect, Rev. Jackson, but it's time for you to sit down.

Nobody's asking you to retire to Ft. Lauderdale or disappear completely from the public eye, but you do need to let go of the spotlight -- at least for a few months.

Yes, I know you've played an enormously important role in America over the last 40 years, and nobody can take that away from you. You don't remember this, but I remember meeting you outside my Dartmouth College mailbox on a cold January day in 1984 when you were on campus for a Democratic primary presidential debate.  

When you walked by, I told you good luck, and you shot back: "I don't need good luck. I need good votes."

I met you again on the fourth of July, 1988 at 85 Perry Street in Brookline, Massachusetts when you came to Governor Michael Dukakis's house for a reconciliation dinner after you had lost the Democratic nomination for president.

Two years later, you dutifully returned to Boston and spoke out for faculty diversity when we asked you to come to campus and lend your voice to our protest movement at Harvard Law School.

Ironically, one of the people who benefited from your presence that day was a bright young man named Barack Obama, who had just been elected the first black president of the Harvard Law Review.

Years later, you would impress me again with your incredible breadth of knowledge of African politics, which you discussed in extensive detail with our U.S. delegation when we flew to Zimbabwe together in 1997 on a trade mission for President Clinton.

Yes, Jesse, I get it. You're not just a great orator who can give a fiery speech every four years. You're also a skilled negotiator and a thoughtful political strategist who probably doesn't get enough respect for all you've accomplished.

You were there with Dr. King on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel when he was assassinated. You picked up his mantle, gave us something to believe in, and taught us to keep hope alive. You launched a multicultural Rainbow Coalition that challenged conventional politics. And you ran two historic presidential campaigns that went farther than any African American had ever gone before.

I get it, I get it, I get it. But it's time to move on. And it's time for you to sit down for a minute and let the new guy do his thing.

Your presidential campaigns in the 1980s opened the door for Barack Obama's campaign this year. Now please step aside and let him walk through.

Believe me, I know you're not the only member of the old guard still hanging around. Here in New York, 73-year-old Rep. Edolphus Towns faces a stiff challenge from 42-year-old author/activist Kevin Powell. And down in Georgia, Rep. John Lewis, a 68-year-old civil rights icon from his SNCC days in the 1960s, is facing serious challengers in his Democratic primary, especially after he supported Hillary Clinton's campaign and then switched to Obama in the middle of the game.

This is a difficult time for black leaders who are not fully on board with Barack. Just ask Tavis Smiley, Bob Johnson, Maya Angelou, and a few more CBC members.

But as the NAACP meets in Cincinnati this month with 35-year-old president-elect Ben Jealous preparing to take over, it seems the tide may be slowly washing away the old guard. Fresh new leaders like Adrian Fenty in Washington, Cory Booker in Newark, Deval Patrick in Massachusetts, David Paterson in New York, and Barack Obama in Illinois are stepping up to the plate.

And of course there's your own son, Rep. Jesse Jackson, Jr., who embodies so much of what you've worked to achieve in your lifetime.

Most of these young leaders are smart, educated, professionals who never held a picket sign and never met Dr. King, but they do represent the changing demographics in black America, and in America at large.

At 66, you're probably not thinking about retirement yet. Famous people don't really retire at 65. Heck, I just saw 68-year-old Beatles drummer Ringo Starr on Larry King's show this week, and that's to say nothing of 74-year-old Larry King himself.

So what does a black civil rights icon do when there's a new guy on center stage? After all, no one can ever replace you. You know the issues inside out, and you know all the players, from the president on down. You can still give a heck of a speech, you run a multi-million dollar nonprofit, and people will pay attention to your words for the rest of your life.

That last part is kind of a problem. By now, you've figured out that reporters listen to what you say. And despite your apology last night, it's still pretty clear that you have a few issues with Barack Obama.

My advice is to call Barack directly and talk to him about it. Don't pretend like everything is kosher when it's clearly not. Tell him what's on you mind. I'm sure he'll take your phone call. As long as you don't threaten to cut off the guy's nuts, he might listen to you.

Of course, in a perfect world, you should be able to criticize Senator Obama whenever you disagree with him. But this is not a perfect world, and given your prominent role in the black community, anything negative you say about Obama at this point will be interpreted as an attack.

America's never gotten this close to electing a black man as president, and many Obama supporters are not about to let a disgruntled critic stand in the way, even if he is a civil rights icon. So you might want to chill right now.

At some point in September or October, the Obama campaign may call you to help them get out the vote. If they don't call, don't take it personally. If they do call, do the right thing and help out. In the meantime, you might want to keep a low profile.