Aaaaaargh! Enough already!

It is time to put this putrid idea to rest, bury it deep in the compost pile where it belongs. Let me make this perfectly clear: Clinton is not black. He does not "talk" black, whatever on Earth that means. He does not "walk" black either. I'm sure I'm not the only black man in America who finds such woefully distorted logic insulting and distasteful. Surely others can't help but see the painful irony of Clinton being celebrated as a hero in a legendary community where giants once walked the streets. Harlem helped nurture the talents of men like W.E.B. Du Bois, Paul Robeson, Langston Hughes and James Weldon Johnson, and when we carelessly tolerate the connection of Bill Clinton to their storied legacy we sully the names of immortals.

Are black men so hungry for modern heroes that we eagerly exchange brotherhood for Clinton's occasional teary-eyed assurance that he feels our pain? And are such gestures, regardless of their sincerity, sufficient to overcome Clinton's many, repeated moral failings? What have black men to gain by attaching our loyalty so firmly to a man whose place in history grows shakier by the minute?

I've never understood many blacks' irrational exuberance where Clinton was concerned. I didn't trust him from the get-go, smelled something rotten during his first successful presidential campaign, when he attempted to reassure moderate-leaning whites by making a symbolic punching bag out of Sister Souljah, a marginal hip-hop performer with minimal influence. My suspicion deepened when he turned his back on Haitian refugees moments after moving into the White House. These and other slick maneuverings linger in my memory whenever anyone, even jokingly, associates the content of the former president's character with the color of my skin.

I'd never thought I'd wish that blackness was an exclusive club with its own set of unique privileges but lately I've recognized the value of elite memberships. I've seen how belonging to the Senate club afforded John Ashcroft relatively painless access to the top job at the Justice Department. I've seen how Clinton's stellar resumé affords him the opportunity to practice his putting in exclusive country clubs in places like Little Rock and Miami.

With that in mind, President Clinton and anyone else considering joining the fraternity of black men should be aware that, as with any other elite group, a certain amount of dues-paying is in order. Maybe the former leader of the free world has already successfully negotiated our well-worn rites of passage. Maybe he has been frequently mistaken for a shoplifter, mugger, drug courier or carjacker. Maybe he's been followed around stores for no apparent reason. Maybe he has been pleasantly surprised when a cab responds promptly to his outstretched hand. One thing he certainly has not done is pursue his livelihood as most African-American men have done, with grace, dedication and integrity, far beyond the spotlight.

Mr. President, I've worked with black men. I've known black men. Some black men have been friends of mine. And you, sir, are no black man.

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