You Can’t Be Serious(53)

I left that “don’t eat any of the food” fundraiser feeling inspired (and super hungry). I drove back to my apartment, pounded some tacos, and spent the day reading through the policy papers on Obama’s campaign website. In the evening, I showered and got ready for the reception with Olivia.



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The artists’ reception was held in a small room on a lower floor of the fancy-pants Beverly Hilton hotel. There were about fifty actors and musicians there, enjoying the wine-and-beer open bar. Obama rolled in a little late, announcing, “I’ve done my stump speech a few times today at our different fundraisers, so if it’s okay with you, I’d like to just spend some time walking around the room, getting to know you instead. Any opposition?” Obviously not. “Before I do that, I just wanted to say one thing: I think what you guys do is pretty incredible. I like to think I’m a pop culture–savvy guy. I love music and film—my wife, Michelle, and I are passionate about the arts. Some of the work you guys do… that stuff is among our greatest cultural exports. Movies, television, film, music—these things capture the spirit of the American people: the way we live, the way we work, the things we love. They make so many people around the world happy.”

Then Obama shouted out a few individuals he recognized, starting with Justin Timberlake (maybe Obama just couldn’t see me from where he was standing?). “Justin. Because of you, a single mom somewhere is listening to your songs on her iPod and keeping her head up just a little while longer as she takes the bus to her third job. Olivia, because of you, a latchkey kid whose dad might be locked up and whose mom is working hard to feed the family can come home and take his mind off of things for a little while—you’re the solace and the humor that brightens the day. You all bring hope to so many people. I’m here today to ask for your help in Iowa, so we can get elected and start to make these folks’ lives better in a substantive way, by changing policy.”

I was stunned. This dude was definitely for real. Here I was expecting a tamer, more hollow politiciany ask, and instead, Obama was making a genuine connection between the arts and real people’s lives. He was inviting us to be part of a solution, and he was connecting our very privileged existence to something worthwhile in people’s everyday struggles.

No matter what you do for a living, whether you’re an artist or not, it’s easy to get lost in the minutiae of the day-to-day. But in that split second, Obama reminded us about the audiences who watch and listen to what we create. He connected it to an opportunity to help. Like everyone energized by his campaign, it made us feel like we were invited to be a part of something bigger than ourselves.



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It’s tough to explain that special moment on its own, unless you also have a sense of how more-traditional campaigns operated. Obama’s pitch—genuine, heartfelt, sincere—stood in contrast to the more calculating way an acquaintance working on the fundraising team of another campaign had approached me. A few weeks earlier, she had asked me to consider speaking at an event designed for the South Asian American community in New York.

As you know by now, while I’m mindful that many demographic groups (like South Asian Americans) are underrepresented in media, entertainment, politics, and policy, I generally dislike things that are exclusively couched in race or ethnicity. So, I asked a few questions about this South Asian political event. My finance acquaintance didn’t sugarcoat it: The reason she wanted my help was because there was “a lot of untapped money in the Indian American community.” She didn’t pretend that there were deeper reasons: It all came back to You’re a draw as an actor, Elections require fundraising, and You can help get the Indian money. As always, I appreciated the honesty, but this seemed a bit patronizing, so I politely declined.

The political finance world can be icky across the board. Most campaigns across party lines hold demographic-specific fundraisers. Like that South Asian political event, these are often organized by those demographic groups themselves. It’s a way to exercise political muscle and serve real community needs. In my case, after spending the first chunk of my career having to navigate race in Hollywood, I didn’t want to be a token brown guy for anyone.

Standing there at the Obama event, I thought about how a primary election offers a chance for people to not only air their disagreements and pitch bolder policy ideas but to show voters that an entirely different style of politics is possible.



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Obama’s approach at the time was so different—not only was he not taking lobbyist money, he wasn’t pursuing Olivia Wilde’s support in an effort to carry the women’s vote, just as he wasn’t courting me to volunteer because I’m brown.8 His pitch was simple: Let’s work together to make all our fellow Americans’ lives better, to make the country we love even stronger. It was an authentic statement, and it was delivered in an authentic way.

That evening, as the senator made the rounds, people talked to him about sports, or music, or life on the road. I decided I wasn’t going to waste time on small talk. I’d ask him a question about a recurring topic in those policy papers I had spent my whole afternoon devouring: biofuels.

I fancied myself a little wonkier than the others in the room. You see, I was enrolled in a distance-learning graduate certificate program in international security at Stanford University. (Yes, super nerdy to do a graduate program in international security as a hobby.) I had recently read an article in Foreign Affairs about the potential risks of ethanol and was sure this made me kind of an expert on the topic. Plus, if I applied my knowledge to what I read on his website, I could ask an actual policy question. In a room full of actors, that would make me look super smooth. I was sure Obama would be very impressed.