Eight American presidents owned slaves while living in the White House. President Zachary Taylor pledged that his fellow slave owners would “appeal to the sword if necessary” to keep them. So when an American president arrived at the White House briefing room to speak of his personal experience with racial bias, it stirred some historical ghosts.

Typically, President Barack Obama's remarks did not aspire to memorable rhetoric. Rather than “I have a dream,” it was “I have an explanation.” But he explained something uncomfortable and important: how America contains within itself different experiences of the promise and justice of America.

Speaking as president, Obama responsibly affirmed the integrity of the legal process in the Trayvon Martin case. Speaking as an African-American, he identified with being singled out. He talked of being followed in department stores and hearing car locks click. This description was more powerful for being clinical. He conveyed a social reality many people seldom consider. One of the privileges of looking privileged is anonymity. One of the burdens of appearing less privileged is feeling watched.

Some conservatives attacked Obama for being “divisive” and for injecting race into the Trayvon Martin debate. Those criticisms were misdirected. It is appropriate for a president to apply his own history to his role as communicator and policymaker. Was it out of bounds for John F. Kennedy, who had a mentally disabled sister, to call for an overhaul of the mental health system in 1963? Was it inappropriate for Lyndon Johnson, who grew up in Texas without electricity or indoor plumbing, to convene the National Advisory Commission on Rural Poverty?

The opposite criticism is more serious — that Obama has missed opportunities to talk about race in a compelling and personal way. It is the unavoidable American issue. At one point, a third of all human beings in the South were owned by another human being. For a century beyond slavery, Jim Crow laws enforced a racial caste system. The election of an African-American president is a wonder of national healing. Who can argue that we have heard too much from Obama on this topic? For five years, he strategically downplayed the reality of his own miracle.



But Obama's speech deserves this criticism: Its policy proposals — training police, reconsidering “stand your ground” laws, more community dialogue and “soul-searching” — were weak. It was as though the administration's policy apparatus had never considered the matter before.


But is there really nothing practical that can be done? How about providing family supports — mentoring, fatherhood initiatives, teen pregnancy prevention and removing the earned income tax credit penalty for married couples? How about accountability measures to close the educational achievement gap? How about support for faith-based institutions that reclaim lives from gangs? How about prison reform, so that mandatory minimum sentences are reduced? How about expanding substance abuse prevention and treatment?

Acknowledging a vast national division in a responsible way, as Obama has done, is not divisive. But healing that division will require him to employ a presidential power he seldom uses: to drive and shape a policy debate.