The author of Ace of Spades on Barack Obama's identity crisis

This is shaping up to be quite the democratic primary—a spic, a broad, and most importantly, a real live colored rounding out the ticket. It only took us 400 years to get here, from the field to the house to, perhaps, the White House. Racially, though, we've been down this electoral road before (with Reverends Sharpton and Jackson), but never with this much gas in the tank. Could we really be ready to elect a black president? A nuanced, scholarly interpretation of the political landscape and American history leaves me, a marginal black man, with just one reasonable conclusion: Nope.

Make no mistake: This campaign will be a subliminal return to the era of mammies, sambos, and bug-eyed coons; lock up your daughters and hide the good silverFirst, let's deal with the question of Obama's racial identity. With regard to melanin, he's not "biracial"—he's black. I know all about the ofay mom from Kansas and how that supposedly makes him "mixed," but I'm not buying it. I'm mixed and look about 10 shades lighter than the senator (I'm somewhere between Harold Ford and Gerald Ford in complexion), but I got called nigger growing up, and many is the cab that's passed me by. Mixed still means black in much of America, and nearly all of the South. Ordinarily I'd be more flexible with the definition, but Senator Obama's father (who split when Barack was just a boy—now that's a brother!) is Kenyan. You mix a Kenyan with Richie Cunningham and you're still getting a kid closer to Wesley Snipes than Lisa Bonet. I mean, you gotta go through six, seven generations before you wash Kenyan-black out of your system; it's tougher than a red-wine stain on a shag rug. Now, in terms of African-American culture, compared to Barack Obama, Sam Brownback is an off-the-corner, jeans-sagging, Chick-O-Stik-eating homeboy.

Forget about Obama being shuttled between Indonesia and Hawaii (not exactly hotbeds of black and white racial dynamics) by his mother; the best clue to his cultural roots can be found in his nickname, Barry. A real brother would have shortened Barack to Rock. Rock Obama. Cool. Barry is the name of the guy who sold your grandparents aluminum siding in 1977. And it looks like the Congressional Black Caucus is taking note. Few have offered endorsements, and Reverend Al Sharpton is thus far unimpressed, labeling the senator's campaign as short on substance, high on media "razzle-dazzle." Conclusion: Obama's too black for the white vote and too white for the black vote. Still, he will likely get a good slice of the black vote just for the "one of us" and "it's about damn time" factors.

But it's not black America we need to worry about in terms of the inevitable flimflam the senator's candidacy will go through. It is white America who has, so far, loudly voiced their enthusiastic willingness to overlook color in a presidential race. Remember what the RNC cats did to the aforementioned Harold Ford? You can't believe what people tell pollsters. Make no mistake: This campaign will be a subliminal return to the era of mammies, sambos, and bug-eyed coons. Lock up your daughters and hide the good silver. Before you know it, the competition will escalate policy-driven attacks into an assault on black masculinity, and every affair the guy's ever had will find its way onto the national ticker. What's that? How do I know he's had extramarital affairs? He's a black man in public life! That's how we do—Martin, Jesse, Cosby, and honorary soul brother number one, Billy C. And if Senator Obama hasn't had one yet, a few months on a tour bus will give the brother a lot more audacity to go along with all that hope. The man will be set up, bet on that. And if she's white? Oh, snap—that's gonna be some good television.

I do think that large numbers of mainstream white America will be able to ignore, with smug faux righteousness, Obama's skin color, which will be a sort of racism all its own. Support of him will amount to tacit condemnation of the black America that has had a difficult time escaping the institutional legacy of racism (both real and now somewhat self-fulfilling, which does not mitigate the tragedy of it). By propping Obama upon their liberal shoulders, they'll be saying, without ever having to utter a word, "See! This spear chucker pulled himself up by his bootstraps—what's the matter with the rest of y'all?!" (Note Senator Joe Biden's racially tinged comments on Obama being the first "mainstream African American" candidate who is "articulate, bright" and, most damningly, "clean.")

If Howard Dean was derailed by a scream, Obama will be undone by a whisperObama lacks the Southern, borne-in-the-pulpit cadences of our historic black leadership, which makes him in general an easier sell for whites. There's none of that pesky guilt, no oratorios reminiscent of water hoses, German shepherds, and billy clubs—just good old-fashioned pluck and luck and the American dream, unburdened by the ire of "I have a dream." America, white America at least, likes to feel guilty and blameless all at once. "Yes, we kept you down," their support of Obama says, "but let's not dwell on ancient history." Whites are saying one thing, but my gut tells me it's the politically correct fear of pollsters that is buoying Obama's numbers. As the primaries get closer, the liberal pack will become finely tuned to the slightest rumblings, ready to stampede at the faintest rustle through the political landscape. If Howard Dean was derailed by a scream, Obama will be undone by a whisper.

Which brings us to the donkey in the corner, the looming aspect of this candidacy that we ignore at our own peril: Hillary.

Among African-American voters, polls show that Senator Clinton is already beating out Obama three to one. (To be fair, it's early yet.) Hillary has a trump card among white voters, who, their liberal jones satisfied by a vote for a (white) woman, might feel absolved of having had to vote for a black candidate. She also has a trump card among black voters because she's married to a man "blacker," in the eyes of many African Americans, than "Barry" ever could be. I know Bill likes fried chicken and watermelon ... Barry, I'm not so sure about. Neither can carry the South, so even a Clinton/Obama ticket (in any order you like) is out of the question for the party if they want to win the popular vote. (Although the psychosexual power dynamic of either scenario is tantalizing: White woman president with a black man as VP, or black male president with a white woman as his subordinate ... wow. Must. Rent. Mandingo. Now.)

No, if anything, Obama and Hillary will split the PC liberal vote, and the electorate will pick the harmless, boringly charming John Edwards—perhaps with Obama as running mate, but hey, a bullet or stroke away would still be closer to a black presidency than we've ever been before!—or maybe Bill Richardson (the rationale being that a Mexican is kind of like a black person, only better at landscaping) and thereby avoid making the near-impossible decision to raise a black man to the presidency.

Roll on, to Oprah in '12.

David Matthews is a writer living in Brooklyn. His memoir, Ace of Spades, about growing up biracial in Baltimore, Maryland, is out this week from Henry Holt & Co.