Just as many of us recall where we were when the Berlin Wall was torn down and on 9/11, we will remember where we were on Tuesday, January 20, 2009, the day Barack Obama was inaugurated as the first African-American President of the United States. For those of us living in Washington, DC, it was very much a case of, “We were there.”

My husband and I arrived from Europe with a tiny son to join the World Bank Group in 1986. Close on 23 years later, he has graduated from university while his three siblings, a brother and two sisters, are on the verge of finishing school or starting college. They are typical World Bank Third Culture Kids: children of parents of different nationalities growing up in a third country. Only two of the four could be in DC with us. Frustrated cries of “Why can’t we be with you?” came down the phone from the others. It’s at times like these that they have no doubt Washington is home and they are Americans.

They were in my thoughts on the cold grey Sunday afternoon my youngest child, Felicia, and I walked with thousands down Washington’s monumental avenues towards the Mall. There we joined tens of thousands more for the concert on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial that launched three days of inaugural celebrations. The crowd roared when Barack Obama delivered inspirational words about the lessons of American history, applauded when such popular heroes as Tom Hanks and Tiger Woods paid tribute to everyday Americans, opened their voices to sing the iconic “American Pie” and “This Land is Your Land” with Bruce Springsteen, Garth Brooks, and Pete Seeger.

Yet, looking out from his monument, Abraham Lincoln’s austere gaze ensured we didn’t forget the violence and individual leadership that had brought America to this point. After all, only 46 years had passed since Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., had stood before him on the same steps and proclaimed, “I Have a Dream.”

Dr. King and music brought Felicia and me to the National Cathedral the following day. It was here, in March 1968, that he preached his last Sunday sermon. And it is here that artists of all ages and ethnicities from the DC area gather every year on Martin Luther King Day to honor his life and work, and celebrate his birthday. On Monday, January 19, thousands filled the Cathedral.

The focus of this year’s event was clear the moment we entered. Handed a sheet of paper with the heading, “A Letter to President Barack Obama”, we were encouraged to follow Dr. King’s example. Whenever he believed a situation needed action, he wrote to the President. We should write to Barack Obama about our wishes for the future, about what we wanted fixed. He would receive our letters when he attended the prayer service at the Cathedral the morning following his inauguration.

Turning to hand a pen to the group sitting behind me, I met eleven law students, girlfriends, who had travelled from Toronto “to be part of history.” On the train they had met a man who had arrived from Africa “to be part of history.” In front of me, two women from upstate New York had decided they couldn’t live history in front of television—they needed to experience it.

The rhythmic booming of the African Heritage Dancers and Drummers brought us back to the present; our adrenalin raced.

Then came the poets. Omekongo Dibinga, a community activist, gave an African’s view of the history between Africa and the West in “Love that Hate Produced” (his motto for achieving cultural understanding is “opening eyes one mind at a time”). His “On the Winds of Change” is where we are now. D. Tokia 2 Deep Carter, a DC school teacher, drew verbal pictures of the consequences for military orphans of being unable to access the military benefits left them by their parents who had served. She then challenged us with “Today is a dream and all the people in it merely dreamers witnessing a transformation as they awake from a deep sleep . . .”; the outcome is up to us. Quique Avilez, from El Salvador, believed that with Barack Obama a poet will lead America. In “Children of Latinia”, he talked of the children of adults who fall in love regardless of the color of skin and ethnicity, hybrid children, like the President-elect, who are also American. Like so many of our World Bank children, like so many in DC. “Which culture is the source of our dreams?” he mused.

The Cathedral Scholars, DC Public High School Students, wondering what Dr. King would have stressed when writing to the new President, wrote him a letter urging education reform. Bomani Armah, their tutor at the Cathedral, a poet, and host of the afternoon’s events, reemphasized their point: supporting public schools would be the most important investment in any financial stimulus package.

Then came music. Daniel Davis, a 16-year-old Hip Hop violinist, who had played at Barack Obama’s rallies, weaved melodies and rhythms from Beethoven, jazz, nursery rhymes, and folk and brought us to our feet.

Felicia was singing with Urban Nation H.I.P.-H.O.P. choir (Hope Integrity Power –Helping Our People). Founder and director, Rickey Payton Sr., a DC native, is a larger than life figure with a huge hug, a huge voice, and a huge heart that welcomes all. Believing music can transform a young person’s life the choir reaches out to DC youth, plagued by some of the country’s worst literacy, teenage pregnancy, and Aids rates. Many who join have never sung, yet succeed in learning musical styles ranging from gospel to musical theater. Creating together dissolves differences and unites. With the choir as “family”, Rickey encourages these young people to “Make it happen.”

That afternoon the choir sang through “Let My People Go”, “We Shall Overcome”, John Lennon’s “Imagine”, to “Yes We Can”, Rickey’s composition that, using the leitmotif of Barack Obama’s presidential campaign, commemorates his election. As the music flowed, the crowd rose again, swaying and singing with them. This event became the birthday party Bomani had told us it should be.

As I watched Felicia singing with her friends from across the city surrounded by a sea of people from across the nation, a phrase from Rickey’s song stuck in my mind, “Be the change you want to see.” It captured the essence of the preceding 24 hours and the significance of the inauguration that would take place the next day.

Like so many who have lived years away from their own cultures and have lost their shadow, as my mother describes it, or who, like my children and I, are rootless Third Culture Kids, committing to an idea or ideal gives purpose and so, identity. This phrase is helping my family navigate our preparation for our departure from Washington this summer, and the confusion surrounding our “return” to our passport identities. It defines what has become American about us and what we will always carry with us. It makes sense of our years here.

Will we manage our transition and the uncertainties of this new chapter? Now I can answer, yes.

Imogen Morizet