Norman Mailer once described Chicago as the leading American city in his well-known foreword to his chronicle of the tumultuous 1968 Democratic Congress. This claim remains undisputed to this day, over 50 years later. In late August, when the weather is divine, and the infamous Chicago breeze is warm and inviting, the city is nothing short of stunning. This is particularly true when viewed from the old elevated train system that meanders through the bustling city streets – a magnificent creation in its own right.
However, Chicago is a multifaceted city. On the last day of the convention, Lowell Thompson was stationed near the imposing black exterior fence of the expansive arena where the Democratic celebration was in full swing. Intent on joining the crowd headed towards the security boundary, he sat perched on his portable chair. His friendly demeanour was accompanied by a patch over his right eye beneath his spectacles and a distinctive hat he regarded as his finest creation since becoming one of the initial African-Americans to penetrate the elite advertising industry.
Inviting comments on his hat from those passing by, Thompson’s mundane black baseball cap was emblazoned with the word “Karmala”, a play on the United States’ Vice President’s first name that he had already trademarked. Such lexical twists have become increasingly popular since she succeeded Joe Biden as the Democratic candidate.
There has been a notable rise in support for the AfD in various German cities as Björn Höcke champions a dramatic reconsideration of their perspective on their Nazi history. Back in Chicago, the persistent plight of the city’s African-American residents serves as a stark reminder that old struggles often persist. Kamala Harris recently lauded her improbable path as she embraced her Democratic nomination amid a surge of party spirit. Meanwhile, Beijing’s efforts to encourage a higher number of marriages have received a mixed response.
Thompson stumbled upon the advertising industry unexpectedly. He was a 20-year-old support system to his family, who had let go of his scholarship at the Art Institute of Chicago. During the uproar in 1968, following Martin Luther King’s assassination, Thompson noted that corporate America was beginning to recognise the potential of ethnic minorities beyond inferior roles. He came across an internship at a major advertising agency in the city, thanks to The National Urban League, an institution aimed at assisting African-Americans transition into corporate America.
Thompson wittily compared the style of the FCB’s personnel manager with Mad Men characters, Don Draper and his boss, though hinting he was far more slick. His welcoming nature and the grandeur of his office left a significant impact on Thompson. After getting acquainted with FCB, Thompson was certain about his career path in advertising.
Several years later, Thompson retired as the executive vice-president of FCB, but the amalgamation of business and creativity never ceased to inspire him. Thompson jovially shared his journey with those who engaged in a conversation with him.
Reflecting the ethos of the Democratic convention, Thompson’s ascent to triumph, despite the odds, underscores the potential that the American Dream holds for everyone given the right opportunity.
Lowell Thompson’s personal narrative is as extraordinary in its own manner as any heard during the DNC, resembling an epic tale. Raised in Bronzeville’s Robert Taylor Homes, a social housing project infamous for its failure and harsh urban policy in postwar America, Thompson’s early life was heavily influenced by his environment. Inaugurated in 1962, the housing project was a tribute to Robert Rochon Taylor, a black American architect known for his advocacy for social housing.
Taylor dreamt of biracial, mixed-income housing to tackle segregation and the slum life, which his project soon epitomised. His vision, however, was obstructed by city planners keen on isolating communities. Eventually, Taylor resigned and passed away in 1957. The project memorialised in his name consisted of 28 homogenous brown high-rise edifices spanning over a two-mile strip. The project initially planned to accommodate 11,000 residents, however by late 1970s it housed 27,000 individuals, mostly black Americans. The conditions were ghastly, characterised by extreme poverty, unemployment, drug abuse, criminal activity, gang prevalence, and oppressive policing policies mimicking those of prisons.
The notorious buildings were brought down in 2007, on the brink of Barack Obama’s historic presidency, in an effort to erase the bleak legacy they had cast over the lives of their inhabitants. The aim was to replace the disarray left behind with something closer to Taylor’s dream. The plan has seen some degree of success with property prices soaring over the past decade in Bronzeville as signs of gentrification emerge.
However, Chicago is seeing a sharp decrease in its black population. The numbers reached their highest in 1980, at 1.2 million, but have since decreased by a remarkable 32%. Black residents are moving to suburbs or southern states in the pursuit of improved living conditions, employment, and educational prospects. This occurrence contrasts starkly with the Great Migration, wherein over half a million black Americans, primarily from the south, moved to the city leaving an irreplaceable impact on Chicago’s music, food, and culture. The city’s racial dynamics serve as a reminder that numerous black Americans still face persistent issues, even with the Obamas’ return to the city and escalating support for Kamala Harris within the Democratic Party.