When asked why I left the United States for Britain in 2001, I like to joke that I was seeking political asylum. Lest we forget, that was the year George W. Bush took office and even from those early days many people on both the Right and the Left of the political spectrum had an overwhelming sense of foreboding about what exactly his philosophy of “compassionate conservatism” entailed.

However, the real reason was that at 25 I’d had enough of feeling pathologically suffocated because of my race. I was cynical and despondent about the lie of the American Dream where anyone regardless of race, religion or colour could achieve anything and everything. It simply wasn’t true. Minorities were the exception. It was astonishing and depressing how race remained an unresolved issue in the US even at the start of the 21st century.

I was worn down by the daily grind of being black in America. Like being born with a port-wine birthmark across my face, I was constantly aware and reminded that I was somehow different; that I was black. You wake up and you’re black, you drive down the road, you are black, you make an acquaintance and before you’re tall or fat or attractive or bright, you’re black. It was a matter of having to overcome constantly any preconceptions of who I was in order to function in a society where despite making incredible and impressive progress and achievements, blacks were still socially, economically and politically subjugated to whites. Any egression from the shelter of the black community, even simply stepping out of the shelter of my parents’ home, meant having to regularly tolerate gasps of surprise at my middle-class upbringing, amazed chuckles at my first-class education and bewildered expressions at my “unusually articulate” manner of speaking (I dreaded meeting people face to face who had first heard me on the phone – they would always be taken aback because they weren’t expecting a black person). After all, blacks were supposed to be high-school drop-outs interested only in living off the state or on drug money, who could speak only in incomprehensible street slang.

So I left. I chose London because of its more open and tolerant atmosphere and I never looked back. That is, until now.

Barack Obama’s stunning win at the Iowa caucuses and triumphant victory in the South Carolina primary at the weekend has allowed me to feel for my country what I thought almost impossible: hope. To borrow the title of the Illinois Senator’s book, his ever-increasing popularity has allowed me to feel “the audacity of hope” as he campaigns his way to reclaiming the American Dream.

It would prove that my fellow Americans were finally walking the talk; that the country is a much different place than the divisive one I left.

Ever since the abandonment of “separate but equal” laws, the proclamation of equal opportunity and the insistence of the American Dream, minorities have known that the highest and most powerful positions – especially that of the President of the United States – were out of their reach. But the immense act of Mr Obama being elected to said office would erase the history that has prevented African-Americans from being able to fully participate in the US.

I’m under no illusion that upon the moment he is sworn into office that prejudice, unequal access to education, healthcare and employment will suddenly disappear, but his election will draw a line under the decades-old sense of discord.

Moreover, his inspirational campaign of hope – in direct opposition to George W. Bush’s campaign of fear – would set America back on the path to being the young, optimistic, risk-taker who dares to dream she was when founded all those years ago.

If Barack Obama goes on to win the White House, I could finally entertain the idea of going back.

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