SAN ANSELMO, Calif. — It’s hard to miss Brian Colbert. It’s not just his burly 6-foot-4 frame, his clean-shaven head or the boldly patterned, brightly colored Hawaiian shirts he’s adopted as an unofficial uniform.
Colbert is one of just a small number of Black people who live in wealthy, woodsy and very white Marin County — and the first Black supervisor elected since the county’s founding more than 175 years ago.
He didn’t lean into race, or history, as he campaigned in the fall. He didn’t have to. “As a large Black man,” he said, his physicality and the barrier-breaking nature of his candidacy were self-evident.
Rather, Colbert won after knocking, by his count, on 20,000 doors, wearing out several pairs of size 15 shoes and putting parochial concerns, such as wildfire prevention, disaster preparedness and flood control, at the center of his campaign. He continues, during these early months in office, to focus on a garden variety of municipal issues: housing, traffic, making local government more accessible and responsive.
That’s not to say, however, that Colbert doesn’t have deeply felt thoughts on the precedent his election set, or the significance of the lived experience he brings to office — different from most in this privileged slice of the San Francisco Bay Area — at a time President Trump is turning his back on civil rights and his administration treats diversity, equity and inclusion as though they were four-letter words.
“I think of the challenges, the indignities that my grandparents suffered on a daily basis” living under Jim Crow, Colbert said over lunch recently in his hometown of San Anselmo. He carefully chose his words, at one point resting an index finger on his temple to signal a pause as he gathered his thoughts.
Colbert recalled visits to Savannah, Ga., where he attended Baptist church services with his mother’s parents.
“I remember looking at the faces,” Colbert said, “and to me they were the faces of African Americans waiting for death, because they were aware and knew of the opportunities that had been denied to them simply because of the color of their skin. But what gave them hope was the belief their kids and grandkids would have a better life. I am a product of that hope, in so many ways.”
Colbert, 57, grew up in Bethel, Conn., about 60 miles northeast of New York City. Residents tried to prevent his parents — an accountant and a stay-at-home mom — from moving into the overwhelmingly white community. Neighbors circulated a petition urging the owners to not sell their home to the Black couple. They did so anyway.
Colbert went on to earn degrees in political science and acting, public policy and law. He traveled the world with his wife, a Syrian American, practiced law on Wall Street, ran a chocolate company and a small tech firm. He lived for 3½ years in Turkey, where he taught international law and political science at a private university.
In 2007, when the couple returned to the U.S., they set their sights on the Bay Area, drawn by the weather, the natural beauty and the entrepreneurial spirit that drew countless opportunity seekers before them. (Colbert started wearing Hawaiian shirts on the Silicon Valley conference circuit, after being mistaken one too many times for a security guard.)
In 2013, Colbert, his wife and their daughter settled in San Anselmo, a charmy tree-lined community about 15 miles north of the Golden Gate Bridge. The relatively short commute to San Francisco, where he manages a medical concierge service, the quality schools and the vast open space were big attractions — though Colbert knew he and his family would stand out, just as he had in Bethel.
San Anselmo, with its rugged hillsides and red-brick downtown, has about 13,000 residents. The Black population is less than 2%. But Colbert’s extensive travels and life overseas convinced him that people “on a certain level [are] the same” everywhere — “warm, welcoming, kind, generous, helpful.”
He had an abiding interest in policy and public service, so in 2013 Colbert joined the city’s Economic Development Council. Four years later, he was elected to the Town Council. He served seven years, one in the rotating position of mayor, before running for the nonpartisan Board of Supervisors.
Inevitably, he encountered racism along the way. There were threatening phone calls and emails. He got the occasional side-eye as he canvassed door-to-door in all-white neighborhoods. For the most part, however, “people were incredibly pleasant” and campaigning “was no more challenging … than it would be [for] any candidate.”
On a recent sunny afternoon, Colbert was greeted heartily — “Hey, Brian!” “Hey, supervisor!” — as he strode past Town Hall to Imagination Park, a gift the city’s most famous resident, filmmaker George Lucas, bequeathed along with life-sized statues of Yoda and Indiana Jones.
These are fraught times. The reckoning that followed the murder of George Floyd has given way to a backlash and a president who disdains efforts at equality, complains of anti-white prejudice and purges powerful Black men and women in the name of a mythical colorblind society.
Given a chance to speak directly to Trump, what would Colbert — a Democrat — say?
“Mr. President, thank you for your service,” he began. “Being in public offices is hard and difficult.”
He paused. Several beats passed. A waiter cleared away dishes.
“I would encourage you to change your tone, certainly publicly, and broaden your perspective and embrace those who might have a different perspective than you,” Colbert went on. “Many people have come to this country and they’ve added value. They’ve made this country for the better.
“Remember those who don’t necessarily have easy access to power. Remember those who are struggling. Focus on those who are most vulnerable and are highly dependent on the government to help them through a short amount of time. I mean, the American experiment is incredible. Keep that in mind. A little empathy. Simple acts of kindness. Place yourself into someone else’s shoes.
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
