Are You a Real American?
I found this on Andy Hansen's blog. I love his work with comic strips. He often adapts them. This one he didn't have to.
(click strip to enlarge)~From Non Sequitur, by Wiley
Labels: humor
(click strip to enlarge)
What to Do with All this Science
A co-contributor to the Reinventing the Adventist Wheel blog, Andy Hansen, posted what I find to be a most beautiful and incisive poem in response to a recently published article about evolution on Adventist Today, entitled "Debate: Can You Be an Adventist and an Evolutionist?" Two schools of thought square off in the article: Cliff Goldstein, editor of the Adult Bible Study Guide for the SDA Church (pictured below) presents the traditional Adventist view, and Erv Taylor, professor emeritus of anthropology at the University of California, Riverside, presents a progressive view.
What was great about Andy's way in was that it reminded me of all I was taught growing up...
What was great about Andy's way in was that it reminded me of all I was taught growing up...
Cliff and Erv,
Religion is a lot more complicated than it used to be when I was growing up
The earth was 6000 years old then and that was that
Dinosaur remains were just collections of mixed up animal bones
The geologic column wasn't discussed and no one at church or school or
In my neighborhood asked questions about who Cain married
And how Noah got all those animals in the ark not counting insects
Shells on mountaintops were evidence of a worldwide flood
That covered everything including Mr. Everest
But now there's Plate Tectonics and geophysics
And we know dinosaurs were real and maybe a comet crash
Or volcanic ash or a shift in the earth's crust did them in
And then there's the vegetation in the stomachs of mammoths
Quick-frozen in the Arctic that's so fresh it's edible
It's hard to believe that a pair of platypuses got to Australia from Ararat
And it sure looks like things died long before Adam sinned
Finish the poem at RTAW>>>
Religion is a lot more complicated than it used to be when I was growing up
The earth was 6000 years old then and that was that
Dinosaur remains were just collections of mixed up animal bones
The geologic column wasn't discussed and no one at church or school or
In my neighborhood asked questions about who Cain married
And how Noah got all those animals in the ark not counting insects
Shells on mountaintops were evidence of a worldwide flood
That covered everything including Mr. Everest
But now there's Plate Tectonics and geophysics
And we know dinosaurs were real and maybe a comet crash
Or volcanic ash or a shift in the earth's crust did them in
And then there's the vegetation in the stomachs of mammoths
Quick-frozen in the Arctic that's so fresh it's edible
It's hard to believe that a pair of platypuses got to Australia from Ararat
And it sure looks like things died long before Adam sinned
Finish the poem at RTAW>>>
Labels: poetry, science and religion
Hillary's Money Woes
"When someone shows you who they are, believe them."
~Maya Angelou
Sometimes this is a indicting realization. Some realizations are moments of relief. I've experienced both. No matter tenure, realization can be quite the challenge.
Hillary Clinton's challenges appear to be with money. From White Water to her current reluctance to be release with her income and campaign finance records, forthrightness with her financial dealings does not appear to be Sen. Clinton's strong suit. Yet she remains incredibly adept at diverting attention from the fact.
The following is a 13-minute trail for the documentary Hillary! Uncensored, recently released by US Justice Foundation as a part of its Hillary Clinton Accountability Project. It documents what, if true, is the largest campaign finance fraud in US history. To learn more, visit http://www.hillcap.org. Is it a just representation of the facts? You be the judge.
Last night's The Daily Show with John Stewart had the best treatment of the Obama speech on race and politics that I heard all day:
He followed that up with an attempt at adulthood:
Colbert also got in on the act:
Then this morning I found this post and this write up on Colbert's interview with Samantha Powers of "Hillary is a monster!" fame.
And major media outlets wonder why a large portion of Americans get their news from these guys. At least they admit their biases upfront--InDecision 2008, Something Approximating Election News with Something Approximating Honesty.
I also found this and figured here was as good a place as any to drop it in:
He followed that up with an attempt at adulthood:
Colbert also got in on the act:
Then this morning I found this post and this write up on Colbert's interview with Samantha Powers of "Hillary is a monster!" fame.
And major media outlets wonder why a large portion of Americans get their news from these guys. At least they admit their biases upfront--InDecision 2008, Something Approximating Election News with Something Approximating Honesty.
I also found this and figured here was as good a place as any to drop it in:
Labels: comedy, Obama, politics, race matters, video
Exorcising Our Demons
This is a Home-Training essay...
If properly understood, Senator Barak Obama's remarks today at the Constitution Center in Philadelphia, PA, constitute one of the most significant and honest public addresses ever made on America's 400-year struggle with race. Had we heeded DuBois' 1903 prophetic warning, The Souls of Black Folks, it would have found voice in the 20th century. There is a conversation America has, literally in some cases, been dying to have. That conversation is not in favor of any particular presidential candidate. Please don't relegate and dismiss it on those grounds. However, it is unlikely that we would be so inescapably confronted with such issues outside of a person of color experiencing some measure of success in a bid for the highest elected office in the land.
In her God's Politics post, "Putting Rev. Wright's Preaching in Perspective," Diana Butler Bass implored us to listen better to one another. Now let me suggest something to listen for. The thought is simple, but the lesson is not: Not everyone has experienced America in the same way. And we must lay down the self-absorption that makes us think this doesn't matter, if we are ever to begin to appreciate each other.
Permit a timely example. If you are not Black, you may not know that the Black church is the theatre in which Blacks have historically exorcised their demons—with the pastor as both theologue and thespian embodying the collective process of redemption for his/her people every week. Initially, church was the one place we could go that we weren't under massa's whip, which is why we relish it. Eventually, it became the center and sustainer of our community. So most of us understand Rev. Jeremiah Wright in a way that may escape others.
Church equaled life for us. Where else could we go to exorcise the demons of injustice and intransigence? Where else could we go to exorcise the marginalization and invalidation, the defeat and depression, the struggle and scorn? Where else could we go when our children asked—as my daughter did while coloring just the other day—if Jesus were brown or white? My answer was that he was born to Jewish parents, people of color, whom we usually refer to as olive-skinned. And her heartrending response at 5-years-old was: Why can't he be white? In all the pictures, he's white! Where else could we give cathartic voice to our inner demons in hopes of being transformed like the phoenix into "the better angels of our nature?"
If properly understood, Senator Barak Obama's remarks today at the Constitution Center in Philadelphia, PA, constitute one of the most significant and honest public addresses ever made on America's 400-year struggle with race. Had we heeded DuBois' 1903 prophetic warning, The Souls of Black Folks, it would have found voice in the 20th century. There is a conversation America has, literally in some cases, been dying to have. That conversation is not in favor of any particular presidential candidate. Please don't relegate and dismiss it on those grounds. However, it is unlikely that we would be so inescapably confronted with such issues outside of a person of color experiencing some measure of success in a bid for the highest elected office in the land.
In her God's Politics post, "Putting Rev. Wright's Preaching in Perspective," Diana Butler Bass implored us to listen better to one another. Now let me suggest something to listen for. The thought is simple, but the lesson is not: Not everyone has experienced America in the same way. And we must lay down the self-absorption that makes us think this doesn't matter, if we are ever to begin to appreciate each other.
Permit a timely example. If you are not Black, you may not know that the Black church is the theatre in which Blacks have historically exorcised their demons—with the pastor as both theologue and thespian embodying the collective process of redemption for his/her people every week. Initially, church was the one place we could go that we weren't under massa's whip, which is why we relish it. Eventually, it became the center and sustainer of our community. So most of us understand Rev. Jeremiah Wright in a way that may escape others.Church equaled life for us. Where else could we go to exorcise the demons of injustice and intransigence? Where else could we go to exorcise the marginalization and invalidation, the defeat and depression, the struggle and scorn? Where else could we go when our children asked—as my daughter did while coloring just the other day—if Jesus were brown or white? My answer was that he was born to Jewish parents, people of color, whom we usually refer to as olive-skinned. And her heartrending response at 5-years-old was: Why can't he be white? In all the pictures, he's white! Where else could we give cathartic voice to our inner demons in hopes of being transformed like the phoenix into "the better angels of our nature?"
Continue reading on God's Politics blog>>> Part 1 & Part 2
Labels: missional, politics, race matters, reconciliation
“A More Perfect Union”
Did you hear Obama's speech today?!!!
If properly understood, it should go down as one of the greatest speeches of the early 21st century and, if we had heeded DuBois prophetic warning, should have found voice in the 20th century.
This is the New Politics, and it is as noble as we've dared to dream! (Sorry to disappoint George Will.)
The fact that some have dutifully taken up their roles as cynic is just sad for them. I pray we don't allow them to rule the day.
Here's the video:
And for those who cherish the written word here's the full transcript:
“We the people, in order to form a more perfect union.”
Two hundred and twenty one years ago, in a hall that still stands across the street, a group of men gathered and, with these simple words, launched America’s improbable experiment in democracy. Farmers and scholars; statesmen and patriots who had traveled across an ocean to escape tyranny and persecution finally made real their declaration of independence at a Philadelphia convention that lasted through the spring of 1787.
The document they produced was eventually signed but ultimately unfinished. It was stained by this nation’s original sin of slavery, a question that divided the colonies and brought the convention to a stalemate until the founders chose to allow the slave trade to continue for at least twenty more years, and to leave any final resolution to future generations.
Of course, the answer to the slavery question was already embedded within our Constitution – a Constitution that had at is very core the ideal of equal citizenship under the law; a Constitution that promised its people liberty, and justice, and a union that could be and should be perfected over time.
And yet words on a parchment would not be enough to deliver slaves from bondage, or provide men and women of every color and creed their full rights and obligations as citizens of the United States. What would be needed were Americans in successive generations who were willing to do their part – through protests and struggle, on the streets and in the courts, through a civil war and civil disobedience and always at great risk - to narrow that gap between the promise of our ideals and the reality of their time.
This was one of the tasks we set forth at the beginning of this campaign – to continue the long march of those who came before us, a march for a more just, more equal, more free, more caring and more prosperous America. I chose to run for the presidency at this moment in history because I believe deeply that we cannot solve the challenges of our time unless we solve them together – unless we perfect our union by understanding that we may have different stories, but we hold common hopes; that we may not look the same and we may not have come from the same place, but we all want to move in the same direction – towards a better future for of children and our grandchildren.
This belief comes from my unyielding faith in the decency and generosity of the American people. But it also comes from my own American story.
I am the son of a black man from Kenya and a white woman from Kansas. I was raised with the help of a white grandfather who survived a Depression to serve in Patton’s Army during World War II and a white grandmother who worked on a bomber assembly line at Fort Leavenworth while he was overseas. I’ve gone to some of the best schools in America and lived in one of the world’s poorest nations. I am married to a black American who carries within her the blood of slaves and slaveowners – an inheritance we pass on to our two precious daughters. I have brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, uncles and cousins, of every race and every hue, scattered across three continents, and for as long as I live, I will never forget that in no other country on Earth is my story even possible.
It’s a story that hasn’t made me the most conventional candidate. But it is a story that has seared into my genetic makeup the idea that this nation is more than the sum of its parts – that out of many, we are truly one.
Throughout the first year of this campaign, against all predictions to the contrary, we saw how hungry the American people were for this message of unity. Despite the temptation to view my candidacy through a purely racial lens, we won commanding victories in states with some of the whitest populations in the country. In South Carolina, where the Confederate Flag still flies, we built a powerful coalition of African Americans and white Americans.
This is not to say that race has not been an issue in the campaign. At various stages in the campaign, some commentators have deemed me either “too black” or “not black enough.” We saw racial tensions bubble to the surface during the week before the South Carolina primary. The press has scoured every exit poll for the latest evidence of racial polarization, not just in terms of white and black, but black and brown as well.
And yet, it has only been in the last couple of weeks that the discussion of race in this campaign has taken a particularly divisive turn.
On one end of the spectrum, we’ve heard the implication that my candidacy is somehow an exercise in affirmative action; that it’s based solely on the desire of wide-eyed liberals to purchase racial reconciliation on the cheap. On the other end, we’ve heard my former pastor, Reverend Jeremiah Wright, use incendiary language to express views that have the potential not only to widen the racial divide, but views that denigrate both the greatness and the goodness of our nation; that rightly offend white and black alike.
I have already condemned, in unequivocal terms, the statements of Reverend Wright that have caused such controversy. For some, nagging questions remain. Did I know him to be an occasionally fierce critic of American domestic and foreign policy? Of course. Did I ever hear him make remarks that could be considered controversial while I sat in church? Yes. Did I strongly disagree with many of his political views? Absolutely – just as I’m sure many of you have heard remarks from your pastors, priests, or rabbis with which you strongly disagreed.
But the remarks that have caused this recent firestorm weren’t simply controversial. They weren’t simply a religious leader’s effort to speak out against perceived injustice. Instead, they expressed a profoundly distorted view of this country – a view that sees white racism as endemic, and that elevates what is wrong with America above all that we know is right with America; a view that sees the conflicts in the Middle East as rooted primarily in the actions of stalwart allies like Israel, instead of emanating from the perverse and hateful ideologies of radical Islam.
As such, Reverend Wright’s comments were not only wrong but divisive, divisive at a time when we need unity; racially charged at a time when we need to come together to solve a set of monumental problems – two wars, a terrorist threat, a falling economy, a chronic health care crisis and potentially devastating climate change; problems that are neither black or white or Latino or Asian, but rather problems that confront us all.
Given my background, my politics, and my professed values and ideals, there will no doubt be those for whom my statements of condemnation are not enough. Why associate myself with Reverend Wright in the first place, they may ask? Why not join another church? And I confess that if all that I knew of Reverend Wright were the snippets of those sermons that have run in an endless loop on the television and You Tube, or if Trinity United Church of Christ conformed to the caricatures being peddled by some commentators, there is no doubt that I would react in much the same way.
But the truth is, that isn’t all that I know of the man. The man I met more than twenty years ago is a man who helped introduce me to my Christian faith, a man who spoke to me about our obligations to love one another; to care for the sick and lift up the poor. He is a man who served his country as a U.S. Marine; who has studied and lectured at some of the finest universities and seminaries in the country, and who for over thirty years led a church that serves the community by doing God’s work here on Earth – by housing the homeless, ministering to the needy, providing day care services and scholarships and prison ministries, and reaching out to those suffering from HIV/AIDS.
In my first book, Dreams From My Father, I described the experience of my first service at Trinity:
“People began to shout, to rise from their seats and clap and cry out, a forceful wind carrying the reverend’s voice up into the rafters….And in that single note – hope! – I heard something else; at the foot of that cross, inside the thousands of churches across the city, I imagined the stories of ordinary black people merging with the stories of David and Goliath, Moses and Pharaoh, the Christians in the lion’s den, Ezekiel’s field of dry bones. Those stories – of survival, and freedom, and hope – became our story, my story; the blood that had spilled was our blood, the tears our tears; until this black church, on this bright day, seemed once more a vessel carrying the story of a people into future generations and into a larger world. Our trials and triumphs became at once unique and universal, black and more than black; in chronicling our journey, the stories and songs gave us a means to reclaim memories that we didn’t need to feel shame about…memories that all people might study and cherish – and with which we could start to rebuild.”
That has been my experience at Trinity. Like other predominantly black churches across the country, Trinity embodies the black community in its entirety – the doctor and the welfare mom, the model student and the former gang-banger. Like other black churches, Trinity’s services are full of raucous laughter and sometimes bawdy humor. They are full of dancing, clapping, screaming and shouting that may seem jarring to the untrained ear. The church contains in full the kindness and cruelty, the fierce intelligence and the shocking ignorance, the struggles and successes, the love and yes, the bitterness and bias that make up the black experience in America.
And this helps explain, perhaps, my relationship with Reverend Wright. As imperfect as he may be, he has been like family to me. He strengthened my faith, officiated my wedding, and baptized my children. Not once in my conversations with him have I heard him talk about any ethnic group in derogatory terms, or treat whites with whom he interacted with anything but courtesy and respect. He contains within him the contradictions – the good and the bad – of the community that he has served diligently for so many years.
I can no more disown him than I can disown the black community. I can no more disown him than I can my white grandmother – a woman who helped raise me, a woman who sacrificed again and again for me, a woman who loves me as much as she loves anything in this world, but a woman who once confessed her fear of black men who passed by her on the street, and who on more than one occasion has uttered racial or ethnic stereotypes that made me cringe.
These people are a part of me. And they are a part of America, this country that I love.
CONTINUE READING "A More Perfect Union">>>
Some will see this as an attempt to justify or excuse comments that are simply inexcusable. I can assure you it is not. I suppose the politically safe thing would be to move on from this episode and just hope that it fades into the woodwork. We can dismiss Reverend Wright as a crank or a demagogue, just as some have dismissed Geraldine Ferraro, in the aftermath of her recent statements, as harboring some deep-seated racial bias.
But race is an issue that I believe this nation cannot afford to ignore right now. We would be making the same mistake that Reverend Wright made in his offending sermons about America – to simplify and stereotype and amplify the negative to the point that it distorts reality.
The fact is that the comments that have been made and the issues that have surfaced over the last few weeks reflect the complexities of race in this country that we’ve never really worked through – a part of our union that we have yet to perfect. And if we walk away now, if we simply retreat into our respective corners, we will never be able to come together and solve challenges like health care, or education, or the need to find good jobs for every American.
Understanding this reality requires a reminder of how we arrived at this point. As William Faulkner once wrote, “The past isn’t dead and buried. In fact, it isn’t even past.” We do not need to recite here the history of racial injustice in this country. But we do need to remind ourselves that so many of the disparities that exist in the African-American community today can be directly traced to inequalities passed on from an earlier generation that suffered under the brutal legacy of slavery and Jim Crow.
Segregated schools were, and are, inferior schools; we still haven’t fixed them, fifty years after Brown v. Board of Education, and the inferior education they provided, then and now, helps explain the pervasive achievement gap between today’s black and white students.
Legalized discrimination - where blacks were prevented, often through violence, from owning property, or loans were not granted to African-American business owners, or black homeowners could not access FHA mortgages, or blacks were excluded from unions, or the police force, or fire departments – meant that black families could not amass any meaningful wealth to bequeath to future generations. That history helps explain the wealth and income gap between black and white, and the concentrated pockets of poverty that persists in so many of today’s urban and rural communities.
A lack of economic opportunity among black men, and the shame and frustration that came from not being able to provide for one’s family, contributed to the erosion of black families – a problem that welfare policies for many years may have worsened. And the lack of basic services in so many urban black neighborhoods – parks for kids to play in, police walking the beat, regular garbage pick-up and building code enforcement – all helped create a cycle of violence, blight and neglect that continue to haunt us.
This is the reality in which Reverend Wright and other African-Americans of his generation grew up. They came of age in the late fifties and early sixties, a time when segregation was still the law of the land and opportunity was systematically constricted. What’s remarkable is not how many failed in the face of discrimination, but rather how many men and women overcame the odds; how many were able to make a way out of no way for those like me who would come after them.
But for all those who scratched and clawed their way to get a piece of the American Dream, there were many who didn’t make it – those who were ultimately defeated, in one way or another, by discrimination. That legacy of defeat was passed on to future generations – those young men and increasingly young women who we see standing on street corners or languishing in our prisons, without hope or prospects for the future. Even for those blacks who did make it, questions of race, and racism, continue to define their worldview in fundamental ways. For the men and women of Reverend Wright’s generation, the memories of humiliation and doubt and fear have not gone away; nor has the anger and the bitterness of those years. That anger may not get expressed in public, in front of white co-workers or white friends. But it does find voice in the barbershop or around the kitchen table. At times, that anger is exploited by politicians, to gin up votes along racial lines, or to make up for a politician’s own failings.
And occasionally it finds voice in the church on Sunday morning, in the pulpit and in the pews. The fact that so many people are surprised to hear that anger in some of Reverend Wright’s sermons simply reminds us of the old truism that the most segregated hour in American life occurs on Sunday morning. That anger is not always productive; indeed, all too often it distracts attention from solving real problems; it keeps us from squarely facing our own complicity in our condition, and prevents the African-American community from forging the alliances it needs to bring about real change. But the anger is real; it is powerful; and to simply wish it away, to condemn it without understanding its roots, only serves to widen the chasm of misunderstanding that exists between the races.
In fact, a similar anger exists within segments of the white community. Most working- and middle-class white Americans don’t feel that they have been particularly privileged by their race. Their experience is the immigrant experience – as far as they’re concerned, no one’s handed them anything, they’ve built it from scratch. They’ve worked hard all their lives, many times only to see their jobs shipped overseas or their pension dumped after a lifetime of labor. They are anxious about their futures, and feel their dreams slipping away; in an era of stagnant wages and global competition, opportunity comes to be seen as a zero sum game, in which your dreams come at my expense. So when they are told to bus their children to a school across town; when they hear that an African American is getting an advantage in landing a good job or a spot in a good college because of an injustice that they themselves never committed; when they’re told that their fears about crime in urban neighborhoods are somehow prejudiced, resentment builds over time.
Like the anger within the black community, these resentments aren’t always expressed in polite company. But they have helped shape the political landscape for at least a generation. Anger over welfare and affirmative action helped forge the Reagan Coalition. Politicians routinely exploited fears of crime for their own electoral ends. Talk show hosts and conservative commentators built entire careers unmasking bogus claims of racism while dismissing legitimate discussions of racial injustice and inequality as mere political correctness or reverse racism.
Just as black anger often proved counterproductive, so have these white resentments distracted attention from the real culprits of the middle class squeeze – a corporate culture rife with inside dealing, questionable accounting practices, and short-term greed; a Washington dominated by lobbyists and special interests; economic policies that favor the few over the many. And yet, to wish away the resentments of white Americans, to label them as misguided or even racist, without recognizing they are grounded in legitimate concerns – this too widens the racial divide, and blocks the path to understanding.
This is where we are right now. It’s a racial stalemate we’ve been stuck in for years. Contrary to the claims of some of my critics, black and white, I have never been so naïve as to believe that we can get beyond our racial divisions in a single election cycle, or with a single candidacy – particularly a candidacy as imperfect as my own.
But I have asserted a firm conviction – a conviction rooted in my faith in God and my faith in the American people – that working together we can move beyond some of our old racial wounds, and that in fact we have no choice is we are to continue on the path of a more perfect union.
For the African-American community, that path means embracing the burdens of our past without becoming victims of our past. It means continuing to insist on a full measure of justice in every aspect of American life. But it also means binding our particular grievances – for better health care, and better schools, and better jobs - to the larger aspirations of all Americans -- the white woman struggling to break the glass ceiling, the white man whose been laid off, the immigrant trying to feed his family. And it means taking full responsibility for own lives – by demanding more from our fathers, and spending more time with our children, and reading to them, and teaching them that while they may face challenges and discrimination in their own lives, they must never succumb to despair or cynicism; they must always believe that they can write their own destiny.
Ironically, this quintessentially American – and yes, conservative – notion of self-help found frequent expression in Reverend Wright’s sermons. But what my former pastor too often failed to understand is that embarking on a program of self-help also requires a belief that society can change.
The profound mistake of Reverend Wright’s sermons is not that he spoke about racism in our society. It’s that he spoke as if our society was static; as if no progress has been made; as if this country – a country that has made it possible for one of his own members to run for the highest office in the land and build a coalition of white and black; Latino and Asian, rich and poor, young and old -- is still irrevocably bound to a tragic past. But what we know -- what we have seen – is that America can change. That is true genius of this nation. What we have already achieved gives us hope – the audacity to hope – for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.
In the white community, the path to a more perfect union means acknowledging that what ails the African-American community does not just exist in the minds of black people; that the legacy of discrimination - and current incidents of discrimination, while less overt than in the past - are real and must be addressed. Not just with words, but with deeds – by investing in our schools and our communities; by enforcing our civil rights laws and ensuring fairness in our criminal justice system; by providing this generation with ladders of opportunity that were unavailable for previous generations. It requires all Americans to realize that your dreams do not have to come at the expense of my dreams; that investing in the health, welfare, and education of black and brown and white children will ultimately help all of America prosper.
In the end, then, what is called for is nothing more, and nothing less, than what all the world’s great religions demand – that we do unto others as we would have them do unto us. Let us be our brother’s keeper, Scripture tells us. Let us be our sister’s keeper. Let us find that common stake we all have in one another, and let our politics reflect that spirit as well.
For we have a choice in this country. We can accept a politics that breeds division, and conflict, and cynicism. We can tackle race only as spectacle – as we did in the OJ trial – or in the wake of tragedy, as we did in the aftermath of Katrina - or as fodder for the nightly news. We can play Reverend Wright’s sermons on every channel, every day and talk about them from now until the election, and make the only question in this campaign whether or not the American people think that I somehow believe or sympathize with his most offensive words. We can pounce on some gaffe by a Hillary supporter as evidence that she’s playing the race card, or we can speculate on whether white men will all flock to John McCain in the general election regardless of his policies.
We can do that.
But if we do, I can tell you that in the next election, we’ll be talking about some other distraction. And then another one. And then another one. And nothing will change.
That is one option. Or, at this moment, in this election, we can come together and say, “Not this time.” This time we want to talk about the crumbling schools that are stealing the future of black children and white children and Asian children and Hispanic children and Native American children. This time we want to reject the cynicism that tells us that these kids can’t learn; that those kids who don’t look like us are somebody else’s problem. The children of America are not those kids, they are our kids, and we will not let them fall behind in a 21st century economy. Not this time.
This time we want to talk about how the lines in the Emergency Room are filled with whites and blacks and Hispanics who do not have health care; who don’t have the power on their own to overcome the special interests in Washington, but who can take them on if we do it together.
This time we want to talk about the shuttered mills that once provided a decent life for men and women of every race, and the homes for sale that once belonged to Americans from every religion, every region, every walk of life. This time we want to talk about the fact that the real problem is not that someone who doesn’t look like you might take your job; it’s that the corporation you work for will ship it overseas for nothing more than a profit.
This time we want to talk about the men and women of every color and creed who serve together, and fight together, and bleed together under the same proud flag. We want to talk about how to bring them home from a war that never should’ve been authorized and never should’ve been waged, and we want to talk about how we’ll show our patriotism by caring for them, and their families, and giving them the benefits they have earned.
I would not be running for President if I didn’t believe with all my heart that this is what the vast majority of Americans want for this country. This union may never be perfect, but generation after generation has shown that it can always be perfected. And today, whenever I find myself feeling doubtful or cynical about this possibility, what gives me the most hope is the next generation – the young people whose attitudes and beliefs and openness to change have already made history in this election.
There is one story in particularly that I’d like to leave you with today – a story I told when I had the great honor of speaking on Dr. King’s birthday at his home church, Ebenezer Baptist, in Atlanta.
There is a young, twenty-three year old white woman named Ashley Baia who organized for our campaign in Florence, South Carolina. She had been working to organize a mostly African-American community since the beginning of this campaign, and one day she was at a roundtable discussion where everyone went around telling their story and why they were there.
And Ashley said that when she was nine years old, her mother got cancer. And because she had to miss days of work, she was let go and lost her health care. They had to file for bankruptcy, and that’s when Ashley decided that she had to do something to help her mom.
She knew that food was one of their most expensive costs, and so Ashley convinced her mother that what she really liked and really wanted to eat more than anything else was mustard and relish sandwiches. Because that was the cheapest way to eat.
She did this for a year until her mom got better, and she told everyone at the roundtable that the reason she joined our campaign was so that she could help the millions of other children in the country who want and need to help their parents too.
Now Ashley might have made a different choice. Perhaps somebody told her along the way that the source of her mother’s problems were blacks who were on welfare and too lazy to work, or Hispanics who were coming into the country illegally. But she didn’t. She sought out allies in her fight against injustice.
Anyway, Ashley finishes her story and then goes around the room and asks everyone else why they’re supporting the campaign. They all have different stories and reasons. Many bring up a specific issue. And finally they come to this elderly black man who’s been sitting there quietly the entire time. And Ashley asks him why he’s there. And he does not bring up a specific issue. He does not say health care or the economy. He does not say education or the war. He does not say that he was there because of Barack Obama. He simply says to everyone in the room, “I am here because of Ashley.”
“I’m here because of Ashley.” By itself, that single moment of recognition between that young white girl and that old black man is not enough. It is not enough to give health care to the sick, or jobs to the jobless, or education to our children.
But it is where we start. It is where our union grows stronger. And as so many generations have come to realize over the course of the two-hundred and twenty one years since a band of patriots signed that document in Philadelphia, that is where the perfection begins.
If properly understood, it should go down as one of the greatest speeches of the early 21st century and, if we had heeded DuBois prophetic warning, should have found voice in the 20th century.
This is the New Politics, and it is as noble as we've dared to dream! (Sorry to disappoint George Will.)
The fact that some have dutifully taken up their roles as cynic is just sad for them. I pray we don't allow them to rule the day.
Here's the video:
And for those who cherish the written word here's the full transcript:
“A More Perfect Union"
Remarks of Senator Barack Obama
Constitution Center
Tuesday, March 18th, 2008
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
(full manuscript, as prepared for delivery)
Remarks of Senator Barack Obama
Constitution Center
Tuesday, March 18th, 2008
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
(full manuscript, as prepared for delivery)
“We the people, in order to form a more perfect union.”
Two hundred and twenty one years ago, in a hall that still stands across the street, a group of men gathered and, with these simple words, launched America’s improbable experiment in democracy. Farmers and scholars; statesmen and patriots who had traveled across an ocean to escape tyranny and persecution finally made real their declaration of independence at a Philadelphia convention that lasted through the spring of 1787.
The document they produced was eventually signed but ultimately unfinished. It was stained by this nation’s original sin of slavery, a question that divided the colonies and brought the convention to a stalemate until the founders chose to allow the slave trade to continue for at least twenty more years, and to leave any final resolution to future generations.
Of course, the answer to the slavery question was already embedded within our Constitution – a Constitution that had at is very core the ideal of equal citizenship under the law; a Constitution that promised its people liberty, and justice, and a union that could be and should be perfected over time.
And yet words on a parchment would not be enough to deliver slaves from bondage, or provide men and women of every color and creed their full rights and obligations as citizens of the United States. What would be needed were Americans in successive generations who were willing to do their part – through protests and struggle, on the streets and in the courts, through a civil war and civil disobedience and always at great risk - to narrow that gap between the promise of our ideals and the reality of their time.
This was one of the tasks we set forth at the beginning of this campaign – to continue the long march of those who came before us, a march for a more just, more equal, more free, more caring and more prosperous America. I chose to run for the presidency at this moment in history because I believe deeply that we cannot solve the challenges of our time unless we solve them together – unless we perfect our union by understanding that we may have different stories, but we hold common hopes; that we may not look the same and we may not have come from the same place, but we all want to move in the same direction – towards a better future for of children and our grandchildren.
This belief comes from my unyielding faith in the decency and generosity of the American people. But it also comes from my own American story.
I am the son of a black man from Kenya and a white woman from Kansas. I was raised with the help of a white grandfather who survived a Depression to serve in Patton’s Army during World War II and a white grandmother who worked on a bomber assembly line at Fort Leavenworth while he was overseas. I’ve gone to some of the best schools in America and lived in one of the world’s poorest nations. I am married to a black American who carries within her the blood of slaves and slaveowners – an inheritance we pass on to our two precious daughters. I have brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, uncles and cousins, of every race and every hue, scattered across three continents, and for as long as I live, I will never forget that in no other country on Earth is my story even possible.
It’s a story that hasn’t made me the most conventional candidate. But it is a story that has seared into my genetic makeup the idea that this nation is more than the sum of its parts – that out of many, we are truly one.
Throughout the first year of this campaign, against all predictions to the contrary, we saw how hungry the American people were for this message of unity. Despite the temptation to view my candidacy through a purely racial lens, we won commanding victories in states with some of the whitest populations in the country. In South Carolina, where the Confederate Flag still flies, we built a powerful coalition of African Americans and white Americans.
This is not to say that race has not been an issue in the campaign. At various stages in the campaign, some commentators have deemed me either “too black” or “not black enough.” We saw racial tensions bubble to the surface during the week before the South Carolina primary. The press has scoured every exit poll for the latest evidence of racial polarization, not just in terms of white and black, but black and brown as well.
And yet, it has only been in the last couple of weeks that the discussion of race in this campaign has taken a particularly divisive turn.
On one end of the spectrum, we’ve heard the implication that my candidacy is somehow an exercise in affirmative action; that it’s based solely on the desire of wide-eyed liberals to purchase racial reconciliation on the cheap. On the other end, we’ve heard my former pastor, Reverend Jeremiah Wright, use incendiary language to express views that have the potential not only to widen the racial divide, but views that denigrate both the greatness and the goodness of our nation; that rightly offend white and black alike.
I have already condemned, in unequivocal terms, the statements of Reverend Wright that have caused such controversy. For some, nagging questions remain. Did I know him to be an occasionally fierce critic of American domestic and foreign policy? Of course. Did I ever hear him make remarks that could be considered controversial while I sat in church? Yes. Did I strongly disagree with many of his political views? Absolutely – just as I’m sure many of you have heard remarks from your pastors, priests, or rabbis with which you strongly disagreed.
But the remarks that have caused this recent firestorm weren’t simply controversial. They weren’t simply a religious leader’s effort to speak out against perceived injustice. Instead, they expressed a profoundly distorted view of this country – a view that sees white racism as endemic, and that elevates what is wrong with America above all that we know is right with America; a view that sees the conflicts in the Middle East as rooted primarily in the actions of stalwart allies like Israel, instead of emanating from the perverse and hateful ideologies of radical Islam.
As such, Reverend Wright’s comments were not only wrong but divisive, divisive at a time when we need unity; racially charged at a time when we need to come together to solve a set of monumental problems – two wars, a terrorist threat, a falling economy, a chronic health care crisis and potentially devastating climate change; problems that are neither black or white or Latino or Asian, but rather problems that confront us all.
Given my background, my politics, and my professed values and ideals, there will no doubt be those for whom my statements of condemnation are not enough. Why associate myself with Reverend Wright in the first place, they may ask? Why not join another church? And I confess that if all that I knew of Reverend Wright were the snippets of those sermons that have run in an endless loop on the television and You Tube, or if Trinity United Church of Christ conformed to the caricatures being peddled by some commentators, there is no doubt that I would react in much the same way.
But the truth is, that isn’t all that I know of the man. The man I met more than twenty years ago is a man who helped introduce me to my Christian faith, a man who spoke to me about our obligations to love one another; to care for the sick and lift up the poor. He is a man who served his country as a U.S. Marine; who has studied and lectured at some of the finest universities and seminaries in the country, and who for over thirty years led a church that serves the community by doing God’s work here on Earth – by housing the homeless, ministering to the needy, providing day care services and scholarships and prison ministries, and reaching out to those suffering from HIV/AIDS.
In my first book, Dreams From My Father, I described the experience of my first service at Trinity:
“People began to shout, to rise from their seats and clap and cry out, a forceful wind carrying the reverend’s voice up into the rafters….And in that single note – hope! – I heard something else; at the foot of that cross, inside the thousands of churches across the city, I imagined the stories of ordinary black people merging with the stories of David and Goliath, Moses and Pharaoh, the Christians in the lion’s den, Ezekiel’s field of dry bones. Those stories – of survival, and freedom, and hope – became our story, my story; the blood that had spilled was our blood, the tears our tears; until this black church, on this bright day, seemed once more a vessel carrying the story of a people into future generations and into a larger world. Our trials and triumphs became at once unique and universal, black and more than black; in chronicling our journey, the stories and songs gave us a means to reclaim memories that we didn’t need to feel shame about…memories that all people might study and cherish – and with which we could start to rebuild.”
That has been my experience at Trinity. Like other predominantly black churches across the country, Trinity embodies the black community in its entirety – the doctor and the welfare mom, the model student and the former gang-banger. Like other black churches, Trinity’s services are full of raucous laughter and sometimes bawdy humor. They are full of dancing, clapping, screaming and shouting that may seem jarring to the untrained ear. The church contains in full the kindness and cruelty, the fierce intelligence and the shocking ignorance, the struggles and successes, the love and yes, the bitterness and bias that make up the black experience in America.
And this helps explain, perhaps, my relationship with Reverend Wright. As imperfect as he may be, he has been like family to me. He strengthened my faith, officiated my wedding, and baptized my children. Not once in my conversations with him have I heard him talk about any ethnic group in derogatory terms, or treat whites with whom he interacted with anything but courtesy and respect. He contains within him the contradictions – the good and the bad – of the community that he has served diligently for so many years.
I can no more disown him than I can disown the black community. I can no more disown him than I can my white grandmother – a woman who helped raise me, a woman who sacrificed again and again for me, a woman who loves me as much as she loves anything in this world, but a woman who once confessed her fear of black men who passed by her on the street, and who on more than one occasion has uttered racial or ethnic stereotypes that made me cringe.
These people are a part of me. And they are a part of America, this country that I love.
Some will see this as an attempt to justify or excuse comments that are simply inexcusable. I can assure you it is not. I suppose the politically safe thing would be to move on from this episode and just hope that it fades into the woodwork. We can dismiss Reverend Wright as a crank or a demagogue, just as some have dismissed Geraldine Ferraro, in the aftermath of her recent statements, as harboring some deep-seated racial bias.
But race is an issue that I believe this nation cannot afford to ignore right now. We would be making the same mistake that Reverend Wright made in his offending sermons about America – to simplify and stereotype and amplify the negative to the point that it distorts reality.
The fact is that the comments that have been made and the issues that have surfaced over the last few weeks reflect the complexities of race in this country that we’ve never really worked through – a part of our union that we have yet to perfect. And if we walk away now, if we simply retreat into our respective corners, we will never be able to come together and solve challenges like health care, or education, or the need to find good jobs for every American.
Understanding this reality requires a reminder of how we arrived at this point. As William Faulkner once wrote, “The past isn’t dead and buried. In fact, it isn’t even past.” We do not need to recite here the history of racial injustice in this country. But we do need to remind ourselves that so many of the disparities that exist in the African-American community today can be directly traced to inequalities passed on from an earlier generation that suffered under the brutal legacy of slavery and Jim Crow.
Segregated schools were, and are, inferior schools; we still haven’t fixed them, fifty years after Brown v. Board of Education, and the inferior education they provided, then and now, helps explain the pervasive achievement gap between today’s black and white students.
Legalized discrimination - where blacks were prevented, often through violence, from owning property, or loans were not granted to African-American business owners, or black homeowners could not access FHA mortgages, or blacks were excluded from unions, or the police force, or fire departments – meant that black families could not amass any meaningful wealth to bequeath to future generations. That history helps explain the wealth and income gap between black and white, and the concentrated pockets of poverty that persists in so many of today’s urban and rural communities.
A lack of economic opportunity among black men, and the shame and frustration that came from not being able to provide for one’s family, contributed to the erosion of black families – a problem that welfare policies for many years may have worsened. And the lack of basic services in so many urban black neighborhoods – parks for kids to play in, police walking the beat, regular garbage pick-up and building code enforcement – all helped create a cycle of violence, blight and neglect that continue to haunt us.
This is the reality in which Reverend Wright and other African-Americans of his generation grew up. They came of age in the late fifties and early sixties, a time when segregation was still the law of the land and opportunity was systematically constricted. What’s remarkable is not how many failed in the face of discrimination, but rather how many men and women overcame the odds; how many were able to make a way out of no way for those like me who would come after them.
But for all those who scratched and clawed their way to get a piece of the American Dream, there were many who didn’t make it – those who were ultimately defeated, in one way or another, by discrimination. That legacy of defeat was passed on to future generations – those young men and increasingly young women who we see standing on street corners or languishing in our prisons, without hope or prospects for the future. Even for those blacks who did make it, questions of race, and racism, continue to define their worldview in fundamental ways. For the men and women of Reverend Wright’s generation, the memories of humiliation and doubt and fear have not gone away; nor has the anger and the bitterness of those years. That anger may not get expressed in public, in front of white co-workers or white friends. But it does find voice in the barbershop or around the kitchen table. At times, that anger is exploited by politicians, to gin up votes along racial lines, or to make up for a politician’s own failings.
And occasionally it finds voice in the church on Sunday morning, in the pulpit and in the pews. The fact that so many people are surprised to hear that anger in some of Reverend Wright’s sermons simply reminds us of the old truism that the most segregated hour in American life occurs on Sunday morning. That anger is not always productive; indeed, all too often it distracts attention from solving real problems; it keeps us from squarely facing our own complicity in our condition, and prevents the African-American community from forging the alliances it needs to bring about real change. But the anger is real; it is powerful; and to simply wish it away, to condemn it without understanding its roots, only serves to widen the chasm of misunderstanding that exists between the races.
In fact, a similar anger exists within segments of the white community. Most working- and middle-class white Americans don’t feel that they have been particularly privileged by their race. Their experience is the immigrant experience – as far as they’re concerned, no one’s handed them anything, they’ve built it from scratch. They’ve worked hard all their lives, many times only to see their jobs shipped overseas or their pension dumped after a lifetime of labor. They are anxious about their futures, and feel their dreams slipping away; in an era of stagnant wages and global competition, opportunity comes to be seen as a zero sum game, in which your dreams come at my expense. So when they are told to bus their children to a school across town; when they hear that an African American is getting an advantage in landing a good job or a spot in a good college because of an injustice that they themselves never committed; when they’re told that their fears about crime in urban neighborhoods are somehow prejudiced, resentment builds over time.
Like the anger within the black community, these resentments aren’t always expressed in polite company. But they have helped shape the political landscape for at least a generation. Anger over welfare and affirmative action helped forge the Reagan Coalition. Politicians routinely exploited fears of crime for their own electoral ends. Talk show hosts and conservative commentators built entire careers unmasking bogus claims of racism while dismissing legitimate discussions of racial injustice and inequality as mere political correctness or reverse racism.
Just as black anger often proved counterproductive, so have these white resentments distracted attention from the real culprits of the middle class squeeze – a corporate culture rife with inside dealing, questionable accounting practices, and short-term greed; a Washington dominated by lobbyists and special interests; economic policies that favor the few over the many. And yet, to wish away the resentments of white Americans, to label them as misguided or even racist, without recognizing they are grounded in legitimate concerns – this too widens the racial divide, and blocks the path to understanding.
This is where we are right now. It’s a racial stalemate we’ve been stuck in for years. Contrary to the claims of some of my critics, black and white, I have never been so naïve as to believe that we can get beyond our racial divisions in a single election cycle, or with a single candidacy – particularly a candidacy as imperfect as my own.
But I have asserted a firm conviction – a conviction rooted in my faith in God and my faith in the American people – that working together we can move beyond some of our old racial wounds, and that in fact we have no choice is we are to continue on the path of a more perfect union.
For the African-American community, that path means embracing the burdens of our past without becoming victims of our past. It means continuing to insist on a full measure of justice in every aspect of American life. But it also means binding our particular grievances – for better health care, and better schools, and better jobs - to the larger aspirations of all Americans -- the white woman struggling to break the glass ceiling, the white man whose been laid off, the immigrant trying to feed his family. And it means taking full responsibility for own lives – by demanding more from our fathers, and spending more time with our children, and reading to them, and teaching them that while they may face challenges and discrimination in their own lives, they must never succumb to despair or cynicism; they must always believe that they can write their own destiny.
Ironically, this quintessentially American – and yes, conservative – notion of self-help found frequent expression in Reverend Wright’s sermons. But what my former pastor too often failed to understand is that embarking on a program of self-help also requires a belief that society can change.
The profound mistake of Reverend Wright’s sermons is not that he spoke about racism in our society. It’s that he spoke as if our society was static; as if no progress has been made; as if this country – a country that has made it possible for one of his own members to run for the highest office in the land and build a coalition of white and black; Latino and Asian, rich and poor, young and old -- is still irrevocably bound to a tragic past. But what we know -- what we have seen – is that America can change. That is true genius of this nation. What we have already achieved gives us hope – the audacity to hope – for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.
In the white community, the path to a more perfect union means acknowledging that what ails the African-American community does not just exist in the minds of black people; that the legacy of discrimination - and current incidents of discrimination, while less overt than in the past - are real and must be addressed. Not just with words, but with deeds – by investing in our schools and our communities; by enforcing our civil rights laws and ensuring fairness in our criminal justice system; by providing this generation with ladders of opportunity that were unavailable for previous generations. It requires all Americans to realize that your dreams do not have to come at the expense of my dreams; that investing in the health, welfare, and education of black and brown and white children will ultimately help all of America prosper.
In the end, then, what is called for is nothing more, and nothing less, than what all the world’s great religions demand – that we do unto others as we would have them do unto us. Let us be our brother’s keeper, Scripture tells us. Let us be our sister’s keeper. Let us find that common stake we all have in one another, and let our politics reflect that spirit as well.
For we have a choice in this country. We can accept a politics that breeds division, and conflict, and cynicism. We can tackle race only as spectacle – as we did in the OJ trial – or in the wake of tragedy, as we did in the aftermath of Katrina - or as fodder for the nightly news. We can play Reverend Wright’s sermons on every channel, every day and talk about them from now until the election, and make the only question in this campaign whether or not the American people think that I somehow believe or sympathize with his most offensive words. We can pounce on some gaffe by a Hillary supporter as evidence that she’s playing the race card, or we can speculate on whether white men will all flock to John McCain in the general election regardless of his policies.
We can do that.
But if we do, I can tell you that in the next election, we’ll be talking about some other distraction. And then another one. And then another one. And nothing will change.
That is one option. Or, at this moment, in this election, we can come together and say, “Not this time.” This time we want to talk about the crumbling schools that are stealing the future of black children and white children and Asian children and Hispanic children and Native American children. This time we want to reject the cynicism that tells us that these kids can’t learn; that those kids who don’t look like us are somebody else’s problem. The children of America are not those kids, they are our kids, and we will not let them fall behind in a 21st century economy. Not this time.
This time we want to talk about how the lines in the Emergency Room are filled with whites and blacks and Hispanics who do not have health care; who don’t have the power on their own to overcome the special interests in Washington, but who can take them on if we do it together.
This time we want to talk about the shuttered mills that once provided a decent life for men and women of every race, and the homes for sale that once belonged to Americans from every religion, every region, every walk of life. This time we want to talk about the fact that the real problem is not that someone who doesn’t look like you might take your job; it’s that the corporation you work for will ship it overseas for nothing more than a profit.
This time we want to talk about the men and women of every color and creed who serve together, and fight together, and bleed together under the same proud flag. We want to talk about how to bring them home from a war that never should’ve been authorized and never should’ve been waged, and we want to talk about how we’ll show our patriotism by caring for them, and their families, and giving them the benefits they have earned.
I would not be running for President if I didn’t believe with all my heart that this is what the vast majority of Americans want for this country. This union may never be perfect, but generation after generation has shown that it can always be perfected. And today, whenever I find myself feeling doubtful or cynical about this possibility, what gives me the most hope is the next generation – the young people whose attitudes and beliefs and openness to change have already made history in this election.
There is one story in particularly that I’d like to leave you with today – a story I told when I had the great honor of speaking on Dr. King’s birthday at his home church, Ebenezer Baptist, in Atlanta.
There is a young, twenty-three year old white woman named Ashley Baia who organized for our campaign in Florence, South Carolina. She had been working to organize a mostly African-American community since the beginning of this campaign, and one day she was at a roundtable discussion where everyone went around telling their story and why they were there.
And Ashley said that when she was nine years old, her mother got cancer. And because she had to miss days of work, she was let go and lost her health care. They had to file for bankruptcy, and that’s when Ashley decided that she had to do something to help her mom.
She knew that food was one of their most expensive costs, and so Ashley convinced her mother that what she really liked and really wanted to eat more than anything else was mustard and relish sandwiches. Because that was the cheapest way to eat.
She did this for a year until her mom got better, and she told everyone at the roundtable that the reason she joined our campaign was so that she could help the millions of other children in the country who want and need to help their parents too.
Now Ashley might have made a different choice. Perhaps somebody told her along the way that the source of her mother’s problems were blacks who were on welfare and too lazy to work, or Hispanics who were coming into the country illegally. But she didn’t. She sought out allies in her fight against injustice.
Anyway, Ashley finishes her story and then goes around the room and asks everyone else why they’re supporting the campaign. They all have different stories and reasons. Many bring up a specific issue. And finally they come to this elderly black man who’s been sitting there quietly the entire time. And Ashley asks him why he’s there. And he does not bring up a specific issue. He does not say health care or the economy. He does not say education or the war. He does not say that he was there because of Barack Obama. He simply says to everyone in the room, “I am here because of Ashley.”
“I’m here because of Ashley.” By itself, that single moment of recognition between that young white girl and that old black man is not enough. It is not enough to give health care to the sick, or jobs to the jobless, or education to our children.
But it is where we start. It is where our union grows stronger. And as so many generations have come to realize over the course of the two-hundred and twenty one years since a band of patriots signed that document in Philadelphia, that is where the perfection begins.
Labels: missional, Obama, politics, race matters, reconciliation
Why Georgia?
...as it relates to artistic sympathy, john mayer is my metaphysical twin.
Labels: art/artists, struggle
MLK and Identity Politics
I originally shared these thoughts at an early morning prayer breakfast in Marian, Indiana, on MLK Day this past January. I had been invited to Marian by my good friend Pat Hannon who is Asst. Dean of Chapel at Indiana Wesleyan University. Later that same morning I shared a story with the students of IWU and had the pleasure of getting to know several of them as we participated in the festivities of the rest of the day. The following is my inaugural post on the God's Politic's blog:
The 40th anniversary of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s assassination - April 4, 1968 - will soon be upon us. As I remember Dr. King against the backdrop of this 2008 presidential election cycle, I reflect on what a brilliant political strategist he was. He was able to bring corporations to the point of acquiescence without resorting to violence or bribery. He was able to pass legislation that changed the daily lives of not only blacks but also women, people of faith, and immigrants - without ever being elected to public office or attempting to buy political influence. He was able to garner and leverage the attention of the entire international community on behalf of America's poor, marginalized, and disenfranchised - without ever being appointed to an ambassadorship or other high-profile international post. He was able to remind U.S. citizens what a democracy was and to engender a sense of moral responsibility that, more than 40 years later, challenges us to be the good we want to see in the world. King was a political genius.
The 40th anniversary of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s assassination - April 4, 1968 - will soon be upon us. As I remember Dr. King against the backdrop of this 2008 presidential election cycle, I reflect on what a brilliant political strategist he was. He was able to bring corporations to the point of acquiescence without resorting to violence or bribery. He was able to pass legislation that changed the daily lives of not only blacks but also women, people of faith, and immigrants - without ever being elected to public office or attempting to buy political influence. He was able to garner and leverage the attention of the entire international community on behalf of America's poor, marginalized, and disenfranchised - without ever being appointed to an ambassadorship or other high-profile international post. He was able to remind U.S. citizens what a democracy was and to engender a sense of moral responsibility that, more than 40 years later, challenges us to be the good we want to see in the world. King was a political genius. With a vision this grand, one would think that the lion's share of King's work would have been on the national and international stage, yet somehow King expected to bring all this about by local, contextual, direct action: organizing to gain political access and self-determination for Blacks, advocating on behalf of unemployed Appalachian whites, striking with sanitation workers. I believe his ability to accomplish each of these things was predicated on a very simple, but profound realization: All politics are identity politics. The question is: whom does one choose to identify with?
Labels: politics, race matters
Geraldine Ferraro
Yesterday Geraldine Ferraro stepped down from her official post on the finance committee of the Hillary Clinton campaign for the presidency. I'm glad. I've been wondering how many times the surrogates of the Clinton campaign were going to get a pass on behavior like this.Ferraro still hasn't come to terms with the fact that her comments were racist--not because she is prejudiced in any way (her record clearly suggests otherwise), but because of who she is (the same reason Hillary invited her to fund raise). Because of who she is, Geraldine Ferraro's words, despising Obama's being black, have the power to negatively and indiscriminately impact Obama's professional aspirations solely for racial reasons: that makes her words racist.
Racism isn't just a synonym for bigotry or prejudice. Racism connotes the unjust power that privilege has to inconvenience the lives of others by virtue of their race, ethnicity or national origin. Bigotry and prejudice are basically how one feels toward another. This is an important distinction. This is why we can speak of racism as being structural and systemic. It is also why we pass laws to limit people's ability to do this sort of thing, at least overtly.
I use to think one could be a bigot without being racist, yet not a racist without first being a bigot. Ferraro's comments--or perhaps the preponderance of inane such assaults coming from the Clinton camp--mark the first time I've consciously noted that one who is not prejudiced can do just as much racist damage as one who is.
Race is undoubtedly a part of who Barak Obama is, but it can't be used to belittle or even critique him--any more than Hillary Clinton's gender can justly be used against her. That's crossing the line.
*After being informed by Keith Olbermann of Ms. Ferraro's history of making such statements, I must reserve the right to alter the temperance of my views regarding her intent. Watch Olbermann's courageous response to Sen. Clinton's tepid reaction to Ms. Ferraro.
Labels: Obama, politics, race matters
A Broader Audience
I'm so excited! I've been invited to contribute a chapter to the February 2009 release The Emergent Manifesto of Justice, the sequel to the Emergent Manifesto of Hope (shown right).In addition I've been asked to be an ongoing contributor to the 
God's Politics blog, a joint effort by Sojourners and Belief.net, which opens up the ooccasional chance that something I submit can maybe possibly catch the attention of Sojourners magazine. (Here's an interview with Jim Wallis, author of the book God's Politics and CEO of Sojourners, on The Daily Show with John Stewart, my third favorite news source behind NPR and PBS.)
The door has even been opened for me to facilitate a diversity of artistic contribution to an ongoing creative writing column. We'll see what comes of it.
God's Politics blog, a joint effort by Sojourners and Belief.net, which opens up the ooccasional chance that something I submit can maybe possibly catch the attention of Sojourners magazine. (Here's an interview with Jim Wallis, author of the book God's Politics and CEO of Sojourners, on The Daily Show with John Stewart, my third favorite news source behind NPR and PBS.)The door has even been opened for me to facilitate a diversity of artistic contribution to an ongoing creative writing column. We'll see what comes of it.
This could be the start of something big...
Labels: publication
Enneagram Profile
I took my first Enneagram test. These were the results. I'm a social 8 with 7 in the wing, with an almost matching level of tendency toward 2, which is supposedly the direction of integration and growth for me. Leslie seems to think they are accurate (I had her critique my answers to the questions before I submitted them). It's good to see I have grown a little over the years (better able to express my 2 tendencies).
| Enneagram Test Results
Your variant is sexual |
***Update: I was wrong. My guess was that Leslie is a 5 with 6 in the wing, which She tested as a 1. The more I read about how 8s and 1s tend to interact, the more plausible it sounds. She said she'd let me look over her answers, as she did mine. We'll see.
This information is a composite of these site: The Enneagram Institute and SimilarMinds.com
Labels: family, leadership, marriage
Farrakhan and Buckley
"If we think about [our] conversation happening not just here and now but in that larger communion of [all those who have come before us], we are opening up conversational space for people who once killed each other. That is very gentle [work], and you can't just say, 'That [distress, grief, pain or harm] never happened!'"
-Diana Butler Bass
What I am about to say may prove difficult for many of my white and Jewish friends to hear, process and respond to justly. For it not to be difficult would require persons with the power of privilege to imagine a world in which that privilege does not exist—a just world. Not a world in which one's greatest fears have come true and power has been taken from one group and given to another with an ax to grind, but rather one in which equity is not an ideal, but a reality.
In that world my comments could be considered without fear of my assumed agenda. But that world does not exist. We are left with this one, in which the power dynamics are what they are, and have persisted that way for so long that many have confused their homeostasis (acceptance and even contentment) with the way things are with a legitimate equilibrium (justice and fair play) in our society. I am about to disturb that homeostasis by pointing out that equilibrium is a myth and does not exist; this will disorient and unsettle many severely. The knee-jerk reaction in a situation like this is to lash out, but I beg you to consider.
I was upset by Tim Russert's insistent questioning of Senator Barak Obama's ties to Minister Louis Farrakhan of the Nation of Islam in the mist of the last primary-season debate between Democratic candidates Obama and Clinton. Even after the question had been asked and answered more than once, Russert persisted trying to establish for the record a link between Obama and Farrakhan through the person of Rev. Jeremiah Wright, a world-renown and widely respect minister, senior pastor (emeritus) of Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago, where Obama and his family are members. In 1984, Wright had traveled with Farrakhan to Lybia and returned to refer to Farrakhan as a "great man". In a post-911 world, any other Christian-Muslim pilgrimage resulting in such interfaith appreciation of one another would be applauded. But not this time, for upon his return 24 June 1984, Min. Louis Farrakhan gave this assessment of the West's policy in the Middle East:
I do not mean to suggest in any way that what he does say is not hostile, even malicious: it indeed is. Notwithstanding, as an African-American, I've been asked repeatedly and have had to come to grips with the fact that every hostile comment made against me is not automatically racial. I'm not saying this is one of those instances: frankly, I do not know. Being as intimately acquainted as I am with the socio-religious rhetorical patterns of those from African decent, it is honestly a toss up. "Dirty religion" in this context could just as honestly be interpreted 'dirty religious practices' as it relates to the common Christian and Jewish religious justifications for how the Palestinians are treated (in which case the Hebrew and Christian Bibles have harsher things to say). I will say, however, that we seem to suspend the need even to try to make such a determination whenever anyone has anything critical to say about Israel. Bishop Desmond Tutu and former-President Jimmy Carter years later were both maligned for suggesting that Palestinians have virtually been asked by the West to agree to a form of apartheid in relationship to Israel. Whether one agrees with their assessment or not, we should be certain that neither man harbors anti-Semitic feelings.
This conflagration of thought had consumed my attention when I heard that William F. Buckley has passed, and I was immediately filled with ambivalence. On the one hand, I felt the sorrow I always feel anytime I hear of a death. On the other hand, Buckley was the champion of a self-interestedness that I believe can only harm, no matter how civil. Then I remembered a quote I once read from an article Buckley had written:
CONTINUE READING "Farrakhan and Buckley">>>
Now, you have to understand how duplicitous this automatically seems to any person touched with the feelings of the marginalized in this world. Yet again, I am asked to commemorate the life of a man who by inference unabashedly thought of me as a member of an 'undeveloped race,' and at the same time "reject" a man for expressing the same sentiment about white people (never mind the irony). In tribute to Buckley, it has been said that he had a “refined, perspicacious mind”. Furthermore, he is the one, we are told, who “elevated conservatism to the center of American political discourse.” These same tributes can essentially be made regarding Farrakhan vis-a-vis black nationalism (a definite form of conservatism). So what makes it so easy to revere Buckley and demonize Farrakhan in the same breath?
In the time since their articulation of disdain for the Other, the perspectives of both men seem to have evolved. Buckley reportedly renounced racism by the mid-1960s, "in part because his horror at the terrorist tactics used by white supremacists to fight the civil rights movement, in part because of the moral witness of friends like Garry Wills who confronted Buckley with the immorality of his politics." Many see the fact that some of his friends from the 1950s remained adamant racists—notably Revilo Oliver who moved from National Review to the John Birch Society to the fringes of neo-Nazism—as evidence that Buckley’s conversion "was by no means pre-ordained". There were several other issues on which Buckley is reported to have moderated his politics. In the 1980s, he reportedly admitted that if he were a South African black he would likely support the ANC, a thought that "shocked fellow conservatives." Although his evolution in no way involved the radical reorientation of the privilege he benefited from and the power he exercised pre-conversion, it was seen by many as further evidence of his greatness.
There are three things you must understand from the perspective of the historically unprivileged in America. First, at some time Buckley was an unequivocal, unapologetic racist—not because he held bigoted views, but because he exercised his bigotry in a manner that inconvenienced, at times severely, the lives of people of color. This exercise of power against the Other is what makes racism different from simple prejudice. The concepts are not interchangeable. Outside of the ability to negatively impact another's life, a person not liking another for racial reasons is more of a nusance than anything else. Secondly, it is hard—not impossible, but very difficult—for me as a black man to deeply admire or appreciate a conversion of the sort that Buckley went through that does not appear to have cost much. Not saying that it was not sincere, just that it was not expensive, while his racism cost everyone and particularly those unlike himself. Thirdly, despite the zeitgeist of the age of segregation and Jim Crow in American history, I will be forever ambivalent, hopefully understandably so, toward celebrated public persons who do not have the courage to stand up for justice before it is popular and there is a wealth of incentive (economic and otherwise) to do so. None of these caveats has any reason to naturally factor into one's thinking unless she is touched with empathy for the marginalize or formerly colonized.
Farrakhan's evolution has followed a similar trajectory as Buckley's, though met with a significantly more cynical response. In the past 20 years, he has repeatedly expressed in statement after public statement these sentiments:
This is where I believe the comments of Diana Butler Bass become particularly instructive. She uttered them while participating in a panel discussion at the last American Academy of Religion conference, the subject of which was the emerging phenomenon in the Christian church. The original context of her comments was the pursuit of friendship (referred to as "convergence") between post-mainline and post-evangelical Christians, yet when I heard them, they struck me as a way forward in my own internal-external debate that wouldn't involve vilifying one side or the other. Her thoughts were as follows (emphasis added):
Change the context by switching the protestant ideological references to racial and socio-cultural ones and the gist of her argument remains credible. While you may stand with George Washington as the great hero of the American Revolution, I stand with Crispus Attucks. While you may have reconciled with John Brown, Emerson and William Lloyd Garrison—of whom I am ever appreciative—I also stand just as proudly with Nat Turner, Geronimo, and Harriet Tubman. I stand with Frederick Douglass, while you may celebrate Robert E. Lee. To any conversation I will also bring Olaudah Equiano, W.E.B. Dubois, Langston Hughes, Zora Neal Hurston, Paul Robeson, Vernon Johns, MLK, Malcolm X, James Baldwin and many others of varying ideological stripe, and in welcoming me you welcome them as well. As a person of color in America, I have since childhood been constantly asked to honor, even celebrate, white men and women of historical and contemporary note, over and apart from less-than-honorable, glaring, even odious aspects of their public lives. Isn't it time we all saw fit to afford one another the same grace, instead of holding one another completely hostage—I have no issue with accountability—to our previous short-comings? Can we be that vulnerable with one another?
Even if you totally disagree, please don't make the ridiculous accusation that I am professing bigotry or racism in any form or in any way aligning myself with Farrakhan theologically, philosophically or politically. However, I must be able to own that I am inextricably bound to him in a common history of what it means to be black in America and that be okay. Perhaps we would not say we are completely ready for this conversation, but it is the one God appears to be sending us from God's dreams for our future.
In this brave new wiki-world, the privileged must stop making the ahistorical demand that the under-privileged take a moderate, conciliatory, even deferential posture to all past, present and future acts of disrespect, hostility or excess (and vice versa)—if we are to create something more beautiful, conversant with one another. This is, perhaps, the only way we can paddle forward together with so much water under and over the bridge.
*For a practical example of this, learn the story of Robi Damelin and Ali Abu Awwad,
Israeli and Palestinian peacemakers.
In that world my comments could be considered without fear of my assumed agenda. But that world does not exist. We are left with this one, in which the power dynamics are what they are, and have persisted that way for so long that many have confused their homeostasis (acceptance and even contentment) with the way things are with a legitimate equilibrium (justice and fair play) in our society. I am about to disturb that homeostasis by pointing out that equilibrium is a myth and does not exist; this will disorient and unsettle many severely. The knee-jerk reaction in a situation like this is to lash out, but I beg you to consider.
I was upset by Tim Russert's insistent questioning of Senator Barak Obama's ties to Minister Louis Farrakhan of the Nation of Islam in the mist of the last primary-season debate between Democratic candidates Obama and Clinton. Even after the question had been asked and answered more than once, Russert persisted trying to establish for the record a link between Obama and Farrakhan through the person of Rev. Jeremiah Wright, a world-renown and widely respect minister, senior pastor (emeritus) of Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago, where Obama and his family are members. In 1984, Wright had traveled with Farrakhan to Lybia and returned to refer to Farrakhan as a "great man". In a post-911 world, any other Christian-Muslim pilgrimage resulting in such interfaith appreciation of one another would be applauded. But not this time, for upon his return 24 June 1984, Min. Louis Farrakhan gave this assessment of the West's policy in the Middle East:
This is the speech from which the infamous account of Farrakhan referring to Judaism as a 'gutter religion' is surmised. However, as we can read, that's not actually what Farrakhan says; rather in language steeped in religious allusion and metaphor, he takes issue with what he believes to be the unjust actions of Israel against Muslim people, namely Palestinians. Farrakhan seeks to stand in solidarity with the Palestinian people, the majority of whom are fellow Muslims."...America and England and the nations backed Israel's existence. Therefore when you aid and abet someone in a criminal conspiracy, you are a part of that criminal conspiracy. So America and England and the nations are criminals in the sight of almighty God. Now that nation called Israel, never has had any peace in forty years and she will never have any peace because there can never be any peace structured on injustice, thievery, lying and deceit and using the name of God to shield your dirty religion under His holy and righteous name."
I do not mean to suggest in any way that what he does say is not hostile, even malicious: it indeed is. Notwithstanding, as an African-American, I've been asked repeatedly and have had to come to grips with the fact that every hostile comment made against me is not automatically racial. I'm not saying this is one of those instances: frankly, I do not know. Being as intimately acquainted as I am with the socio-religious rhetorical patterns of those from African decent, it is honestly a toss up. "Dirty religion" in this context could just as honestly be interpreted 'dirty religious practices' as it relates to the common Christian and Jewish religious justifications for how the Palestinians are treated (in which case the Hebrew and Christian Bibles have harsher things to say). I will say, however, that we seem to suspend the need even to try to make such a determination whenever anyone has anything critical to say about Israel. Bishop Desmond Tutu and former-President Jimmy Carter years later were both maligned for suggesting that Palestinians have virtually been asked by the West to agree to a form of apartheid in relationship to Israel. Whether one agrees with their assessment or not, we should be certain that neither man harbors anti-Semitic feelings.
This conflagration of thought had consumed my attention when I heard that William F. Buckley has passed, and I was immediately filled with ambivalence. On the one hand, I felt the sorrow I always feel anytime I hear of a death. On the other hand, Buckley was the champion of a self-interestedness that I believe can only harm, no matter how civil. Then I remembered a quote I once read from an article Buckley had written:
At that point I became resentful, for I knew that I would soon begin to hear all manner of tribute to this man from the same persons who would spend the remainder of the week trying to "clarify" Obama's relationship to Farrakhan.“The central question that emerges…is whether the White community in the South is entitled to take such measures as are necessary to prevail, politically and culturally, in areas where it does not predominate numerically? The sobering answer is Yes—the White community is so entitled because, for the time being, it is the advanced race. It is not easy, and it is unpleasant, to adduce statistics evidencing the cultural superiority of White over Negro: but it is a fact that obtrudes, one that cannot be hidden by ever-so-busy egalitarians and anthropologists.”
—National Review, 24 August 1957
Now, you have to understand how duplicitous this automatically seems to any person touched with the feelings of the marginalized in this world. Yet again, I am asked to commemorate the life of a man who by inference unabashedly thought of me as a member of an 'undeveloped race,' and at the same time "reject" a man for expressing the same sentiment about white people (never mind the irony). In tribute to Buckley, it has been said that he had a “refined, perspicacious mind”. Furthermore, he is the one, we are told, who “elevated conservatism to the center of American political discourse.” These same tributes can essentially be made regarding Farrakhan vis-a-vis black nationalism (a definite form of conservatism). So what makes it so easy to revere Buckley and demonize Farrakhan in the same breath?
In the time since their articulation of disdain for the Other, the perspectives of both men seem to have evolved. Buckley reportedly renounced racism by the mid-1960s, "in part because his horror at the terrorist tactics used by white supremacists to fight the civil rights movement, in part because of the moral witness of friends like Garry Wills who confronted Buckley with the immorality of his politics." Many see the fact that some of his friends from the 1950s remained adamant racists—notably Revilo Oliver who moved from National Review to the John Birch Society to the fringes of neo-Nazism—as evidence that Buckley’s conversion "was by no means pre-ordained". There were several other issues on which Buckley is reported to have moderated his politics. In the 1980s, he reportedly admitted that if he were a South African black he would likely support the ANC, a thought that "shocked fellow conservatives." Although his evolution in no way involved the radical reorientation of the privilege he benefited from and the power he exercised pre-conversion, it was seen by many as further evidence of his greatness.
There are three things you must understand from the perspective of the historically unprivileged in America. First, at some time Buckley was an unequivocal, unapologetic racist—not because he held bigoted views, but because he exercised his bigotry in a manner that inconvenienced, at times severely, the lives of people of color. This exercise of power against the Other is what makes racism different from simple prejudice. The concepts are not interchangeable. Outside of the ability to negatively impact another's life, a person not liking another for racial reasons is more of a nusance than anything else. Secondly, it is hard—not impossible, but very difficult—for me as a black man to deeply admire or appreciate a conversion of the sort that Buckley went through that does not appear to have cost much. Not saying that it was not sincere, just that it was not expensive, while his racism cost everyone and particularly those unlike himself. Thirdly, despite the zeitgeist of the age of segregation and Jim Crow in American history, I will be forever ambivalent, hopefully understandably so, toward celebrated public persons who do not have the courage to stand up for justice before it is popular and there is a wealth of incentive (economic and otherwise) to do so. None of these caveats has any reason to naturally factor into one's thinking unless she is touched with empathy for the marginalize or formerly colonized.
Farrakhan's evolution has followed a similar trajectory as Buckley's, though met with a significantly more cynical response. In the past 20 years, he has repeatedly expressed in statement after public statement these sentiments:
As a Muslim, I revere Abraham, Moses, and all the Prophets who Allah (God) sent to the children of Israel. I believe in the scriptures brought by these Prophets and the Laws of Allah (God) as expressed in the Torah. I would never refer to the Revealed Word of Allah (God)—the basis of Jewish Faith—as "dirty" or "gutter" . . . Over the centuries, the evils of Christians, Jews and Muslims have dirtied their respective religions. True Faith in the laws and Teaching of Abraham, Jesus and Muhammad is not dirty, but, practices in the name of these religions can be unclean and can cause people to look upon the misrepresented religion as being unclean."Say what you will about his sincerity, but the exact same thing was considered enough to canonize Buckley not among the fringe but in the mainstream of the dominant culture. In the 1990s, Farrakhan reached out to a group of non-Zionist, orthodox Jews to establish conversation and camaraderie. Repeatedly in the Million-Man March and in other public initiatives, he has called for an "end to the cycle of hate." This may not make him fully chastened, but in as much as is required of others, definitely evolving.
This is where I believe the comments of Diana Butler Bass become particularly instructive. She uttered them while participating in a panel discussion at the last American Academy of Religion conference, the subject of which was the emerging phenomenon in the Christian church. The original context of her comments was the pursuit of friendship (referred to as "convergence") between post-mainline and post-evangelical Christians, yet when I heard them, they struck me as a way forward in my own internal-external debate that wouldn't involve vilifying one side or the other. Her thoughts were as follows (emphasis added):
"One of the things that I sort of genuinely wonder about in any kind of convergence—and perhaps this is because I am a mainliner and I've seen all of the worst that the ecumenical movement can possibly do—is that there was a really bad part of the ecumenical movement that basically did not allow us to have our identities. And one of the things I hold onto when I'm in rooms of clergy and theologians and working with them and we start talking about post-conservatism and post-liberalism is I always remind them that those "posts-" come out of a very distinctive historical experience. And those historical experiences are always going to remain part of our identity. They don't just go away because… [we] say we want to be friends. We're going to be standing in our conversations having coffee[, and] I've got Schleiermacher standing with me all the time, not John Stott. If we think about that conversation happening not just here and now but in that larger communion of saints… we are opening up conversational space for people who once killed each other. That is very gentle [work], and you can't just say, 'That never happened!' We're going to be doing this convergence work, but holding onto the things that we love and the things that make us who we are. So I wouldn't want us ever to slam into [each other].... It is a potential, terrible misstep for people who have been schooled in liberal Protestantism to let go of their identity for the sake of one happy big family. We need not to do that. We need to be who we really are. So post-liberal, post-conservative are 'post-' separate streams, but it doesn't mean we can't form something new together."
Even if you totally disagree, please don't make the ridiculous accusation that I am professing bigotry or racism in any form or in any way aligning myself with Farrakhan theologically, philosophically or politically. However, I must be able to own that I am inextricably bound to him in a common history of what it means to be black in America and that be okay. Perhaps we would not say we are completely ready for this conversation, but it is the one God appears to be sending us from God's dreams for our future.
In this brave new wiki-world, the privileged must stop making the ahistorical demand that the under-privileged take a moderate, conciliatory, even deferential posture to all past, present and future acts of disrespect, hostility or excess (and vice versa)—if we are to create something more beautiful, conversant with one another. This is, perhaps, the only way we can paddle forward together with so much water under and over the bridge.
*For a practical example of this, learn the story of Robi Damelin and Ali Abu Awwad,
Israeli and Palestinian peacemakers.
Labels: missional, Obama, politics, reconciliation
Talking to the Canadians
I'm so terribly ambivalent about the news that a top aid from the Obama camp, Austan Goolsbee, had a meeting with the Canadian Consulate General, Georges Rioux, in Chicago in which his comments were interpreted to mean that Obama's stand of NAFTA should only be taken as campaign rhetoric and not public policy.
I'm conflicted, not because the meeting took place, but that the campaign spent several days denying it. I want to believe Obama when he says he honestly didn't know. Given the wiki-nature of his campaign, that seems feasible. Nonetheless, should Austan Goolsbee and others be publicly chastised or even fired for taking so long to admit the visit to Obama?
The problem for me is that I just don't want Obama to lie. I'm not one of those cynics who is quick to say that all politicians do or must. If Obama were to begin to, then for me it usurps his entire argument for the presidency, because at that point, Hillary is much better and much more experienced at that kind of politics.
A question that must be asked was raised by Anderson Cooper on CNN. Who in Canada (and why), the day before a highly contested primary, would leak a document that's only impact could be to influence politics in America? It's surely not in Canada's interest to sully the man who is allegedly more in their camp. Some part of this doesn't make good sense.
This combined with the overwhelming glut of accusation coming out of the Clinton camp inclines me to believe things are not quite as they seem. I don't know how, and I'm making no accusations, but this seems just a little too convenient for Hillary and McCain. When you spend as much time as the Clinton and McCain campaigns have throwing negativity at your opponent hoping something, anything will stick and slow his momentum, I wouldn't put it pass you to orchestrate something of this defamatory nature.
In fact, it's been reported by the Canadian television station CTV, the one's who produced the memo documenting the Obama campaign's meeting with Canadian diplomats, that the Clinton campaign has been endeavoring to open up indirect channels of communication with the Canadian government for some time as well.
So I'm wary, but not dismayed. My hope is that Obama can find a way to remain above board with the American people.
I'm conflicted, not because the meeting took place, but that the campaign spent several days denying it. I want to believe Obama when he says he honestly didn't know. Given the wiki-nature of his campaign, that seems feasible. Nonetheless, should Austan Goolsbee and others be publicly chastised or even fired for taking so long to admit the visit to Obama?
The problem for me is that I just don't want Obama to lie. I'm not one of those cynics who is quick to say that all politicians do or must. If Obama were to begin to, then for me it usurps his entire argument for the presidency, because at that point, Hillary is much better and much more experienced at that kind of politics.
A question that must be asked was raised by Anderson Cooper on CNN. Who in Canada (and why), the day before a highly contested primary, would leak a document that's only impact could be to influence politics in America? It's surely not in Canada's interest to sully the man who is allegedly more in their camp. Some part of this doesn't make good sense.
This combined with the overwhelming glut of accusation coming out of the Clinton camp inclines me to believe things are not quite as they seem. I don't know how, and I'm making no accusations, but this seems just a little too convenient for Hillary and McCain. When you spend as much time as the Clinton and McCain campaigns have throwing negativity at your opponent hoping something, anything will stick and slow his momentum, I wouldn't put it pass you to orchestrate something of this defamatory nature.
In fact, it's been reported by the Canadian television station CTV, the one's who produced the memo documenting the Obama campaign's meeting with Canadian diplomats, that the Clinton campaign has been endeavoring to open up indirect channels of communication with the Canadian government for some time as well.
So I'm wary, but not dismayed. My hope is that Obama can find a way to remain above board with the American people.
Yes! The Sequel
The We Are The Ones Songby will.i.am
people say Obama’s words are just words...
but...
when was the last time "words" weren’t important...???...
when was the last time a great leader didn’t use words to lead...??...
when was the last time a person didn’t use words to describe how they felt...?...
when was the last time "words" weren’t empowering...?...
and we can all recall the last time "words" were used to divide us and install fear...
Bush used words to fear us into voting for him the second time around...
terror this...
terror that...
nuclear here...
weapons of mass destruction there...
and those words effected a lot of people’s choices...
"enough is enough"...
let’s rebuild...
let’s change ourselves...
let’s allow positivity to guide us...
let's take action....
let’s activate our passion...
we are Americans....
and this is the first time in forever that someone running for president represents "US"...
some say this is all excitement...
I call it “proud to be an American”...
some say this whole Obama movement is "cult like"...
well...
if it comes across cult like...
then...
the cult is called America...
the Obama movement is connecting America.
and it has made "US" realize our importance...
the youth is excited and activated...
adults are passionate and motivated...
the elderly are proud to know the country they built is in safe hands...
we are one...
for too long politics has been corrupt...
separate from the American people...
with agendas that go against what the American people "need"...
education...
health...
safety...
jobs
etc...
politicians have spoken a different language...
making it so the youth and poor people feel as if voting was only for the wealthy and old people...
making "US" feel as if "we" had no voice...
making "US" feel powerless...
making it feel like if "we" did vote it wouldn’t change anything...
but wait...
that did happen...
some of us voted, and it didn’t change anything...
we were in the dark...
we had no voice...
we were powerless...
because America was not a united America...
and "they" spoke a different language...
and they had an agenda different from our well being...
correct me if I’m wrong... or speak up if I’m missing something...
we want education, health, safety, and good jobs...right???...
oh yeah...
and "a healthy planet to live on"...
but here we are...
in a war... poor education... poor health programs... the dollar is down... the planet, polluted...
the rich, richer... and the poor, struggling...
with sky high gas prices to top it all off...
and now even the rich aren't really rich internationally because our dollar is has fallen so far down...
in our slumber... a very small few got really rich...
because when you’re sleeping...
"it’s hard to change agendas"...
we know what happened in 2000 and 2004...
but in 2008...
it’s different...
we are awake...
and there is a movement...
and "it’s hard to change a movement"...
last time "we" didn’t have a movement...
America wasn’t united...
and now "United and "Standing"...for something...
we know the power of "US"...
and we have a person who represents the "U.S."...
"US"…
"we are the ones we’ve been waiting for"...
I’m proud to be an American...
will.i.am
"So what, if he's Muslim?"
I've been wanting to write about this for about two weeks, since my wife received the e-mail about Obama being a Muslim. Omar's thesis question is the exact same one I voiced, but is strengthened by the power of his personal narrative. I found this article on the God's Politics blog (a collaboration between Beliefnet & Sojourners), Omar also published it on his blog, which is where the hyperlink to finish the article sends you.
The Politics of Names
by Rev. Omar Hamid Al-Rikabi
The Politics of Namesby Rev. Omar Hamid Al-Rikabi
My parents had an agreement: If my father could name his children, then my mother could raise us in the church. So I was given a full Muslim name, but I was baptized as a Christian. Growing up I never really liked my name very much - Omar. For a little kid in Texas, a foreign sounding, deeply ethnic name was a nuisance. It stood out too much. It made a scene. In classrooms full of Mikes and Peters and Amys and Stephanies, Omar felt like the person who wore jeans to a wedding while everyone else was in suits. Very out of place. I always wanted to be a David.
Over the years, in classrooms and sanctuaries, as different Middle Eastern dictators and terrorist groups made headlines, my name was the butt of many jokes, varied translations, and stupid questions (imagine the fun in junior high when "Moammar Gadhafi" sounded too much like "Omar Rikabi").
Not too long ago, I was given the opportunity to preach in a Baptist church in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Before the service started I was introduced to the senior pastor. "Hello," I told him, "my name is Omar and I'll be doing the preaching tonight." As he shook my hand, he pulled me close and asked loudly with his southern drawl, "Omar? You're not a terrorist are you?"
I have to admit that this was not the first time my Muslim name was taken as a suggestion that I was "one of them." By "them" I mean "the enemy." The politics and preaching of fear saturates us. Representative Keith Ellison, the Muslim congressman from Minnesota, had to endure talk show host Glenn Beck's ridiculous questions about his loyalty to "the enemy." And now Senator Barack Obama is under attack because his middle name is Hussein.
But here is my question: What if Obama were a Muslim? So what?
complete the article>>>
complete the article>>>
Labels: interfaith, Obama, politics
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About Me
- Name: <a href="http://melvinbray.com"><b>Melvin Bray</b></a>, coordinating storyteller
- Location: Atlanta, Georgia, United States
Here's the question that motivates me: How do we tell the stories of our faith in such a way that others—particularly our children—don't have to re-traverse the same valley of shadows we've come through to retain faith?
Many parents have realized that if we share the stories of scripture with our children the way they were told to us, our kids could grow up as miseducated as we ourselves often feel. Why not equip them to chart new territory?
I invite you to join me in re-telling our stories. Submit your re-imaginings of the biblical narrative to the e-mail below, and let's see where God leads us.
Although we may intuitively recognize the need for a 'post-ism' articulation of the biblical narrative, it helps if we can prove a real market for it. Your activity on this blog does that. So don't neglect to invite friends!
My Website
- the HUB or all things bray-ish
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- The Story in Which We Find Ourselves
- Kid Cultivators
- Atlanta's Emergent Cohort
- Emergent
- Livin' and lovin' and diggin' West End Atlanta
- Resourcing the Good in the Earth
- Success must include Sustainability
- Gender Equity
- Being God's Art
- The Economics of Enough... for All
- Justice and Peace for Everyone
- Racial Reconciliation
- Inter-faith Collaborations
- Relational Giving
- Sustainable, Organic Processes
- Local,Sustainably-Grown,Organic Foods:
- Patronizing Local Food Coops
- Striving toward Sustainable Housing
- Responsible Energy Use
- The Fortuitousness of Re-using
- Letting Worms Eat Our Garbage
- The Value of Home-school
- Books With Art that Looks Like My Kids
- Anthony Smith (thinker)
- Caroline Ingle (activist)
- Ched Myers (author)
- David Park (cultural inquisitor)
- Eugene Russell (artist)
- Heidi Day Jessup (activist)
- Ercell Watson (comedian)
- Patdro Harris (artist)
- Ryan Sharp (artist)
- Tom Livengood (urban pastoral pioneer)
- Troy Brosink (urban artist-pastor)
- The Post-Corporate World
- The Biblical Vision of Sabbath Economics
- The Biblical Jubilee and the Struggle for Life
- India Arie, Testimony: Vol. 1
- I'VE MOVED!
- The Stuff Multiculturalism is Made of
- Hope Full-term
- From Alice Walker, with Love, to the President-elect
- Obama Grabs Headlines--November 5, 2008
- A Letter from a Friend
- Thanks for the Dialogue
- I Too!
- Mmmm! They Make a Beautiful First Couple
- It's A Whole New World
- February 2006
- March 2006
- June 2006
- July 2006
- August 2006
- October 2006
- November 2006
- December 2006
- February 2007
- April 2007
- May 2007
- July 2007
- January 2008
- February 2008
- March 2008
- April 2008
- May 2008
- June 2008
- July 2008
- August 2008
- October 2008
- November 2008
- December 2008
- January 2009
My Art
(narrative cultural commentary)
(essay social critique)
(a Kid Cultivators-Emergent story project)
How I Give My Life Away
Good I Live Mindful Of
Worth Getting to Know
Worth Checking Out
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