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My letter to Barack Obama
Yeah, the defenders of Rev. Jeremiah Wright, the people pleading for context and understanding of his irrational, unpatriotic and borderline racist words, are the same people who clamored for Imus’ removal and claimed context had no place in the discussion of Imus’ inappropriate description of female basketball players at Rutgers.
I am not political. Dishonesty is so pervasive within politics that I practice abstinence. Conservative and liberal ideologies are the enemies of common sense. I’m a nonvoting, casual observer.
Obama’s candidacy intrigues me for one reason: He has the necessary background, life experience and personality to inspire ordinary Americans to look beyond their racial stereotypes and fears.
Without a unifying force, it’s my concern that we’ll never recognize and embrace ideas, policies and investments that will keep American culture ahead of its competitors.
Obama’s speech last week on race disappointed me. He came off like a typical politician, more interested in damage control than addressing the whole truth. Those of you who read my column regularly know that I’m passionate about issues of race.
I e-mailed my letter to Oprah Winfrey, asking her to pass it along to Obama. Here’s what I hoped/hope to hear from Obama:
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When I spoke with you on Tuesday, I wanted to appear presidential. Today, I just want to represent Barack Obama. I want you to know who I am on the most personal level, and if revealing myself this transparently makes me unworthy of this nation’s highest office, then I’ll accept that and carry on enthusiastically as a senator representing the great state of Illinois.
As a consequence of misspoken words by my wife, a lapse in judgment on my part and the games that have come to characterize American politics, my love of this country is being questioned and attacked. This controversy has shaken me to my core, caused me to lose sleep and moved us away from the issues that should define this presidential race.
I stand before you wounded and angry. But most important, I stand here today determined to finish this presidential race with my name and reputation in good standing and no questions about my profound belief in this country.
It is impossible for me to despise, dislike and wish for God to damn America.
I am America.
I am a product of America’s melting pot, proof of America’s willingness to acknowledge its mistakes and do better, an example of the kind of tolerance and opportunity you will find nowhere else in the world.
On Tuesday, I attempted to explain to you why I can’t reject Rev. Wright the man, only his incendiary, unpatriotic words. I analogized Rev. Wright with my grandmother. I didn’t go far enough. I didn’t want to talk about the hole in my heart, the hole in the heart of every boy or man who has been abandoned by his father.
This is a pain that only victims of parental abandonment can know, a pain that has caused me to write diaries and books trying to subdue it. It’s a pain that led me to Rev. Wright, a relationship with Jesus Christ and an association with a church that taught me many of the things my father should have.
I am both white and black, and for this I am immensely proud and unrepentant. I love my white mother and the white grandparents who raised me. I love what they instilled in me as a boy in Hawaii. Without them, I would not have a Harvard degree, a beautiful wife and a chance to be president of the country I love. I would not trade my mother, my grandparents and my upbringing for anyone’s in this world.
I would, however, like to know why my father left me. I would like to fill the hole in my heart.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve always wanted to know about the other half of me, the half that is dark-skinned and African, the half that drove much conversation in my grandparents’ home and caused some people to react poorly to me in public. There are some questions only my father could answer. The rest I got from Rev. Wright and his congregation.
I moved to Chicago confident and content with the white half of Barack Obama. I was inquisitive about the black. I was introduced to Rev. Wright and his church. In them, I learned what it means to be a minority and unprivileged in America. I discovered the immense joy and satisfaction of helping someone pull themselves up by their boot straps. I found a place that helped me along my journey to become whole.
What I did not find is perfection. As I shared with you on Tuesday, my grandparents’ home wasn’t perfect. I’ve yet to find and doubt that a perfect place exists in this world. Rev. Wright has views on race, America and American politics that I don’t agree with and frankly find offensive. He is not unlike the parents of my white and black friends. I’m a part of the generation that has agreed to disagree with our parents’ view of race.
Our parents are controlled by their segregated views. They have a little bit of bad information and/or bad experience and jump to irrational conclusions based on them. My generation knows each other far more intimately. We have context and perspective. We recognize how far America has come because we’ve enjoyed the benefits of that hard-earned progress.
What I’ve tried to do throughout my life and in this presidential race is grab the hand of my grandmother and grab the hand of Rev. Wright, pull them together, remind them of where America has allowed us to go and where we, the next generation, can take this country.
We’re in a different time, a new era. Our nation will not move forward if we continue to castigate white people for every shortcoming within black America. Or if we continue to thwart every effort by minorities to level the playing field by pretending we erased hundreds of years of discrimination with a generation of freedom.
Now is the time for all of us — white, black, brown and yellow — to grab an oar, commit to the work necessary to row this country to a higher level. That is why I’m running for president. Because it is the only country where my life, a life I love, is even possible.