Well put and good analogies.
Archive for March, 2008
Posted by nicolen on March 26, 2008
Posted by nicolen on March 24, 2008
ACTIVISM AT IT’S BEST –
Posted by nicolen on March 24, 2008
Sometimes we are too quick to judge. Is this the case with Reverend Wright? I must admit that hearing the sermons in context makes a world of difference.
Posted by nicolen on March 22, 2008
Long Island, the most segregated suburban area in the United States, is suffering from racial tension and a broken heart. The tragic shooting death of 17-year-old Daniel Cicciaro, Jr. in August of 2006, has rendered the community divided throughout the trial of John White, and now his controversial sentence of 2-4 years.
In what can only be described as a complex and confusing case, the sentence which was handed down on March 19th, has been met with heated comments on both sides. The issue of protecting your home and your family has now taken a back seat to the issues of race and justice.
On what has been described as a very hot night in August, Aaron White and a friend, Michael Longo, were looking for something to do so they began calling some of their friends. They heard about a party being held at Craig Martin’s house. It was a birthday celebration for Craig and the beer was flowing freely. Everything seemed great and everyone was having a good time – until 15-year-old Jennifer Martin, Craig’s sister, told her brother that she was not comfortable with Aaron around.
According to an account written by Calvin Trillin in the New Yorker (March 3, 2008), Craig didn’t know why Jennifer felt that way, but sent Daniel Cicciaro to ask Aaron to leave. It wasn’t until after Aaron left, without incident, that Jennifer said that nine months earlier, in an online chatroom, Aaron had threatened to rape her. A fact that was later shown to be false as Michael Longo later admitted that he had set up a phony MySpace under Aaron’s name.
The revelation of Aaron’s reported threat enraged the youth and, in particular, Daniel. They began making phone calls to Aaron, who is African-American, and threatening him while using racial epithets and working their drunken anger into a frenzy. Finally, five very drunk young men climbed into two cars and drove to the home of Aaron White.
Aaron’s friend, Michael, had called to alert him, and Aaron became terrified. He woke his father yelling that someone was coming to kill him.
John White climbed from his bed as a car pulled into his driveway shining the lights into his beautiful “dream home,” something that he and his wife had worked very hard to acquire. He entered the garage and grabbed a very old gun that had been left to him by his grandfather and went outside. What happened at that point is not certain.
The young men claim that he came out pointing the gun and screaming that he was going to shoot – they claim that he said that at least three times.
Mr. White claims that they were shouting racial slurs as they entered his property. Both sides agree that Daniel either slapped at the gun or grabbed for the gun. According to White, that’s when the gun accidentally went off shooting young Daniel in the face at point blank range. The boys claim he deliberately pulled the trigger. Either way…Daniel Cicciaro is dead and two families have been devastated.
As if that wasn’t enough, there is more to this story. A Grand Jury failed to indict John White on murder charges, however, they did indict on a weapons charge and Second Degree Manslaughter. A jury, after hearing the testimony, deliberated for four days before rendering a guilty verdict last December. Even that wasn’t free of controversy, as two of the jurors later reported that they had been bullied and pressured by other jurors to agree with their findings.
While the family and friends of Daniel Ciccirao were happy with the verdict, the sentencing was a whole other story. Judge Kahn cited White’s clean record and the role that the victim, himself, played in this tragedy, as she sentenced John White to two to four years in prison, eliciting a vile outburst by Daniel Ciccirao, Sr.
“Fuck you!” he screamed at the defendant’s wife and son. “Does this mean as long as you are black and there is a problem at the end of your driveway you can shoot my son in the face?” Cicciaro shouted.
“Let’s see what happens when Aaron White gets shot! Let’s see what the laws are then!”
Calling the defense attorney’s “opportunistic race-baiters” and claiming that they had attempted to paint his son as a bigot, during the trial, Cicciaro had told White that “even the death penalty would be a light punishment for you.”
His vitriol resulted in the police providing extra protection for the family of John White.
Earlier, amid suggestions that young Dano might have come from a racist upbringing, it was noted that, Joanne Cicciaro, who by name and appearance and accent might be assumed to have come from one of the many Italian-American families that moved to Suffolk County in recent decades from the boroughs, is actually Puerto Rican—a fact brought up to reporters by the Cicciaros in countering any implications of racism in Dano’s upbringing. (“Our family is multicultural.”)
But, the story doesn’t end here. As a matter of fact, it has the promise of taking on wings of it’s own propelled by the racist underbelly in our society.
Upon hearing the outraged Cicciaro, Sr. at the announcement of the sentencing, a rather bedraggled and beleagured group of hate-mongers began to rally around the Cicciaro family as they see their tragedy and their outrage as a vehicle by which to send their message of white oppression and injustice into the homes of other white Americans.
This type of shameless exploitation is nothing new for the racist movement. The continuous and often delusional hope that somewhere, some white person will publically validate the hate-filled and acrimonious idelology which they ascribe to, has become commonplace among those who continue to perpetuate racism.
Additionally, they often find that “validation” in a comment or a phrase uttered which was in no way intended to present any such justification. That, however, is one of the pitfalls of being in the throes of desperation.
In a thread, cunningly entitled, “White Father Responds Like White Man Over Light Sentence Given to Nigger!” the VNN Forum has largely abandoned the wholesale verbal slaughtering of each other to rally the troops around the Cicciaro family.
Somehow, they located the telephone numbers of the Cicciaro family and began a campaign to console them, to demonstrate that there are other white people who feel the same way that they do, and, as one poster said, to inform them that,
“What Daniel Cicciaro Sr., the boys father, needs to be aware of, more than anything else, is that the Jews let this nigger off, the Jewish judge, the Jewish prosecutor, and the Jewish media.”
After a few described phone calls made to the family, a claim was made that the parents are willing to do interviews that will help them “draw publicity to their plight,” indicating that the white supremacists may have, once again, found another victim to exploit. Of course, the acceptance of the parents is not a prerequisite to this exploitation. When the racists determine to dance on the graves of others – they do so without hesitation.
Daniele “Dano” Cicciaro, Jr. is dead. This tragic tale is but one of many that can be recanted by parents across our nation. Like most of them, the story raises many questions. Where were the parents while under-aged drinking was occurring at their home? Why did the sister of Craig Martin wait nine months to tell someone that she was threatened with rape? Why, when it was found that Michael Longo was the one who had put up the fake MySpace page, didn’t he tell the other boys that it was him and not Aaron? Why, indeed, did the boys not leave when they were told to do so at the point of a gun?
These are questions that most sensible people wonder about while others consider how they can capitalize on the anguish felt by the slain victim’s family. Like vultures they circulate overhead hoping that the fruit below will yield a sumptuous meal.
The community is divided, not just about race, but more about what they would have done in a similar situation. John White was born into a family already rife with fear. His grandfather, whose gun he used, moved the family from Alabama after the Ku Klux Klan came to his home in the dead of night.
The lights shining into his front windows on a late night in August along with the racial and hurtful words being shouted by 5 drunken young men, couldn’t help but renew the fears of the story that had been indelibly imprinted on his psyche. What was he to do, as five young men threatened he and his family? At fifty-four, a diabetic, and fearful for his life and that of his son, was John White justified in pulling a firearm? How far can one go to protect his property and his family?
These are the questions that plague many in Long Island tonight. And while the racists dream of a Cicciaro Family coming forth and joining them in waging war on African-Americans and Jewish judges and prosecutors, the rest of us will give our children an extra kiss and a tighter hug on their way to bed and give thanks that we haven’t had to make the decision that John White was faced with and that, unlike the Cicciaro’s, our children are secure in their slumber.
Posted by nicolen on March 18, 2008
Transcript of Obama’s speech on race
Full transcript of Obama’s speech on race as prepared for delivery
updated 10:11 a.m. CT, Tues., March. 18, 2008
PHILADELPHIA – “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.
Posted by nicolen on March 18, 2008
*Nikki’s take on the Eve Carson murder and the racist’s attempt at exploitation
*Nikki and Floyd live
*The children injured by Buford Furrow are compensated
*The Reverend Fred Phleps and the Westboro Baptist Church may get their just desserts – again
*Barack Obama, the controversy, and dirty politics
*Sean Hannity, Hal Turner and Barack campaign
Posted by nicolen on March 14, 2008
Fred Phelps and his Westboro Baptist Church groups thought they would bring their message of hate to Oklahoma and to Tinker Airforce Base today – but they found out that a little love speaks much louder than they.
Initially, police had placed both sides behind barricades more than a half block apart. Police maintained a strong presence though not nearly as strong as that found at, let’s say, a neo-Nazi rally.
Fred Phelps, notorious for picketing the funerals of our fallen soldiers brought his contingent to the heartland after a tragic shooting at Tinker Airforce Base claimed the lives of two small children and their father, a decorated war veteran, in a murder-suicide. Claiming that God is punishing America for allowing gays in the military and turning the country into a modern day Sodom and Gamorrah. On his website, announcement of the planned protest stated that God had put the gun in the father’s hands.
While there were only 9 or 10 present in his group, they brandished different signs, all reprehensible, throughout the protest, most of which was expected. However there was a collective gasp among onlookers as signs reading “Kill More Kids” and “Pray For More Dead Soldiers” were displayed. But the real story in all of this is what happened in the street and on the sidewalk.
As I approached the anti-Fred Phelps group about 30 minutes prior to the start-time, there was something very special in the air. There were approximately 30 protestors already gathered and that number swelled to near 100 by the end of the event. But, the feeling of love and togetherness was almost palpable. They told me that, above all, they support the troops and that they were all about love not hate. But, they didn’t have to tell me that – because amid the traffic and the noise, there was a peacefulness that you couldn’t help but feel emanating from this group of very young people.
In contrast to the youth, a familiar sight rode in just as the drama was beginning to unfold…the Viet Nam Veterans group of bikers who have dogged Phelps and his hateful army ever since he started ingratiating himself into the private and somber burying of our war-dead. They came right down the middle of the street and everyone cheered knowing that they make an awesome presence for our side – and they didn’t let us down.
As the Westboro Baptist Church spewed their venom, the bikers turned their backs. As the hideous words were shouted they were drowned out by the revving of engines. Wearing grim faces of determination and disgust, the bikers stood tall in the face of one of the most evil little group of haters ever to be seen in the likes of the heartland. Not only did their presence command attention and appreciation – their presence reinforced the message of love of both country and our people. Their presence signified the generations who have come before and brought with it a unification of the old and the young…a bridging of all gaps that might have once existed.
Even that wasn’t the whole story, however. The street in front of the gates into Tinker Air Force base is a major thouroughfare as it is also a major artery onto and off of I40. It is also Midwest City’s main shopping area and the protest was planned, probably by design, for the lunch-hour. While there about 100 protestors on the sidewalk – there were hundreds of cars on the street honking their horns, shouting, and making their displeasure with Phelps known. It was pretty incredible.
As Citizens Against Hate we were not kept behind the barricades and we mingled freely with the protestors, police, and press. Lacy Montgomery, head of Teens Against Hate, is responsible for most of the excellent photos displayed and we thank her for making the trip into OKC.
In closing, the Westboro Baptist Church met their match today in Oklahoma and the message of love not hate was communicated loudly and firmly. While Fred Phelps only controls a handful of members his message is particularly heinous. Watching young children – very young children – brandish placards announcing that “God Sent the Killer” or “Fags Doom Nations” caused a lot of mouths to drop and a lot of people to stop just to see if they head seen that right. One can only wonder what sort of life these children have and what sort of adults they will become.
There was one arrest today that we know of. An onlooker was so outraged by the signs and the message that he crossed over into the WBC area. Police spent a lot of time trying to calm him down and finally put him in a police car. Sadly, while I abhor violence, I can almost understand his rage. But, the rule of the day was love – you could feel it – almost taste it – and it was glorious.
A FULL GALLERY OF THE PROTEST WILL BE AVAILABLE THIS EVENING – SO CHECK BACK.
Posted in First Amendment, Fred Phelps, free speech, Gender/Orientation Discrimination, Hate Crimes, Westboro Baptist Church | Tagged: anti-hate, anti-military, First Amendment, Fred Phelps, free speech, Gender/Orientation Discrimination, hate, Tinker Air Force Base, Viet Nam Vets, Westboro Baptist Church | 2 Comments »
Posted by nicolen on March 14, 2008
Tomorrow, March 14, Fred Phelps and his Westboro Baptist Church of crazies and homophobes will be picketing Tinker Air Force Base in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Citizens Against Hate will have a presence on the opposing side and will bring coverage to you live via Eye On Hate Radio starting about 12:00 Noon – CDT at EYE ON HATE – jUST CLICK ON THE WINAMP.
We will also do a follow-up report tomorrow night at 8:00 CDT.
Posted by nicolen on March 11, 2008
UPDATE: DOWNLOAD MARC 10TH SHOW HERE
*WHY RACISM IS DETRIMENTAL
*LESSONS FROM JENA, LA
*THE SPLC ARTICLE ON BILL WHITE
*MICHAEL BURKS AND EROTICA
*THE MOST REPREHENSIBLE BIGOT IN AMERICA TO STRIKE AGAIN
Posted in General Racism, jena, Racism, Racist Profiles, Westboro Baptist Church | Tagged: bigotry, Bill White, Fred Phelps, Gender/Orientation Discrimination, jena, Michael Burks, Racism | Leave a Comment »
Posted by nicolen on March 9, 2008
An excellent explanation in language that anyone can understand – well, almost anyone.