It was time, and past time, for America to elect a black President. Had the right man been running, I would have voted for him. I believe that the election of such a man could have gone a long way toward healing many of the hurts that still plague this nation. When Barack Hussein Obama announced his candidacy, hope rose in the hearts of black Americans. That's understandable. He looked so good, like the answer to prayers. He's charismatic, delivers a speech remarkably well, as long as his teleprompter is working, and it usually does. He spoke eloquently of "hope and change." He promised to right the wrongs done to the down-trodden (presumably meaning blacks) over the years. He promised to share the wealth, to give everyone "a piece of the pie." Most important of all to a lot of people, he was black. I overheard one very young woman say, "Well, I voted for him. He's cute and he's black and that's all I needed to know." However, I also heard one older, more experienced black man say, "He's just an empty suit. He talks, but he doesn't say anything."
Yes, it's easy to see why the black community would vote for him, at least at first glance. However, let's dig a little deeper, let's examine the hope that was in the hearts of the voters, and let's take a look at what they got.
They thought they were electing one of their own. A black man, a brother, someone who understands, who was a part of their struggle over the years. Well, he's black, I suppose, at least partly. Never mind that his mother was lily-white, and apparently was a woman of unusual social and political proclivities. His father did have black skin, but he was a Kenyan, not an American black. So what we actually got was a half-blood Kenyan, someone who has absolutely no knowledge of what it means to grow up black in America. We needed a man who was a child in America in the forties and fifties, who might have grown up in Birmingham or Atlanta, who experienced segregation and separate water fountains, who personally remembers Selma, who might have been among the first students to integrate a school. We needed a man who knows what it feels like to hear his father addressed as "boy." We needed a man who slept on a pew in an AME church, with his head on his grandma's shoulder while his mama sang in the choir, and where the pastor preached love and forbearance and the promises of God.
Instead, we got a man who grew up in Indonesia, far removed from America, who was educated in Muslim schools, who still thinks the Muslim call to prayer is "one of the most beautiful sounds on earth." This man's black grandma, presumably, was still somewhere in Kenya, living in poverty and in the fear that dominates most Muslim societies, particularly for women. Little is known about his contact with his black family, but it appears that it was limited to a few visits. His white grandma wasn't beside him in church, either; instead, she and his grandpa were busy consorting with known Socialists, Marxists and two-bit terrorists. His mother deposited him with her parents at some point and left him, so we can imagine that he sat in their living room and absorbed a boatload of Marxist ideology.
His mother split with his Kenyan Muslim father, and later took up with an Indonesian Muslim. (There's just something about those Muslim men, apparently, to some women.) Little Barack was adopted by this man, and became "Barry Soetoro". He attended a Muslim school, registered as a Muslim. As nearly as can be determined, his Christian experience consists of listening to the rants of Jeremiah Wright, and that took place in the last twenty years or so, as he was being groomed for the political role he was to assume. His handlers obviously knew that an outright Muslim wouldn't be elected President of the United States, at least not yet. Still, his early background appears to be primarily Muslim, and as my own grandma used to quote, "As the twig is bent, so grows the tree."
So, to my black friends I would say - I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you were misled, sorry that the man you thought you were getting wasn't who you hoped he would be. I can understand why you voted for him, I really can. You had high hopes, and who can blame you? Now, as for those few of my white friends who voted for him, I have to say - I don't understand. I guess your daddy was a Democrat or something, and you just can't make the break.
So, we've got him for another two and a half years, and then we get another chance! That's the good news. This IS still America, at least for now. We don't have a dictator-for-life. Every four years, we get another chance, and if necessary, we can right a wrong. We and our children and grandchildren are going to spend a lot of years paying for this particular wrong, but at least we can start over and try to correct some of the democracy-threatening, Constitution-smothering, Socialist disasters he has created.
Again to my black friends - I would hope that you will start now, and find a man who really is what you hoped Barack Obama was. Find a man with a personal knowledge of the black experience in America. We don't need a hatred-spewing, pot-boiler of a man like Jesse Jackson or Jeremiah Wright, or a bitter zealot like Louis Farrakhan. We need a good and godly man, with solid political and administrative experience, someone who has actually held a job, one with great responsibility, and proven himself worthy. We need a man who loves America in spite of her faults, and who will work to rebuild her into the great nation she can and should be. Present such a man (or woman) and they will be elected. Black, white, brown or green, it doesn't matter. Color is not the issue. It's just as wrong to vote FOR a person because of their color as it is to vote AGAINST a person because of their color. What matters is WHO they are, and what they believe in, and that they have a positive vision for this country, this democracy, this America of ours. That's what matters!
The Weight of Water
1 week ago