A MORE PERFECT UNION
March 18, 2008 | Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
“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 its 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—toward a better future for our 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 slave owners—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 failing 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 YouTube, 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 gangbanger . 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 home owners 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 persist 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 continues 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 coworkers 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 naive 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 if 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 who has been laid off, the immigrant trying to feed his family. And it means taking full responsibility for our 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 the 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 twenty-first-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 particular 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 round-table discussion where everyone went around telling their stories 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 round table 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 am 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.
“我们—人民，为建立一个更加完美的联邦的人民。”
221年前，在至今仍屹立于街对面的一个大厅里，一群人在那里集会，并用上述这些简单的文字，开始了一场几无可能的美利坚民主实验。这些农场主、学者、政治家和爱国人士为躲避暴政和迫害而穿越大洋来到美洲，并最终在1787年持续了整个春季的费城大会上使他们的独立宣言变为现实。
他们制定的这份文件虽最终获得签署，但并未彻底完成。它被这个国家的奴隶制原罪所玷污。在是否废除奴隶制这一问题上，各殖民地意见分歧，整个大会曾一度陷入僵局，最后联邦创建者们选择允许奴隶贸易再延续至少20年，并将这一问题留待后人最终解决。
当然，对奴隶制这一问题的答案已经深深植入了我们的《宪法》之中—《宪法》的核心就是公民依法享有平等的公民权；它承诺给予人民自由和公正，以及一个能够且应该随着时间推移而逐步完善起来的联邦。
然而，羊皮纸上的承诺并不足以使奴隶们摆脱制度的束缚，或使不同肤色、不同信仰的男女被赋予作为美利坚合众国公民应享有的一切权利和应承担的全部义务。还需要一代又一代美国人履行自己的职责—无论是通过街头和法庭上的抗议和斗争，还是通过内战和温和反抗，并始终冒着巨大风险，去缩小我们理想中的承诺与现实之间的差距。
这就是我们在竞选初期所提出的任务之一—继续前人的长征，继续为建立一个更加公正、平等、自由、有爱心和繁荣的美利坚长征。之所以选择在这一历史时刻竞选总统，是因为我深信，我们只有通过并肩努力才能解决我们这个时代的问题—只有通过进一步完善这个联邦，并且认识到我们的经历虽各不相同但都怀着共同的希望；我们可能相貌不同、来自不同的地方，但我们都想朝着同一个方向前进，只有这样，才能为我们的子孙创造一个更美好的未来。
这个信念源于我对美国人民的正统和慷慨坚信不疑，也源于我自己的美国故事。
我的父亲是肯尼亚黑人，母亲是堪萨斯州白人，而帮助他们将我抚养成人的是我的白人外祖父母。我的外祖父熬过了大萧条，第二次世界大战期间曾在巴顿将军的部队里服役。外祖父海外征战期间，外祖母则在莱文沃思堡的一条炮弹生产装配线上工作。我曾在美国一些最好的学校就读，也曾在世界上最贫穷的国家中生活过。我娶了一位美国黑人为妻，她身体里同时流淌着奴隶和奴隶主的血液—我们又将这条血脉传给了我们的两个宝贝女儿。我那种族各异、肤色也不尽相同的兄弟姐妹、叔舅甥侄们分散在世界三大洲。有生之年我都不会忘记，我的故事在地球上其他任何一个国家都不可能发生。
这个故事虽没有将我塑造成一位最符合传统的候选人，但它却将这样一个观念深深烙在了我的基因中，那就是这个国家不只是各部分的相加—而是真正意义上的合众为一。
在这次竞选的第一年里，与所有预言不同的是，我们看到了美国人民对团结一心这一理念的渴望。即便有人试图以纯粹种族的眼光来审视我参选一事，我们还是在这个国家的一些白人人口比例最高的州获得了重大胜利。在邦联旗帜依然飘扬的南卡罗来纳州，我们建立了一个由非裔美国人和美国白人组成的强大联盟。
但这也并不意味着种族问题在本次竞选活动中不足以成为问题。在不同的竞选阶段，一些评论员要么认为我“太黑”，要么认为我“不够黑”。我们看到，在南卡罗来纳州初选前一周里，紧张的种族关系问题还是浮出了水面。媒体也未放过每一次选后民意调查，以求发现不只是黑人和白人之间，还有黑人和棕色人种之间种族分化的最新证据。
但是，直到最近几周，本次竞选中关于种族的讨论才走到了一个极具分裂性的转折点。
在声音的一端，我们听到的是这样的暗示，称我的候选人资格是执行“平权措施”的结果，完全是出于天真的自由派欲廉价求得种族和解的意愿。而声音的另一端，则是我原来的牧师杰里迈亚·赖特用煽动性的语言来表达他的一些观点，而这些观点不仅可能扩大种族分裂，而且诋毁了我们国家的伟大和善良，并同时冒犯了白人和黑人。
我已明确地对赖特牧师引起争论的那些言论做出了谴责。然而，有些人依然对此疑虑重重。我以前是否知道他有时会对美国的内政外交进行猛烈抨击？我当然知道。我以前在教堂里有没有听过他发表有可能被视为具有争议性的观点？我当然听过。我是不是强烈反对他的政治观点？千真万确—正如我确信你们中很多人也都听到过你们的牧师、神父或拉比发表过你们不敢苟同的意见一样。
但最近引起轩然大波的言论绝不仅仅是有争议性而已，它也不单是一个宗教领袖对所见之不公正现象进行毫无保留的言语鞭笞，而是表达了对这个国家的一种极度扭曲的观点—它认为白人种族主义是美国特有的，并把美国的弊病置于我们所知的美国其他优点之上；这种观点还认为中东冲突的症结在于如以色列这样的坚定盟友所采取的行动，而不在于伊斯兰教极端分子乖张、仇恨的意识形态。
这样看来，赖特牧师的观点不只错误，还具有分裂性，而此时我们需要的却是团结；他的一些看法还充满了种族怨气，而我们此刻需要的却是同心协力地解决一系列重大问题—两场战争、恐怖主义威胁、衰退的经济、旷日持久的医保危机，以及极具破坏性的气候变化问题。这些问题不是黑人、白人、拉美裔人和亚裔人中任何一方的问题，而是我们大家共同面临的问题。
由于我的个人背景、政治经历、价值观和理想等原因，总会有一些人对我不依不饶。他们可能会问，为什么一开始要与赖特牧师交往？为什么不加入另一个教会？我承认，若我所了解的关于赖特牧师的一切仅限于电视或YouTube网站上那些翻来覆去播放的布道片段，若三一联合基督教会确实如某些评论员所讽刺、所描绘的那样，那么我必然也会做出大致相同的反应。
但事实却是，上述这些并不是我所认识的赖特的全部。20多年前与他初遇时，是他引我进入了基督教的信仰殿堂，教导我与众人互相关爱，教导我要尽到照顾病人、扶助穷困的责任。他曾加入海军陆战队为这个国家服役，曾在这个国家的一些精英学府和神学院中求学和讲学。他主持教会30多年，勤恳服务于邻里社区，在俗世之中传播上帝的福祉—收留无家可归的人、帮助缺衣少食的人、照管幼儿、奖励学生、教化犯人，还向艾滋病患者和病毒感染者伸出援手。
在我的第一本书《父亲的梦想》里，我这样描述第一次在三一教会参加礼拜的情形：
人们开始呼喊、起身鼓掌、喝彩，这些声音如一阵疾风般将牧师的声音带上了房椽。在他那声简单地对“希望”的呼喊中，我仿佛听到了一些别的东西；在那个十字架的下方，在遍布于这个城市的成千座教堂里，我想象着，有多少普通黑人的故事与大卫和歌利亚、摩西和法老、狮穴里的基督徒和以西结①看到枯骨遍地的故事融合在一起。这些关于生存、自由和希望的故事成了我们的故事、我自己的故事；故事里抛洒的热血是我们的热血，洒下的眼泪是我们的眼泪；直至这样明媚的一天，这个黑人教堂仿佛成了一艘航船，满载着一个民族的故事驶向我们的后代、驶向一个更为广阔的世界。我们的苦难与成功立刻变得既独一无二又非常普遍，它们属于黑人，却又不仅属于黑人；在记录我们这段历程时，这些故事和歌曲得以让我们重拾往日记忆，一段我们无须为之感到羞耻的记忆—或许所有人都应去正视和珍惜它—然后，我们借此重建生活。
那就是我在三一教堂的经历。像全国各地其他以黑人信徒为主的教堂一样，三一教堂将黑人群体的各个阶层集合起来—有医生和靠福利度日的母亲，也有模范生和黑帮混混。和其他黑人教堂一样，三一教堂的礼拜充满了喧闹的笑声，时而掺杂一些粗俗的幽默，还有在不常来的人看来甚至难以接受的舞蹈、掌声、尖叫和大喊。教堂将美国黑人经历中的一切都包含其中，仁慈与残酷、绝顶的智慧与惊人的无知、奋斗与成功—是的，还有爱与辛酸以及偏见。
这或许可以更好地解释我与赖特牧师之间的关系。他也许并非完人，但他待我却如家人一般。他坚定了我的信念，主持了我的婚礼，还给我的孩子洗礼。在与他的对话中，我从未听到他对其他族裔发表过任何诋毁性的言论。在与白人的交往中，他从来都是以礼相待、以敬相交。他是个矛盾体—有好的一面也有不好的一面，这正如他多年勤恳服务的社区一样。
我若断绝与他的关系，就如同断绝与黑人族群的关系。与他断绝关系，就好比与我的白人外祖母断绝关系—她是一个抚养我长大、为我一再牺牲、爱我如同爱世上其他一切的女人，也是一个曾坦言惧怕在街头与她擦肩而过的黑人男子，并时常将那些让我厌倦的种族偏见言论挂在嘴边的女人。
这些人都是我的一部分，他们也是美国的一部分，是我深爱的这个国家的一部分。
有人会认为，这是企图对那些不可宽恕的言论进行辩护或开脱。但请你们相信我，事实并非如此。我想，或许政治上比较安全的做法就是将此事抛诸脑后，希望它随时间慢慢淡去。我们大可将赖特牧师视为一个思想怪异的人或煽动家，正像有人在听到杰拉尔丁·费拉罗最近发表的言论后，便认为她心中抱有根深蒂固的种族偏见一样，对他们嗤之以鼻。
但是，我认为种族问题在这个国家目前已到了不容忽视的地步了。否则，我们同样可能犯下赖特牧师在他那关于美国的、引起众怒的布道辞中所犯的错误—将消极面简单化、常规化、放大化到足以歪曲事实的程度。
事实是，过去几周中出现的一些言论和浮现出来的问题反映了这个国家种族问题的复杂性，而我们尚未将其真正解决—这也是亟待我们去完善的一方面。若我们将之搁置或干脆退缩回各自的角落，我们就永远无法走到一起，解决诸如医保、教育和就业之类的问题。
要了解这一现实，还须认清我们是如何走进今日这样的窘境之中的。威廉·福克纳曾写道：“过去并未死去也没有被埋葬。实际上，它根本就还没有过去。”我们无须去复述这个国家种族歧视的历史，但我们必须提醒自己，今日非裔美国人群体中存在的众多不公正现象可直接追溯到奴隶制和“吉姆·克劳法”①时期一代代谬种流传的不平等。
实行种族隔离的学校过去是、如今仍是劣等学校。在布朗诉教育理事会案50年后的今天，我们还未真正整顿过这些学校。它们提供的劣等教育，无论是当年还是如今，都解释了为何今天的黑人学生和白人学生之间普遍存在成绩差距。
合法化的歧视—如常常通过暴力手段禁止黑人拥有财产、不向非裔美国企业主发放贷款、黑人家庭买房无法享受联邦住宅管理局抵押贷款，或将黑人排斥在工会、警队或消防队之外—意味着黑人家庭将无法积累起一定量的财富传之后代。这段历史解释了为什么黑人和白人之间存在财富和收入差距，以及如今众多城乡社区中一些地区的贫困痼疾。
黑人男子缺少工作机会的现状，以及因不能支持家庭生活而产生的羞耻感和挫败感，加剧了黑人家庭所承受的冲击—而政府多年来的福利政策将该问题进一步恶化。众多城市黑人社区面临着基础服务的匮乏—儿童乐园、巡警、定期垃圾回收以及强制建筑标准—所有这一切导致了我们无法摆脱的暴力、破坏和忽视的恶性循环。
赖特牧师和他同时的非裔美国人正是在这样的环境中长大的。他们于20世纪50年代末、60年代初的时候成年，当时这边土地仍旧实行种族隔离政策，他们能获得的机会在制度上受到了限制。然而，值得注意的并不是有多少人在种族歧视压力面前失败，而是有多少人克服了重重困难、在毫无出路的绝境中努力为像我这样的后来人开辟出一条道路来。
然而，纵使有一些美国黑人通过摸爬滚打最终小小成就了自己那份美国梦，可还有多少人无法实现自己的梦想—他们以这样或那样的方式被种族歧视这个敌人完全打败。失败的阴影在后代的生活中继续延续—年轻的黑人男子和越来越多的青年女子，或闲立街角，或在狱中消磨着自己的意志，对未来不抱任何希望和憧憬。即使是那些成功实现了美国梦的黑人，他们的世界观依然从根本上被种族和种族歧视问题所主导。对赖特牧师那一代黑人男女而言，屈辱、怀疑和恐惧的记忆并未从他们脑海中消散，而那段岁月里的愤怒和辛酸也仍旧难以忘却。他们也许不会在公开场合表达这种愤怒，也不会在白人同事或白人朋友面前宣泄。但在理发店里或茶余饭后，这种情感便找到了发泄的渠道。曾几何时，他们的这种愤怒被政客们加以利用，沿着种族界线来捞取选票，或用来掩盖政客自己的不足。
有时，我们还会在周日清晨的教堂礼拜上、讲坛上和做礼拜的人群中听到类似情感的宣泄。很多人在听到赖特牧师布道辞中的愤怒之声后大感惊讶，其实这不过是提醒我们注意这样一个事实，那就是在美国人的生活中，种族隔离意识最为强烈的时刻便是周日早晨这段时间。这种发泄其实无济于事，反而常常将我们的注意力从解决实际问题上转移开来；它让我们一直未能正视我们自己对此境况应负的责任，并妨碍了非裔美国人群体组成一个能带来真正变革的联盟。但是，这种愤怒之情是实际存在的，也是强烈的；仅仅希望它自行消失，或在未认清其根源之前对其加以谴责，只会不断拉大种族间误解的鸿沟。
事实上，类似的愤怒也存在于白人群体之中。劳工阶层和中产阶级中的很多美国白人都觉得自己并没有因身为白人而获得特权。他们的经历就是移民的经历—对他们而言，从未有人平白赠与过他们任何东西，他们靠的完全是白手起家。一生勤奋耕耘的他们，常常眼见工作机会流向海外或一生辛苦劳碌后的养老金缩水。他们为未来焦虑不已，感到梦想也正悄然远离；在这个薪酬停滞、全球竞争的时代，所谓机会也成了一场零和博弈—你的成功必然以我的失败为代价。所以，当他们得知自己的孩子必须坐着校车到外区上学；当他们听说非裔美国人在找工作或上大学时享受优待，原因是这些非裔美国人在历史上受过不公正的对待，而这种不公正却非现代白人之过；当他们得知自己对城区犯罪的忧虑有种族偏见之嫌，随着时间的推移，他们心中便产生了怨愤。
与黑人的愤怒一样，这些怨恨一般不在有礼貌的交往中显露出来，但它却塑造了延续至少一代人时间的美国政治形势。对福利政策和平权措施的不满催生出了“里根联盟”。政客们不断利用人们对犯罪活动的忧惧来捞取选票。脱口秀主持人和保守的时政评论员则一味地指责种族歧视一说有多么荒唐，同时认为关于种族不公和不平等问题的合理讨论只不过是政治正确或逆向歧视的表现。
正如黑人宣泄愤怒却常常适得其反一样，白人的这些怨恨也让他们忽视了导致中产阶级困境的罪魁祸首—充斥着内幕交易、令人生疑的财务行为和追求短期利益贪婪行为的企业文化，被政治说客和特殊利益集团占领的华盛顿，还有偏向少数人利益的经济政策。然而，祈求白人的怨恨自行消失或给他们贴上受人误导或种族主义者的标签，而未认识到他们忧虑的理由—这同样也会扩大种族隔阂，阻碍种族间达成相互理解。
这就是我们目前的处境，一个胶着多年的种族僵局。与一些批评我的人—无论黑人还是白人—所持观点相反的是，我从未如此天真地认为，因为一次选举或因为一个候选人—尤其是像我这样一个并不完美的候选人，我们就能使种族问题迎刃而解。
但是，我已坚定地表达了我的不渝信念—它植根于我对上帝的信仰和对美国人民的信心—携起手来我们才能治愈种族问题的一些痼疾，事实上，若想在完善联邦的道路上继续走下去，我们已别无选择。
对非裔美国人而言，这条道路意味着去坦然接受历史的包袱，而不要成为历史的受害者；还意味着要在美国生活的各个方面继续坚持实现全面公正。但这同样也意味着要将我们的委屈与不满（如要求更好的医疗卫生条件、更好的教育、更好的工作）与全体美国人—欲努力打破职场限制的白人妇女、失业的白人男子和为养家糊口而打拼的移民—更大的追求结合在一起；意味着我们要对自己的生活负责—要求做父亲的尽更多的义务，花更多时间与孩子相处，给他们读书，教导他们在面对挑战和歧视时，绝不要屈服于绝境或愤世嫉俗，必须永远坚信自己可以书写自己的命运。
具有讽刺意味的是，自立自助这个美国经典、保守主义的信条，也常常在赖特牧师的布道中体现出来。但我的老牧师往往忽略了一点，自立自助必须建立在这样一个信念之上，那就是相信社会可以变革。
赖特布道中最深层次的错误，不是他指出了社会上的种族歧视问题，而是在他看来，我们这个社会是停滞不前的，没有取得过任何进步；这个国家—一个能够让其教众之一竞选这片土地上的最高公职，并建立一个由白人和黑人、拉美裔人和亚裔人以及贫富老幼组成的联邦国家—注定无法走出悲剧的过去。但我们所知道并目睹的是，美国可以改变。这才是这个国家的真正本质。我们已经取得的成就赋予我们希望—以及敢于希望的勇气—去成就我们将来有能力成就并且必须成就的事业。
对白人而言，塑造一个更加完美的合众国意味着要承认困扰着非裔美国人的那些问题并非他们自行臆造；种族歧视的流毒和当前发生的歧视事件—虽然不像以前那样明显—是真实存在的，而且必须得到解决。要解决它不能仅仅停留在口头上，而要实际行动起来—加大对学校和社区的投入；严格执行民权法律，确保刑事司法体系的公正；向这一代人提供更多前人所无法企及的发展机会。要让所有美国人都意识到，你的成功并不一定要建立在我的失败之上；对健康、福利以及各种族儿童教育问题上做出的投资，最终都将促进美国的繁荣昌盛。
最终我们所呼吁的，正是世界上所有伟大宗教要求的那样—你们愿意别人怎样对待你们，你们也要怎样对待别人。《圣经》教导我们要成为兄弟的守护者，那就让我们也成为姐妹的守护者。让我们寻找彼此间的共同利益，并将该精神贯彻到我们的政治生活中去。
我们国家总是面临着选择。我们可以接受一种滋长分裂、冲突和愤世嫉俗态度的政治。我们可以将种族问题处理成一场如辛普森案那样的闹剧—或在悲剧发生后再来亡羊补牢，正如卡特里娜飓风来袭之后—又或者使之成为夜间新闻的谈资。我们可以在每个频道、每天都播放赖特牧师的布道，从此一直纠缠于他所讲的字字句句直至选举结束，使此次竞选活动只存在唯一一个话题，即美国人是否认为我对赖特极具冒犯性的言论表示认同或支持。我们可以对希拉里的某个支持者的失态大做文章，并由此指责她在打种族牌。或者，我们还可以猜测是不是全体白人男性选民都会不顾其具体政策而在大选中将票投给约翰·麦凯恩。
我们可以这么做。
倘若我们这么做了，我可以告诉你，下次选举中，我们又会开始讨论一些旁枝末节、无关紧要的问题，如此一而再、再而三，无穷无尽，而一切都得不到改变。
当然，那只是我们的一个选项。又或者，我们可以在此时此刻的选举中走到一起来，向世人宣告“这次再也不能这样了”。这一次，我们要谈谈每况愈下的学校，它们正在吞噬各族孩子的未来。这一次，我们要摒弃那种厌世嘲讽的态度，抛却那些认为这些孩子不可教、那些非我族裔的孩子是别人的问题的想法。美国的孩子们不应受到如此冷遇，他们是我们的孩子，我们不能让他们在21世纪的竞争中落伍。这一次，再不能这样。
这一次，我们要谈谈拥挤在急诊室里的白人、黑人和拉美裔人，他们没有医疗保险，仅凭自己的力量也无法与华盛顿特殊利益集团抗衡。但如若我们同心协力，他们便能与之好好较量一番。
这一次，我们要谈谈破败的工厂，它们曾一度让各种族的劳动者过上了体面的生活；还有那些抵押待售的房屋，曾几何时，它们属于来自各宗教、各地区和各行各业的美国民众。这一次，我们要谈谈这样一个事实，那就是，真正的问题不是那些与你相貌不同的人可能抢走你的饭碗，而是你所工作的公司把工作机会转移到海外，而其目的不过是追求利润而已。
这一次，我们要谈谈那些肤色不同、信仰各异的男女，他们在同一面令人骄傲的旗帜下，一起服役，一起战斗，一起流血。我们要谈谈怎样才能让他们从一场本不该批准和发动的战争中回家，我们还想谈谈怎样通过关爱他们和他们的家人，以及给予他们应得的待遇，来体现我们的爱国主义。
若非完全相信这是大多数美国人对这个国家发出的心声，我便不会参加此次总统竞选。这个联邦可能永远无法成就完美，但多少年来的经验却证明了它总能获得改善。如今，每当我对这种可能性表示怀疑或不屑的时候，年轻的一代人给了我最多的希望—他们的态度、信念和对变革的包容已经在这次选举中创造了历史。
今天，我想给大家带来一个特别的故事—在马丁·路德·金博士诞辰那天，我有幸在其生前主持的亚特兰大埃比尼泽浸礼会教堂讲过这个故事。
有这样一位23岁的年轻白人女士，名叫阿什利·拜亚，她负责组织我们在南卡罗来纳州弗洛伦斯市的竞选活动。从竞选一开始，她便一直致力于将一个非裔美国人为主的社区组织起来。一天，她参加了一个圆桌讨论会，每一位与会者都轮流讲述了他们各自的经历以及他们到这里（参加助选）的原因。
阿什利说，她9岁那年，妈妈患上了癌症，因此很多天没能上班，结果被雇主开除，医疗保险也就此化为泡影。她们一家只能申请破产，而正是在这个时候，阿什利决定要帮自己的妈妈做些事情。
她知道全家在食物方面开销最大，于是阿什利让妈妈相信，她真正喜欢吃的、最想吃的就是芥末泡菜三明治，因为这样吃最便宜。
阿什利就这么吃了一年，直至妈妈身体见好。她告诉参加讨论的每一个人，她之所以加入我们的助选活动，是因为她能通过这种方式来为这个国家许许多多想要并需要帮父母做点事情的孩子们提供帮助。
阿什利本可以做出一个不同的选择。也许有人曾不断告诉她，她母亲的问题源于那些靠福利维生、懒惰而不愿劳作的黑人，或是非法入境的拉美裔人。但阿什利并没有听信这些，而是选择与大家联合起来，与不公正现象做斗争。
阿什利讲完了她的故事之后，又挨个儿问房间里每一个人支持竞选的原因。大家都有不同的故事和理由，很多人都谈到了具体的事情。最后，轮到了一位黑人老者，他一直默默坐在一旁，没有什么言语。阿什利问他为什么来这儿，他没有讲述什么具体的故事，没有说到医保或经济方面的原因，没谈起教育或战争问题，也不是因为巴拉克·奥巴马。他只是告诉在场的每一个人：“我来这儿是因为阿什利。”
“我来这儿是因为阿什利。”单就这句话而言，这个年轻白人姑娘和一个年长的黑人男子之间那一刻达成的认同还无法改变什么。它还不足以为病弱者解决医保问题，为失业者找到工作，或为孩子们提供教育机会。
但它却是我们的新起点，是我们这个联邦日益强大的起点。221年前，一群爱国志士在费城签署了那份宣言。而正如一代又一代美国人在这221年的历程中已经意识到的那样：这，就是走向完善的起点。