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Books by
Barack
Obama
Dreams from My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance
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The Audacity of Hope: Thoughts on Reclaiming the
American Dream
Obama's Greatest Speeches (CD set) /
Of Thee I Sing: A Letter to My Daughters
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Tucson Memorial
Speech
By President
Barack Obama
Thank you. Thank you very much. Please, please be
seated. To the families of those we've lost; to all who
called them friends; to the students of this university,
the public servants who are gathered here, the people of
Tucson and the people of Arizona: I have come here
tonight as an American who, like all Americans, kneels
to pray with you today and will stand by you tomorrow.
There is nothing I can say that will fill the sudden
hole torn in your hearts. But know this: The hopes of a
nation are here tonight. We mourn with you for the
fallen. We join you in your grief. And we add our faith
to yours that Representative Gabrielle Giffords and the
other living victims of this tragedy will pull through.
Scripture tells us:
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There is a river whose
streams make glad the city of God,
the holy place where the
Most High dwells. God is within her,
she
will not fall; God will help her at break of
day.
[Psalms
46: 4-5] |
On
Saturday morning, Gabby, her staff and many of her
constituents gathered outside a supermarket to exercise
their right to peaceful assembly and free speech. They
were fulfilling a central tenet of the democracy
envisioned by our founders—representatives of the people
answering questions to their constituents, so as to
carry their concerns back to our nation's capital. Gabby
called it "Congress on Your Corner"—just an updated
version of government of and by and for the people.
And
that quintessentially American scene, that was the scene
that was shattered by a gunman's bullets. And the six
people who lost their lives on Saturday—they, too,
represented what is best in us, what is best in America.
Judge John Roll served our legal system for nearly 40
years. A graduate of this university and a graduate of
this law school—Judge Roll was recommended for the
federal bench by
John McCain 20 years ago—appointed by
President George H.W. Bush and rose to become Arizona's
chief federal judge. His colleagues described him as the
hardest-working judge within the Ninth Circuit. He was
on his way back from attending Mass, as he did every
day, when he decided to stop by and say hi to his
representative.
John is survived by
his loving wife, Maureen, his three sons and his five
beautiful grandchildren.
George and Dorothy Morris—"Dot" to her friends—were high
school sweethearts who got married and had two
daughters. They did everything together—traveling the
open road in their RV, enjoying what their friends
called a 50-year honeymoon. Saturday morning, they went
by the Safeway to hear what their congresswoman had to
say. When gunfire rang out, George, a former Marine,
instinctively tried to shield his wife. Both were shot.
Dot passed away.
A
New Jersey native,
Phyllis Schneck retired to Tucson to
beat the snow. But in the summer, she would return East,
where her world revolved around her three children, her
seven grandchildren and 2-year-old great-granddaughter.
A gifted quilter, she'd often work under a favorite
tree, or sometimes she'd sew aprons with the logos of
the Jets and the Giants—to give out at the church where
she volunteered. A Republican, she took a liking to
Gabby, and wanted to get to know her better.
Dorwan and Mavy Stoddard grew up in Tucson
together—about 70 years ago. They moved apart and
started their own respective families. But after both
were widowed they found their way back here, to, as one
of Mavy's daughters put it, "be boyfriend and girlfriend
again." (Laughter.) When they weren't out on the road in
their motor home, you could find them just up the road,
helping folks in need at the Mountain Avenue Church of
Christ. A retired construction worker, Dorwan spent his
spare time fixing up the church along with his dog, Tux.
His final act of selflessness was to dive on top of his
wife, sacrificing his life for hers.
Everything—everything—Gabe Zimmerman did, he did with
passion. But his true passion was helping people. As
Gabby's outreach director, he made the cares of
thousands of her constituents his own, seeing to it that
seniors got the Medicare benefits that they had earned,
that veterans got the medals and the care that they
deserved, that government was working for ordinary
folks. He died doing what he loved—talking with people
and seeing how he could help. And Gabe is survived by
his parents, Ross and Emily, his brother, Ben, and his
fiancée, Kelly, who he planned to marry next year.
And
then there is nine-year-old
Christina Taylor Green.
Christina was an A student; she was a dancer; she was a
gymnast; she was a swimmer. She decided that she wanted
to be the first woman to play in the Major Leagues, and
as the only girl on her Little League team, no one put
it pass her. She showed an appreciation for life
uncommon for a girl her age. She'd remind her mother,
"We are so blessed. We have the best life." And she'd
pay those blessings back by participating in a charity
that helped children who were less fortunate.
Our hearts
are broken by their sudden passing. Our hearts are
broken—and yet, our hearts also have reason for
fullness.
Our hearts are full
of hope and thanks for the 13 Americans who survived the
shooting, including the congresswoman many of them went
to see on Saturday. I have just come from the University
Medical Center, just a mile from here, where our friend
Gabby courageously fights to recover even as we speak.
And I want to tell you—her husband
Mark is here and he allows me to share this with
you—right after we went to visit, a few minutes after we
left her room and some of her colleagues in Congress
were in the room, Gabby opened her eyes for the first
time. Gabby opened her eyes for the first time. Gabby
opened her eyes. Gabby opened her eyes, so I can tell
you she knows we are here. She knows we love her. And
she knows that we are rooting for her through what is
undoubtedly going to be a difficult journey. We are
there for her.
Our
hearts are full of thanks for that good news, and our
hearts are full of gratitude for those who saved others.
We are grateful to
Daniel Hernandez—a volunteer in
Gabby's office. And, Daniel, I'm sorry, you may deny it,
but we've decided you are a hero because—you ran through
the chaos to minister to your boss, and tended to her
wounds and helped keep her alive. We are grateful to the
men who tackled the gunman as he stopped to reload.
Right over there. We are grateful for petite
Patricia Maisch, who wrestled away the killer's ammunition, and
undoubtedly saved some lives.
And
we are grateful for the doctors and nurses and first
responders who worked wonders to heal those who'd been
hurt. We are grateful to them. These men and women
remind us that heroism is found not only on the fields
of battle. They remind us that heroism does not require
special training or physical strength. Heroism is here,
in the hearts of so many of our fellow citizens, all
around us, just waiting to be summoned—as it was on
Saturday morning. Their actions, their selflessness
poses a challenge to each of us.
It
raises a question of what, beyond prayers and
expressions of concern, is required of us going forward.
How can we honor the fallen? How can we be true to their
memory? You see, when a tragedy like this strikes, it is
part of our nature to demand explanations—to try and
pose some order on the chaos and make sense out of that
which seems senseless. Already we've seen a national
conversation commence, not only about the motivations
behind these killings, but about everything from the
merits of gun safety laws to the adequacy of our mental
health system. And much of this process, of debating
what might be done to prevent such tragedies in the
future, is an essential ingredient in our exercise of
self-government.
But
at a time when our discourse has become so sharply
polarized—at a time when we are far too eager to lay the
blame for all that ails the world at the feet of those
who happen to think differently than we do—it's
important for us to pause for a moment and make sure
that we're talking with each other in a way that heals,
not in a way that wounds. Scripture tells us that there
is evil in the world, and that terrible things happen
for reasons that defy human understanding. In the words
of Job, "When I looked for light, then came darkness."
Bad
things happen, and we have to guard against simple
explanations in the aftermath. For the truth is none of
us can know exactly what triggered this vicious attack.
None of us can know with any certainty what might have
stopped these shots from being fired, or what thoughts
lurked in the inner recesses of a violent man's mind.
Yes, we have to examine all the facts behind this
tragedy. We cannot and will not be passive in the face
of such violence. We should be willing to challenge old
assumptions in order to lessen the prospects of such
violence in the future.
But
what we cannot do is use this tragedy as one more
occasion to turn on each other. That we cannot do. That
we cannot do. As we discuss these issues, let each of us
do so with a good dose of humility. Rather than pointing
fingers or assigning blame, let's use this occasion to
expand our moral imaginations, to listen to each other
more carefully, to sharpen our instincts for empathy and
remind ourselves of all the ways that our hopes and
dreams are bound together.
After all, that's what most of us do when we lose
somebody in our family—especially if the loss is
unexpected. We're shaken out of our routines. We're
forced to look inward. We reflect on the past: Did we
spend enough time with an aging parent, we wonder. Did
we express our gratitude for all the sacrifices that
they made for us? Did we tell a spouse just how
desperately we loved them, not just once in a while but
every single day? So sudden loss causes us to look
backward -- but it also forces us to look forward; to
reflect on the present and the future, on the manner in
which we live our lives and nurture our relationships
with those who are still with us.
We
may ask ourselves if we've shown enough kindness and
generosity and compassion to the people in our lives.
Perhaps we question whether we're doing right by our
children, or our community, whether our priorities are
in order. We recognize our own mortality, and we are
reminded that in the fleeting time we have on this
Earth, what matters is not wealth, or status, or power,
or fame—but rather, how well we have loved—and what
small part we have played in making the lives of other
people better.
And
that process—that process of reflection, of making sure
we align our values with our actions—that, I believe, is
what a tragedy like this requires. For those who were
harmed, those who were killed—they are part of our
family, an American family 300 million strong. We may
not have known them personally, but surely we see
ourselves in them. In
George and Dot, in
Dorwan and Mavy,
we sense the abiding love we have for our own husbands,
our own wives, our own life partners.
Phyllis—she's our mom or our grandma;
Gabe our brother
or son. In
Judge Roll, we recognize not only a man who
prized his family and doing his job well, but also a man
who embodied America's fidelity to the law. And in
Gabby—in Gabby, we see a reflection of our
public-spiritedness; that desire to participate in that
sometimes frustrating, sometimes contentious, but always
necessary and never-ending process to form a more
perfect union.
And
in
Christina—in Christina we see all of our children. So
curious, so trusting, so energetic, so full of magic. So
deserving of our love. And so deserving of our good
example. If this tragedy prompts reflection and
debate—as it should—let's make sure it's worthy of those
we have lost. Let's make sure it's not on the usual
plane of politics and point-scoring and pettiness that
drifts away in the next news cycle. The loss of these
wonderful people should make every one of us strive to
be better. To be better in our private lives, to be
better friends and neighbors and coworkers and parents.
And
if, as has been discussed in recent days, their death
helps usher in more civility in our public discourse,
let us remember it is not because a simple lack of
civility caused this tragedy—it did not—but rather
because only a more civil and honest public discourse
can help us face up to the challenges of our nation in a
way that would make them proud. We should be civil
because we want to live up to the example of public
servants like
John
Roll and Gabby Giffords, who knew
first and foremost that we are all Americans, and that
we can question each other's ideas without questioning
each other's love of country and that our task, working
together, is to constantly widen the circle of our
concern so that we bequeath the American Dream to future
generations.
They believed—they believed, and I believe that we can
be better. Those who died here, those who saved life
here—they help me believe. We may not be able to stop
all evil in the world, but I know that how we treat one
another, that's entirely up to us. And I believe that
for all our imperfections, we are full of decency and
goodness, and that the forces that divide us are not as
strong as those that unite us.
That's what I believe, in part because that's what a
child like
Christina Taylor Green believed.
Imagine—imagine for a moment, here was a young girl who
was just becoming aware of our democracy; just beginning
to understand the obligations of citizenship; just
starting to glimpse the fact that some day she, too,
might play a part in shaping her nation's future. She
had been elected to her student council. She saw public
service as something exciting and hopeful.
She
was off to meet her congresswoman, someone she was sure
was good and important and might be a role model. She
saw all this through the eyes of a child, undimmed by
the cynicism or vitriol that we adults all too often
just take for granted. I want to live up to her
expectations. I want our democracy to be as good as
Christina imagined it. I want America to be as good as
she imagined it. All of us—we should do everything we
can to make sure this country lives up to our children's
expectations. As has already been mentioned, Christina
was given to us on September 11th, 2001, one of 50
babies born that day to be pictured in a book called
"Faces of Hope."
On
either side of her photo in that book were simple wishes
for a child's life. "I hope you help those in need,"
read one. "I hope you know all the words to the National
Anthem and sing it with your hand over your heart."—"I
hope you jump in rain puddles." If there are rain
puddles in Heaven, Christina is jumping in them today.
And here on this Earth—here on this Earth, we place our
hands over our hearts, and we commit ourselves as
Americans to forging a country that is forever worthy of
her gentle, happy spirit.
May
God bless and keep those we've lost in restful and
eternal peace. May He love and watch over the survivors.
And may He bless the United States of America.
12 January 2011
Source:
HuffingtonPost
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President Obama's Full Speech at Tucson Memorial
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Obama Tucson memorial speech: Penned by Chicago native
Cody Keenan—By Lynn Sweet—January 14, 2011—President
Obama's memorable Tucson speech, where he appealed to
the nation to "heal," not "wound," was written in part
by a Chicago native and a 2002 Northwestern graduate
Cody Keenan. Keenan, 30, was born in Lake View. He lived
there till he was 5, when his family moved to Evanston
and Wilmette (where he attended Central Elementary and
Wilmette Junior High) before heading to Connecticut for
high school.
With experience on
Capitol Hill working for the late Sen. Ted Kennedy,
Keenan hooked up with the Obama presidential campaign in
2007 as an intern with the speechwriting operation while
he was a graduate student at Harvard's Kennedy School of
Government. He returned to Harvard to finished his
master's of public policy degree and rejoined the Obama
team in 2008, moving into a White House slot to continue
speechwriting duties.—SunTimes
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After the shootings—Obama reminds the nation of the
golden rule—By John McCain—Sunday, January 16,
2011—President Obama gave a terrific speech Wednesday
night. He movingly mourned and honored the victims of
Saturday's senseless atrocity outside Tucson, comforted
and inspired the country, and encouraged those of us who
have the privilege of serving America. He encouraged
every American who participates in our political
debates— whether we are on the left or right or in the
media—to aspire to a more generous appreciation of one
another and a more modest one of ourselves.
The president
appropriately disputed the injurious suggestion that
some participants in our political debates were
responsible for a depraved man's inhumanity. He asked us
all to conduct ourselves in those debates in a manner
that would not disillusion an innocent child's hopeful
patriotism. I agree wholeheartedly with these
sentiments. We should respect the sincerity of the
convictions that enliven our debates but also the mutual
purpose that we and all preceding generations of
Americans serve: a better country; stronger, more
prosperous and just than the one we inherited.—WashingtonPost
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Of Thee I Sing: A Letter to My Daughters
By Barack Obama / Illustrated by Loren Long
In this
tender, beautiful letter to his daughters,
President Barack Obama has written a moving
tribute to thirteen groundbreaking Americans
and the ideals that have shaped our nation.
From the artistry of
Georgia O’Keefe to the courage of
Jackie Robinson, from the strength of
Helen Keller to the patriotism of George
Washington, President Obama sees the traits
of these heroes within his own children, and
within all of America’s children. . . .This
beautiful book is about the potential within
each of us to pursue our dreams and forge
our own paths. It celebrates the
characteristics that unite all Americans,
from our nation’s founders to the
generations to come.—Excerpted
from the inside cover |
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The Last Holiday: A Memoir
By Gil Scott Heron
Shortly after we republished The Vulture and The Nigger Factory, Gil started to tell me about The Last Holiday, an account he was writing of a multi-city tour that he ended up doing with Stevie Wonder in late 1980 and early 1981. Originally Bob Marley was meant to be playing the tour that Stevie Wonder had conceived as a way of trying to force legislation to make Martin Luther King's birthday a national holiday. At the time, Marley was dying of cancer, so Gil was asked to do the first six dates. He ended up doing all 41. And Dr King's birthday ended up becoming a national holiday ("The Last Holiday because America can't afford to have another national holiday"), but Gil always felt that Stevie never got the recognition he deserved and that his story needed to be told. The first chapters of this book were given to me in New York when Gil was living in the Chelsea Hotel. Among the pages was a chapter called Deadline that recounts the night they played Oakland, California, 8 December; it was also the night that John Lennon was murdered. Gil uses Lennon's violent end as a brilliant parallel to Dr King's assassination and as a biting commentary on the constraints that sometimes lead to newspapers getting things wrong. —Jamie Byng, Guardian / Gil_reads_"Deadline" (audio) |
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Sister Citizen: Shame, Stereotypes, and Black Women in
America
By Melissa V.
Harris-Perry
According to the
author, this society has historically exerted
considerable pressure on black females to fit into one
of a handful of stereotypes, primarily, the Mammy, the
Matriarch or the Jezebel. The selfless
Mammy’s behavior is marked by a slavish devotion to
white folks’ domestic concerns, often at the expense of
those of her own family’s needs. By contrast, the
relatively-hedonistic Jezebel is a sexually-insatiable
temptress. And the Matriarch is generally thought of as
an emasculating figure who denigrates black men, ala the
characters Sapphire and Aunt Esther on the television
shows Amos and Andy and Sanford and Son, respectively.
Professor Perry
points out how the propagation of these harmful myths
have served the mainstream culture well. For instance,
the Mammy suggests that it is almost second nature for
black females to feel a maternal instinct towards
Caucasian babies. As for the source
of the Jezebel, black women had no control over their
own bodies during slavery given that they were being
auctioned off and bred to maximize profits. Nonetheless,
it was in the interest of plantation owners to propagate
the lie that sisters were sluts inclined to mate
indiscriminately.
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The White Masters of the
World
From
The World and Africa, 1965
By W. E. B. Du Bois
W. E. B. Du Bois’
Arraignment and Indictment of White Civilization
(Fletcher)
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Ancient African Nations
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If you like this page consider making a donation
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Negro Digest /
Black World
Browse all issues
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Enjoy!
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The Death of Emmett Till by Bob Dylan
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The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll
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Only a Pawn in Their Game
Rev. Jesse Lee Peterson Thanks America for
Slavery /
George Jackson /
Hurricane Carter
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The Journal of Negro History issues at Project Gutenberg
The
Haitian Declaration of Independence 1804
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January 1, 1804 -- The Founding of
Haiti
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ChickenBones Store
(Books, DVDs, Music, and more)
posted 15 January 2011
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