Watching the unfolding debacle of Senator Barack Obama's preacher, the Reverend Jeremiah Wright, has been like watching a slow-motion multiple car pile-up on a foggy freeway. So many folks are eager to throw the "heinous racist" under the bus of the Democratic Party, with Hillary at its wheel, as it chugs along toward some sort of fantastical November victory.
Today, I read a diary over at MyDD entitled The Rise and Fall of Barack Obama, and it got me thinking about the Reverend's comments within the context of the Democratic Party. The eagerness with which many self-identified Democrats are willing to write off Obama's candidacy in light of Wright's comments is troubling, to say the least.
I haven't seen many folks defending Reverend Wright, and perhaps rightly so. However, careful consideration of the Reverend's words is in order, not a blanket dismissal of him simply because he directly speaks to the problem of race in America. As Democrats, we should know there is a difference between Wright and wrong.
I don't agree with Reverend Wright. I don't condone his most inflammatory statements. I understand them, though. I understand them when viewed through the prism of American history. Let me attempt to say why this is so with a short little tale:
It was August, 2005. I was living in deep South Korea, teaching English at a private institute. It was a hot summer, and my apartment's air conditioning was meager. On one of these hot summer mornings, I turned on my television to get the latest news from CNNAsia, one of the few English channels I could receive on my satellite. The news was and had been about Hurricane Katrina for several days, but this morning, I learned that the levees had broken. I learned that there were thousands of folks gathered at the Superdome, with little food or water. I saw many images like these.
I couldn't believe it. What was happening in New Orleans? Where was the government, where was the relief? I saw pictures of people holding signs saying "Help Me! Help Us! Need Water!" I was truly shocked. Then, I went to work. My boss, an interesting man to say the least, asked me in his almost-fluent English, "Why does America not care for the blacks?" I didn't know what to say. "The Katrina, it is terrible, why is there no help?" I asked him what he meant, and he told me he had been glued to the coverage. "It's unthinkable, to me," he continued, "but America does not care for the blacks." I went to teach my classes. I got back into my hot apartment that night.
The images coming from New Orleans were worse. There were reports of gang rapes, murders, and more. I saw pictures of dead old folks covered with blankets and pushed into corners. My god, what was happening? That night I cried for a good 15 minutes. I cried for my nation and for my people, and for the shame of what was happening. Mostly though, I cried because I was not there, I felt totally powerless, and I was forced to only watch through the television as so many Americans turned their backs on New Orleans, the federal government and President George W. Bush included. How could we let this happen, I wondered.
It was during those hot August nights in Korea that I learned how little we had changed in the last forty years, how short a distance we had actually come as a nation. I cried for my people, the Americans in New Orleans, because I was stuck in a nation of foreigners that could not comprehend why we as a nation had turned our backs on some of our countrymen. Our black countrymen.
So, let's get it out there. America's a racist place, no matter what we want to tell ourselves. 45 years ago, segregation was commonplace. Sundown towns still exist. 10 years ago in Jasper, Texas, James Byrd was dragged to death behind a pickup truck. Now, I am a white man, so I can't pretend to know exactly how that kind of heinous crime makes a black man or woman feel about being black, but I've got a pretty good idea. The Reverend Wright is correct to point out the injustices of American society towards our black brothers and sisters. Jena 6? There have been a lot of injustices, indeed.
Now, I've read in a few responses to this calumny (and also seen through the lens of Hannity), how Wright is a racist, because if one was to replace all the mentions of "black" in his sermons with "white," just how horrible that would sound. Indeed, it would sound horrible, and for a good reason. Whites have dominated this nation and have subjugated blacks for an overwhelming majority of this nation's existence. That's just the way it has been.
Most of us in the Democratic party long for a post-racial society, but we're not even close. Given the history of black Americans, can one not understand why a black preacher would get so angry? Can one not understand why a black preacher might find himself so incensed after Katrina, so incensed after Jasper, so incensed after Jena? Those things all made me terribly sad for our nation, I can only imagine how they made others with a more intimate connection feel. Enraged? Furious? Powerless? Do these words not describe Reverend Wright in his now infamous clips? Of course, the purveyors of these video clips do not attempt to give us any context, they do not attempt to explain that day's events, or the lens through which Reverend Wright was speaking.
In our angriest moments, we can sound and act like monsters. In our weakest moments, we are found doing nothing. My boss in South Korea, his enduring image of America for months was the images of Katrina victims. Did I want him to believe that those images were the soul of America? Did I want him to believe that America was a hateful, racist place? No, never. But he saw those images, and it was hard to contradict them.
Reverend Wright is a not a hateful, angry man, much like America is, by and large, not a hateful, angry place. But some of Revered Wright's sermons happened, just like Jasper, Katrina, and Jena happened in America.
I offer an audio and text of Reverend Wright's sermon, "The Audacity to Hope" -
Audio - The Audacity to Hope
Text - The Audacity to Hope
There is a choice, right now, for Democrats. We can choose division, anger, and hatred - we can choose the old America of Wright's angry sermons and Katrina, or we can choose a new America, the America of Wright's "Hope," an America where we aspire to peace, justice, unity, and love.
Choosing unity and hope does not ignore our past, it does not sweep the ugly truth of racism under the rug. All of us, we have been guilty at some point in our lives. Black or white, Hispanic or Asian, Native American or African, all peoples, all colors, all genders - we have all found ourselves in the grip of stereotyping, of sexism, or of racism. It is in our American culture and American history, and it is impossible to avoid.
"Hope isn't blind optimism," however, and we do have a choice - we can choose hope over fear, we can choose unity over division, we can be understanding of the anger and frustration that has existed and will continue to exist unless we work to stop it.
America is not great because of its history of injustice and inequality. America is great because we have always strived to understand and move beyond that injustice and inequality. Believing that Reverend Wright is a righteous man with a good heart, but prone to venting frustration and anger, I stand with him and Senator Obama.
I cannot defend Wright's words, spoken in anger, but I can understand him, understand his struggle, and examine his heart. It is a good heart, a heart that seeks justice and equality for all Americans. So I, as a Democrat, and American, and a supporter of Senator Barack Obama, refuse to throw Reverend Wright under the bus.
Not a one of us is totally clean, not a one of us is totally righteous, but we must be solid in our belief that we can all work towards that goal, we can all work towards Reverend King's dream:
And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today!
I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today!