ZT 奥巴马当选演讲全文

又黑又白

芝加哥的公民们，大家好！

　　如果现在仍然有人怀疑在美国是不是真的任何事情都可能发生，怀疑我们开国之父们的梦想是否还留存在这片土地上，怀疑美国民主的力量，今夜，就是你的答案。

　　在这个国家的学校和教堂中人们曾焦急地等待着答案，一些人甚至从未像今天一样－－等待了3～4个小时，但是他们知道这一时刻非同一般，他们的声音也同样非同一般。

　　在美国的土地上，无论是年轻人还是老人；穷人还是富人；无论是共和党人还是民主党人；无论是黑人、白人、西班牙裔、亚裔、美国原住民、同性恋、异性恋、残疾人还是非残疾人都发出同一种信息，我并非孤身一人。

　　我们是，而且永远都是美利坚合众国！

　　这一天我们等得太久了，但是今晚，因为我们在这场竞选中、在这个地点、在此时此刻所做的一切，改变已经降临美国。

　　在今天晚上，我很荣幸地接到了麦凯恩参议员打来的电话。麦凯恩参议员在这场竞选中进行了长久、艰难的努力。而且，为这个他热爱的国家，他奋斗了更久、付出了更多的努力。他为美国做出了超乎我们大多数人想象的牺牲，因为这个无畏无私的领导人所付出的努力，我们才有了更好的生活。我对他表示祝贺，也对佩林州长所取得的成果表示祝贺。同时，我也期待着能在接下来的几个月内，和他们共同努力履行对这个国家的诺言。

　　我想感谢我在这个旅程中的搭档，一个全心全意参加竞选的男人，一个为同他一起在斯克蓝顿(宾夕法尼亚东北部城市)街道长大、一起坐火车到特拉华州的人们发言的男人，美国未来的副总统，乔．拜登。

　　在过去的16年里如果没有朋友们的支持和鼓励，那么我今晚将不会站在这里……我的家庭的支持、关爱，美国的下一位第一夫人米歇尔．奥巴马，还有萨沙和玛丽雅，我对你们的爱甚至超出你们的想象，你们将得到新的爸爸，和你们一起到新的白宫。

　　我却再也不能陪伴我的外祖母了，但我知道她一直在守望着我们。我也十分想念我的家人和亲戚，我知道自己亏欠他们太多，太多。我要感谢马娅，阿尔玛，以及我所有的兄弟姐妹，感谢你们对我无私的支持，对此我深表感激。还有，感谢我的竞选经理戴维．普劳夫。还有那些在竞选活动中的无名英雄们，他们表现的很棒，是他们给美国带来了一场最完美的大选，我想，这在美国历史上是绝无仅有的。还有我的首席战略师戴维．阿克塞尔罗德。他是我的伙伴，在我竞选的每个阶段都给我极大的帮助，为我打造了美国大选史上最棒的竞选团队。是你让这一切发生了，我将永远对你为这一切做出的牺牲心存感激。但是最重要的，我将永远无法忘记这场胜利真正的主人，这属于你们，这属于你们。

　　我曾经是最不可能赢得白宫的候选人。在刚开始的时候，我们没有多少钱，也没有多少支持者，我们的竞选不是从华盛顿的大厅开始的，而是开始于衣阿华州得梅因的后院、康科德的客厅、查尔斯顿的前厅。是辛勤劳作的男人、女人捐给了我们他们微薄的积蓄，5块钱、10块钱、20块钱。我们从年轻人那里得到了力量，他们拒绝服从同龄人冷漠的神话。为了工作，他们离开了自己的家乡，并与亲人分别，可是他们拿很少的报酬，甚至连睡觉的时间也少的可怜。

　　那些并不年轻的志愿者却拥有一颗火热的心，为了大选他们在寒风中敲开善良的陌生人家的门，这就是为什么两个世纪以来，我们人类，我们的政府没有从地球上消亡的原因。

　　我想说，这同样也是你们的胜利！我知道，你们不仅仅是为了赢得一个大选，也不仅仅是为了我。

　　你们这样做，是因为知道我们面前任务的艰难。即使我们今晚在这里欢庆，我们仍然知道明天将会带来我们平生最大的挑战－－两场战争，一个处于危险边缘的星球、一个世纪来最严重的金融危机。

　　即使我们今夜站在这里，我们依然知道，勇敢的美国人在伊拉克的荒地上、在阿富汗的山林中醒来，为了我们，赌上自己的生命。

　　在孩子们熟睡后依然醒着的父亲母亲在担心，他们怎样才能还清医生的账单，攒够足够的钱供孩子的大学教育。

　　新的能源要去开发，新的工作岗位要去创造，新的学校要去建造，新的威胁要去面对，新的盟友关系要去修复。

　　前面的路会很长。我们的攀岩会很陡峭。我们甚至不会在一年、一个任期内达到这个目标。但是，美国，我从未比今夜更加相信，我们会达到这个目标。

　　我承诺，作为一个人，我们会达到这个目标。

　　以后我们还会面对挫折和谎言，我成为总统以后，也许有人无法认同我的每一项政策和方针。并且我们也知道政府并非能解决一切问题。但是我会忠诚地和你们并肩奋斗，共同面对挑战。我依然会倾听你们的声音，尤其是我们之间存在分歧的时候。最重要的是，我会真诚地邀请你参与国家的重建，就像美国建国221年以来的历史那样－－靠我们的双手把国家建设地更为强大。

　　我们从21个月以前的冬天开始了奋斗的征程，但是我们的努力不会在这个秋天的夜晚结束。这次胜利并不会改变我们的探索之路，这对于我们来说是一个难得的机遇，我们决不能后退。我们不会退缩，因为我们拥有旺盛的精力和无畏牺牲的精神。

　　让我们重振爱国主义精神，承担起自己的责任，我们将努力奋斗，互帮互助。

　　让我们牢记金融危机给美国带来的伤痛，我们再也不会让华尔街繁荣的同时，让别的街受罪。

　　在这个国家里，我们与祖国的命运紧密相连。让我们自觉抵制党派争端和过于污秽的政治斗争。

　　让我们牢记在这条街道上高举共和党旗帜入主白宫的那个人(林肯)，是他宣扬了独立和自主的精神，完成了国家的统一。

　　这些价值观应该得到继承和发扬，今晚民主党取得了胜利，我们必须保持谦虚的心态，并下定决心完成后面的征程。就像很久以前，林肯对一个比现在分裂得更严重的民族所说的那样，我们不是敌人，是朋友。虽然热情已经被冲淡，我们的友爱纽带没有破裂。

　　同时，对于我没有赢得支持的民众，我或许没有得到你们的投票，但是我听到了你们的声音。我需要你们的帮助。我也会是你们的总统。

　　对于那些在另外一个海岸，从国会到王宫、到在被世界遗忘的角落摆弄收音机、关注美国今夜的人们，我们的故事并非只有一个，但是目标是共同的，美国领导力的新的黎明已经到来。

　　对于那些破坏世界的人，我们会打败你。对那些寻找和平和安全的人，我们支持你。对那些怀疑美国的灯塔是否还在闪耀的人，今夜我们再次证明，美国真正的力量不是来自武器的威力，也不是来自财富的多寡，而是来自我们的信念的持久的力量：民主、自由、机会和永不放弃的希望。

　　这才是真正的美国：美国应该变化，我们的社会应该更完美。我们已经取得的成果给了我们明天取得更大成果的希望。

　　这次大选有很多首创和许多故事，这些故事将代代相传。但今天晚上我脑子里能想起来的就是一个女人，她刚刚在亚特兰大城投了票。她跟成千上万在这次大选中排队发出自己声音的人一样，唯有一点例外：安．尼克松．库珀已经106岁高龄了。她出生在奴隶制刚刚废除后的那一代，那时路上没有汽车，天上没有飞机。像她那样的人仍不能投票，这因为两个方面的原因：一是她是女性；二是因为她的肤色。

　　可今晚，我想她看透了一个世纪的美国－－头疼与希望；挣扎与发展。有人告诉我们，美国不行了，可美国人的自信却回答：不，我们行！她曾经生活在女性发不出声音、希望破灭的时代，可她却活着看到女性们站起来，发出自己的声音，并且投下自己的票。是的，我们行！

　　当饥饿来到，衰退发生时，她看到了这个国家是如何以新政，新工作，和全新的共同目标来战胜恐惧的。当炸弹落到我们的港口，独裁者威胁世界的时候，她亲眼见证了一代人的崛起和民主得以挽救。是的，我们行！她去蒙哥马利搭乘公共汽车，她去伯明翰面对水龙头，她去塞尔玛占桥……她听来自亚特兰大的牧师告诉大家：“我们能打破种族障碍”，没错，我们行！

　　一个人踏上了月球，一堵墙在柏林倒下，这个世界因科学和想象而相连。
　　今年，在这次大选中，她投下了自己的一票。因为在美国生活了106个年头，经历了最好的时光与最难的岁月，所以她知道美国一定能改变。是的，我们行！

　　美国已经经历了太多，我们看够了太多，但我们还得做更多的事。今晚，让我们问自己：如果我们的孩子们要活着看到新世纪，如果我们的女儿们能像安．尼克松这样活到106岁，我们应该有哪些进步？我们应该回答这个问题，这是我们的时代。

　　现在是我们一起开始工作，为我们的孩子打开机遇之门，恢复我们的繁荣，促进和平，重回美国梦，恢复基本信任，以及其它许多事的时候了。我们应该团结如一人。我们应该坚定地回应那些说我们不行的人，我们将以无穷的力量来响应他们，然后说：是的，我们行！

　　感谢大家，上帝保佑你们，上帝保佑美利坚！

酸辣粉

看来大家都不太关心老美啊

King Lion

有英文的没有？很想读一下原版

别问我是谁

Transcript of Obama's speech
The following is a transcript of Sen. Barack Obama's speech, as provided by Obama's campaign.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zrp-v2tHaDo

We the people, in order to form a more perfect union.

Sen. Barack Obama has said the controversy over his ex-pastor's remarks has been "a distraction" to the campaign.



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 20 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.

百草园

总统有啥好，这么多人去抢， [M14]

别问我是谁

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 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 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.
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Election Center 2008

别问我是谁

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, Rev. 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 Rev. 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, Rev. 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 Rev. Wright in the first place, they may ask? Why not join another church?
And I confess that if all that I knew of Rev. 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 20 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,

别问我是谁

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 Rev. 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.

别问我是谁

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 Rev. 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 Rev. 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.

别问我是谁

This is the reality in which Rev. 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 Rev. 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 Rev. 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.

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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 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 Rev. 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 Rev. 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.

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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 O.J. 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 Rev. 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.

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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, 23-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 9 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

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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

太少钱

为黑人争一口气了....