druidess6308: Actually, his beliefs are why many are comparing him to the part of the Bible that states: "And a charismatic man will arise out of the East"...or is that Nostradamos' predictions...well, anyway, it's supposed to be a bad thing that's part of the Apocalypse...and it's what he's being compared to these days.
Yeah...hmmm...do we really want a man as Commander In Chief of this country who would not stand with our soldiers (and he would not), and who doesn't salute our Flag? I always have to wonder WTF people are thinking here. (Oh, they're democrats...they're not thinking.)
I expected better of you, too. OBama does salute the flag!! Obama is not the anti christ and you know that!!
What are Barrack's beliefs that you refer to?? He nevcer was a Muslim...his father was. He has been Christian his whole life.
Don216: Ain't it the truth. The bias this year is worse than any I can remember. Some of the statements made on TV by the "reporters" is way over the line IMHO.
I will say the Audacity of Hope and From Dreams of my Father are great reads:
From Dreams of My Father: 'I ceased to advertise my mother's race at the age of 12 or 13, when I began to suspect that by doing so I was ingratiating myself to whites.'
From Dreams of My Father: 'I found a solace in nursing a pervasive sense of grievance and animosity against my mother's race.'
From Dreams of My Father: 'There was something about him that made me wary, a little too sure of himself, maybe. And white.'
From Dreams of My Father: 'It remained necessary to prove which side you were on, to show your loyalty to the black masses, to strike out and name names.'
From Audacity of Hope: 'I will stand with the Muslims should the political winds shift in an ugly direction.'
It is good that Barak was able to share his views of society. I may vote for him.
# There was something about him that made me wary, a little too sure of himself, maybe. And white.
This statement comes from page 142 of Dreams from My Father, as part of a passage in which Barack Obama was being interviewed by a man named Marty Kaufman for a position as a community organizer in Chicago. Kaufman was specifically looking for a black man to work with him, because he was white and needed someone to help him appeal to both sides in a racially polarized city. The statement reproduced above creates a false impression by eliding the ending to the final sentence: Obama makes reference (in his expression of misgivings) to Kaufman's whiteness being a problem, because Kaufman himself had said it was a problem:
I had all but given up on organizing when I received a call from Marty Kaufman. He explained that he'd started an organizing drive in Chicago and was looking to hire a trainee. He'd be in New York the following week and suggested that we meet at a coffee shop on Lexington.
Hisappearance didn't inspire much confidence. He was a white man of medium height wearing a rumpled suit over a pudgy frame. His face was heavy with two-day-old whiskers; behind a pair of thick, wire-rimmed glasses, his eyes seemed set in a perpetual squint. As he rose from the booth to shake my hand, he spilled some tea on his shirt ...
He ordered more hot water and told me about himself. He was Jewish, in his late thirties, had been reared in New York. He had started organizing in the sixties with the student protests, and ended up staying with it for fifteen years. Farmers in Nebraska. Blacks in Philadelphia. Mexicans in Chicago. Now he was trying to pull urban blacks and suburban whites together around a plan to save manufacturing jobs in metropolitan Chicago. He needed somebody to work with him, he said. Somebody black.
[ ...]
He offered to start me off at ten thousand dollars the first year, with a two-thousand-dollar travel allowance to buy a car; the salary would go up if things worked out. After he was gone, I took the long way home, along the East River promenade, and tried to figure out what to make of the man. He was smart, I decided. He seemed committed to his work. Still, there was something about him that made me wary. A little too sure of himself, maybe. And white — he'd said himself that that was a problem.
Hugz_n_Kissez: # There was something about him that made me wary, a little too sure of himself, maybe. And white.
This statement comes from page 142 of Dreams from My Father, as part of a passage in which Barack Obama was being interviewed by a man named Marty Kaufman for a position as a community organizer in Chicago. Kaufman was specifically looking for a black man to work with him, because he was white and needed someone to help him appeal to both sides in a racially polarized city. The statement reproduced above creates a false impression by eliding the ending to the final sentence: Obama makes reference (in his expression of misgivings) to Kaufman's whiteness being a problem, because Kaufman himself had said it was a problem:
I had all but given up on organizing when I received a call from Marty Kaufman. He explained that he'd started an organizing drive in Chicago and was looking to hire a trainee. He'd be in New York the following week and suggested that we meet at a coffee shop on Lexington.
Hisappearance didn't inspire much confidence. He was a white man of medium height wearing a rumpled suit over a pudgy frame. His face was heavy with two-day-old whiskers; behind a pair of thick, wire-rimmed glasses, his eyes seemed set in a perpetual squint. As he rose from the booth to shake my hand, he spilled some tea on his shirt ...
He ordered more hot water and told me about himself. He was Jewish, in his late thirties, had been reared in New York. He had started organizing in the sixties with the student protests, and ended up staying with it for fifteen years. Farmers in Nebraska. Blacks in Philadelphia. Mexicans in Chicago. Now he was trying to pull urban blacks and suburban whites together around a plan to save manufacturing jobs in metropolitan Chicago. He needed somebody to work with him, he said. Somebody black.
[ ...]
He offered to start me off at ten thousand dollars the first year, with a two-thousand-dollar travel allowance to buy a car; the salary would go up if things worked out. After he was gone, I took the long way home, along the East River promenade, and tried to figure out what to make of the man. He was smart, I decided. He seemed committed to his work. Still, there was something about him that made me wary. A little too sure of himself, maybe. And white — he'd said himself that that was a problem.
# It remained necessary to prove which side you were on, to show your loyalty to the black masses, to strike out and name names.
This sentence appears on page 101 of Dreams from My Father, as part of a long passage in which Barack Obama talked about his time at Occidental College in Los Angeles. It was another expression of a theme touched on in many other sections of the book — the difficulties of being expected to associate oneself with a particular racial heritage, especially for those who came from multiracial backgrounds — prompted by the example of a girl named Joyce, one of Obama's classmates:
She was a good-looking woman, Joyce was with her green eyes and honey skin and pouty lips. We lived in the same dorm my freshman year, and all the brothers were after her. One day I asked her if she was going to the Black Students' Association meeting. She looked at me funny, then started shaking her head like a baby who doesn't want what it sees on the spoon.
"I'm not black," Joyce said. "I'm multiracial." Then she started telling me about her father, who happened to be Italian and was the sweetest man in the world; and her mother, who happened to be part African and part French and part Native American and part something else. "Why should I have to choose between them?" she asked me. Her voice cracked, and I thought she was going to cry. "It's not white people who are making me choose. Maybe it used to be that way, but now they're willing to treat me like a person. No — it's black people who always have to make everything racial. They're the ones making me choose. They're the ones who are telling me that I can't be who I am ..."
They, they, they. That was the problem with people like Joyce. They talked about the richness of their multicultural heritage and it sounded real good, until you noticed that they avoided black people ...
To avoid being mistaken for a sellout, I chose my friends carefully. The more politically active black students. The foreign students. The Chicanos. The Marxist professors and structural feminists and punk-rock performance poets. We smoked cigarettes and wore leather jackets. At night, in the dorms, we discussed neocolonialism, Franz Fanon, Eurocentrism, and patriarchy. When we ground out our cigarettes in the hallway carpet or set our stereos so loud that the walls began to shake, we were resisting bourgeois society's stifling conventions. We weren't indifferent or careless or insecure. We were alienated.
But this strategy alone couldn't provide the distance I wanted, from Joyce or my past. After all, there were thousands of so-called campus radicals, most of them white and tenured and happily tolerant. No, it remained necessary to prove which side you were on, to show your loyalty to the black masses, to strike out and name names.
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