"I can no more disown [Rev. Dr. Wright] than I can my white grandmother ... a woman who once confessed her fear of black men who passed by her on the street..." -- Barack Obama, 3/18/08.
More and more, I am being accused of threatening America with disaster by being responsible for Hillary or McCain getting elected in November. Of course, my ongoing plot to make Hillary and/or McCain President consists of me sitting here in my underwear typing into my blog passages from Presidential candidate Barack Obama's bestselling 1995 autobiography Dreams from My Father.
Why am I doing this? Mostly because it's ridiculously easy to come up with relevant posts on the Presidential race by looking up what Sen. Obama had to say about his own life and transcribing it ... but virtually nobody else is doing it.
Here's a topical excerpt from pp. 269-271, which concerns Obama's life in Chicago when he was in his mid-20s. In it, Obama expresses the same supposed anti-black "racism" which he recently attributed to his 85-year-old grandma.
"That night, well past midnight, a car pulls up in front of my apartment building, carrying a troop of teenage boys and a set of stereo speakers so loud that the floor of my apartment begins to shake. I've learned to ignore such disturbances -- where else do they have to go? I say to myself. But on this particular evening I have someone staying over ...
"'Listen, people, are trying to sleep around here. Why don't y'all take it someplace else?'
"The four boys inside say nothing, don't even move. The wind wipes away my drowsiness, and I feel suddenly exposed, standing in a pair of shorts on the sidewalk in the middle of the night.... One of them could be Kyle. One of them could be Roy. One of them could be Johnnie."
Kyle, Roy, and Johnnie are all black male characters in Dreams from My Father -- in other words, as Obama's grandfather might say, the fellas in the car are black. Obama then proceeds to make stereotypical assumptions about young black males:
"I start picturing myself through the eyes of these boys, a figure of random authority, and know the calculations they might now be making, that if one of them can't take me out, the four of them certainly can."
The chapter ends:
"The engine starts, and the car screeches away. I turn back toward my apartment knowing that I've been both stupid and lucky, knowing that I am afraid after all."Shocking, isn't it?
Most of the effort that goes into my Obama posts consists of my editing out the excess verbiage with which Obama padded his endless autobiography. To make this incident readable, for example, I left out hundreds of intervening words of vintage Obama posturing about what a bad-ass he had been when he was the same age:
"One of them could be me. Standing there, I try to remember days when I would have been sitting in a car like that, full of inarticulate resentments and desperate to prove my place in the world. ... The blood rush of a high school brawl. The swagger that carries me into a classroom drunk or high ... That knotted, howling assertion of self ..."For the last two Februaries, political reporters from mainland newspapers have been taking expense account trips to Hawaii to research the accuracy of Obama's memories of himself as a high school desperado. The consensus of his prep school classmates' recollections has been that Obama was actually a very nice, cheerful, well-liked schoolboy.
And I also had to leave out most of the trademark Baroque O'Blarney philosophizing about the meaning of it all. Let me quote one sentence to show you why so few people ever finish reading Dreams from My Father:
"As I stand there, I find myself thinking that somewhere down the line both guilt and empathy speak to our own buried sense that an order of some sort is required, not the social order that exists, necessarily, but something more fundamental and more demanding; a sense, further, that one has a stake in this order, a wish that, no matter how fluid this order sometimes appears, it will not drain out of the universe."
I think this means that the Ivy Leaguer has just now realized he's on the side of the cops, not on the side of the crooks.
But getting his point across is not the point of most of Sen. Obama's verbal efforts. (In this respect, Obama is the exact opposite of Rev. Dr. God Damn America, who is a master at distilling his meaning down to an agitating phrase, such as "U.S. of K.K.K.") The candidate's goal is more typically to induce in the reader or listener a trance-like state of admiration of Obama's thoughtfulness. He's expert at implanting the idea, "Surely, such an intelligent person must agree with me. All we need to do to end these wearying partisan disputes is to turn power over to a reasonable man, a man much like, say, Barack Obama!"