背景介绍
奥巴马的此次演讲发表于2008年民主党总统候选人初选阶段，也是奥巴马与希拉里的角逐正酣之际。为防被抨击打种族牌，一直以来双方都沉着谨慎，避免围绕种族问题发表演讲。促使奥巴马首先就种族问题开腔的原因是，奥巴马的前牧师耶利米·赖特在布道时说出仇视白人的种族主义言论，各界纷纷要求奥巴马表态。
2008年3月18日，奥巴马选择在费城的美国宪法中心，发表了这篇长达三十多分钟的演讲。演讲中，奥巴马一方面明确谴责了赖特牧师所持的种族主义观点是扭曲的，另一方面他解释了这类观点的历史渊源，号召国民认清矛盾的真相并引导国民以发展的观点和客观的态度看问题。当时奥巴马在党内的民调还远远落后于希拉里，但这篇演讲犹如一颗定心丸,使他原有的支持者恢复了信心，更赢得了一片额外的掌声。
贝拉克·奥巴马关于种族、宗教以及他与其前牧师耶利米·赖特关系的演讲，再一次雄辩地证明了种族主义仍然是困扰美国的一大问题。奥巴马已经尖锐地指出了这个问题，现在需要的是在奥巴马以及其他总统候选人之间就这个问题展开一场平等的高层之间的讨论，以求得对这个问题的合理解决方案。
奥巴马提出一个论点：水涨船自高。他说：“政府应该在孩子们的卫生、福利以及教育上加大投入，不管他们是黑色、棕色还是白色人种。这种投入最终将促进美国的繁荣。”然而，正如奥巴马所认识到的，加大投入并不能完全消除种族之间的紧张关系。无可否认，如何解决历史遗留下来的种族歧视以及持续存在的不平等问题，仍然是美国所面临的一大考验。
奥巴马将怎样解决长期以来存在于美国学校的种族问题。例如，奥巴马曾经提到，在大学招生的时候，“我的女儿们很可能因为黑色皮肤而被优先考虑。但我认为我们应该同样考虑到处于不利地位或者家境贫穷的白人小孩。”这是否意味着他认为社会经济地位应该取代种族问题成为大学招生的考虑因素。奥巴马在担任国会参议员的时候，曾经填写过一份调查表，他在其中指出，在大学招生、职位招聘以及签约时，政府应该将种族和性别问题作为考虑的因素。2006年，奥巴马曾经录制一段电台广告，号召密歇根州的选民反对一项投票活动，该项活动试图废除州政府在高等教育以及其他相关领域实行种族特惠，从而促进种族多元化的制度。
奥巴马在演讲中指出，大部分处于劳动者阶层以及中产阶层的白种美国人，并没有因为他们是白种人而享受特权的感觉，所以他们对积极行动计划感到愤怒。如果奥巴马当上总统，他将怎么解决这个问题或者缓和这种愤怒。奥巴马还谈到白人父母被告知他们得让他们的孩子坐公共汽车去上学时的愤怒。但是，在2007年，当最高法院审理一起关于两个学校将学生们按种族分组的案件的时候，奥巴马却主张积极行动计划应该得到支持。当法院判决不同意他的观点时，他公开指责“这是一份坚持错误的裁决”，并发誓将“任命懂得‘布朗案’的宪法重要性的人作为最高法院法官”(在“布朗案”中，法院最终废除了学校的种族隔离制度)。
奥巴马的演讲只是给这个问题开了个头，毕竟，正如奥巴马所说：“我相信种族问题是美国现在无法忽视的问题。”
奥巴马于2008年3月18日在费城国家宪法中心的演讲
We the people, in order to form a more perfect union.
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 twenty 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 is 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.
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.
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, Reverend 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 Reverend 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, Reverend 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 Reverend Wright in the first place, they may ask? Why not join another church? And I confess that if all that I knew of Reverend Wright were the snippets of those sermons that have run in an endless loop on the television and You Tube, 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 twenty 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, 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 Reverend 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.
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 Reverend 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 Reverend 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.
This is the reality in which Reverend 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 Reverend 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 Reverend 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.
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 naïve 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 who has 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 Reverend 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 Reverend 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. But what we know—what we have seen—is that America can change. That is 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 OJ 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 Reverend 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.
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, twenty-three 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 nine 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 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.
我们合众国的人民，为了建立更加完善的联邦.
二百二十一年前，在对面街角那座至今仍旧巍然挺立的大厅中，美国自由的先驱聚集在一起，用简单的话语启动了在当时看来不可能完成的民主试验。这些为逃避暴虐与压迫而远涉重洋来到北美大陆的农场主、学者、政治家和爱国者，终于在1787年春天的费城会议上，将独立从宣言变为现实。
这份文件最终签署，但事实上从未完成，它被这个国家奴隶制的原罪所玷污。在那个问题(是否保留奴隶制)上，各殖民地莫衷一是，将整个会议引入僵局。联邦的创建者们选择允许奴隶制至少存在二十年，并将这个问题留给后人去最终解决。
从一开始，奴隶制问题的解决方法就已深埋于宪法之中了——我们宪法的核心就是法律之下的公民权平等理想，它保证给予其人民自由、公正，以及一个能够并且应该随着时间而不断趋向完善的联邦。但是，羊皮纸上的词句却不曾让奴隶们挣脱束缚，或完整地赋予各种肤色、各种信仰的人们作为合众国公民的权利和义务。因此，还需要一代接一代的美国公民用大街小巷的奔走抗议、用法庭上的据理力争，甚至诉诸于战争与对抗，冒着巨大的风险去缩小承诺与现实的差距。
从一开始我们就将建国先父们的美好愿望融入到了这次竞选之中——继续前人的长征，继续这场旨在建立更加公正、平等、自由、博爱、繁荣美利坚的长征。我选择在这样的历史时刻竞选总统，因为我坚信除非我们将这个时代的问题一起解决，除非我们完善这个联邦，否则美国将寸步难行。必须认识到，我们的生活故事可能不尽相同，但是我们的希望只有一个，来自五湖四海、有着不同的相貌与肤色的我们都朝着同一个方向前进，那就是子孙们更好的未来。
这一信念来自我对美国人民高尚与宽容的不可动摇的信任，也来自于我自己的美国故事。我的父亲是肯尼亚黑人，母亲是堪萨斯白人，我在外祖父和外祖母的抚养下长大。外祖父经历过大萧条、打过二战，有幸曾在巴顿将军的队伍里服役，外祖母则在里文沃斯堡的一个轰炸机生产线上工作。我既接受过美国的精英教育，也在世界上最贫困的国家生活过，最后与一个奴隶和奴隶主的后代结合，把这条血脉传给了我们的两个宝贝女儿。我的兄弟姐妹遍及世界三个大洲，他们肤色各异、种族不同。我知道像我这样的故事出现在其他任何一个国家都是不可能的，这段故事把我和其他的候选人区别开来，也在我的心中烙下了对这个国家最基本的理解——“合众为一”。
这场竞选的第一年里，所有相反的预测都被美国人民这种对于团结的渴望所打破。尽管有人试图通过种族的有色眼镜来歪曲这次竞选，我们在这个国家的白人州里所取得的压倒性胜利让所有质疑变得苍白无力。在邦联旗帜人就飘扬的南卡罗来纳州，黑人和白人联合起来，一起站在我的身后摇旗呐喊。
这并不意味着种族问题不再是这次竞选的一个议题。在整个竞选过程中，一直都有评论员说我“太黑”或“不够黑”。种族问题的泡泡在南卡罗来纳州初选的前一周浮到了表面。新闻界在每一个投票站的出口费心地搜寻着黑人和白人之间，甚至黑人和其他人种之间种族对立的证据。
但是，直到最近几个星期，有关种族的讨论才变得特别尖锐和具有攻击性。一方面，我听到了这样一种说法，即我迄今为止在竞选中所获得的一切都不过是一种安抚，不过是自由派廉价求购种族调和表象的伎俩。另一方面，我原来的牧师耶利米·耐特则使用更具煽动性和攻击性的语言来表达自己的立场。这些语言不仅有加深种族矛盾的倾向，还侮辱了这个国家的伟大和善良，使得无论黑人还是白人同样受到了冒犯。
我明确地谴责了耐特这些引发了巨大争议的言论。然而，不管我怎么表述，一些人仍不满足。我是否知道他有抨击美国内政和外交政策的记录?知道。我以前坐在教堂里时有没有听到过他发表争议性的讲话?有。我是不是从一开始就和他的政治观点保持距离?当然——正如你们中的许多人肯定都曾从牧师、神父或拉比那里听过不敢苟同的言论，我想它们的道理是一样的。
然而，这些引发铺天盖地争论的言论不仅仅是观点不同那么简单，也不仅仅是一个宗教领袖对显而易见的社会不公的大声抗议，它将这个国家彻底地、极度地扭曲。这种看法认为白人种族主义根深蒂固，把美国所有问题的根结置于这个伟大国家的种种优点之上;它还认为中东冲突的症结在于我们坚定盟友以色列的胡作非为，而非源自伊斯兰极端主义充满仇恨的意识形态。
耐特充满了种族怨怒的语言不仅是错误的而且是极端的，这个时候我们需要的是团结，是大家走到一起解决重大问题的勇气。我们面临的困难太多：两场战争、恐怖主义威胁、摇摇欲坠的经济、旷日持久的医保危机以及灾难性的气候变化。这些问题不是黑人、白人、拉美裔或者亚裔哪一群人所要面对的，也不是哪一群人能独自解决的，我们必须共同面对。
由于我个人背景、政治经历、价值观和理想的缘故，不论我怎么谴责耐特，总会有人不依不饶，对他们来说发表声明予以谴责是远远不够的。他们的问题几乎是一样的，为什么我会和如此极端一个人做了这么多年朋友?为什么我不加入另一个教会?坦白讲，如果我对耐特牧师的全部了解仅限于那些在电视和YouTube上循环播放的布道片断，如果三一联合基督教堂仅仅是某些评论者所恶意歪曲的那般模样的话，毫无疑问，我会做出同样的反应。但是据我了解，耐特并不完全是这个样子。我二十多年前认识的是这样一个人，他使我皈依了基督，教导我与众人相亲相爱，告诉我照顾病人帮助弱小的责任。他曾在美国海军陆战队为国家服役，曾在这个国家的最高学府和神学院学习并讲学。主持教堂工作三十多年间，他勤恳服务当地社区，按上帝的旨意在人间广播福祉——收留无家可归的人，救人于疾苦，提供婴幼儿日托服务，为学生提供奖学金，到监狱探视犯人并为他们祷告，还向艾滋病患者和艾滋病毒感染者伸出援助之手。
在我的第一本书《父亲的梦想》里，我描述了在三一教堂第一次参加礼拜的经历：“人们开始从座位上站起来，呼喊声、掌声疾风一般将那位牧师的声音带上房橼……简单的一句‘希望’掷地有声、让我从中听到一些其他的东西。十字架下，全城千百个教堂里，普通黑人在我的想象中成为了圣经故事里的角色：大卫和歌利亚的故事、摩西和法老的故事、基督徒在狮子坑的故事以及《以西结书》中满是骨骸的大地的故事。这些关于生存、自由和希望的故事，也渐渐成为了我们的故事、我的故事，故事里抛洒的热血是我们的热血，挥洒的眼泪是我们的眼泪，晴朗的天空下，这座黑人教堂就好像一艘航船，满载着一个民族的故事缓缓驶进未来的世代，驶向更加宽广的世界。我们的历史立刻变得既独特又普遍，既是黑人的又不仅仅是黑人的。自然而然地，我们将这些黑人化的圣经故事当作是自己的历史，自己的经历来学习和珍惜，有了这些故事，我们才能重建自己的过去。”
这就是我在三一教堂的经历。和全国其他地方以黑人信徒为主的教堂一样，三一教堂就是一个完整的黑人社区——有医生也有接受社会救济的母亲，有模范学生也有黑帮混混。和其他黑人教堂一样，三一教堂的礼拜充满喧闹的笑声，不时还有些粗俗的打趣。他们跳舞、拍手、尖叫或是喧闹，不常来的人还真的会受不了。这座教堂将美国黑人的一切囊括其中，仁慈与残忍、绝顶智慧与浑浑噩噩、奋争与成功、爱与恨以及痛苦与偏见。
也许这些可以更好地解释我与耐特牧师的关系。他也许并不完美，但他对我来说就像是家里的一员。他坚定了我的信仰，主持过我的婚礼，为我的女儿做了洗礼。我从来没听到过他用贬损的语言贬低其他族裔，他从来都是带着礼貌和敬意来对待与他交往的白人。他是一个矛盾的集合体——好好坏坏——就像他多年为之勤奋服务的社区一样。
和他断绝关系就等于和整个黑人社区断绝关系;和他断绝关系，就好比与抚养我长大成人的白人外祖母，一位曾为我一再做出牺牲，一位爱我胜过世界上任何人，一位曾向我坦言她在街上会对身边走过的黑人男子感到害怕，并曾经不止一次将那些令人恐惧的种族偏见挂在嘴边的亲人断绝关系。这些人都是我的一部分，也是这个我深爱着的国家的一部分。
这样说并不是在为这些不可饶恕的言论寻找托词。相信我不是这样的。在这件事情上，保全政治名誉最好的做法莫过于冷处理，让它随着时间一起慢慢淡去。我们大可将耐特看作是个思想偏激或是蛊惑人心的人，就好像某些人对待杰拉尔丁·菲拉萝那样，将他们的种族言论归因于其心中深藏的种族偏见，然后将他们当作无可救药的人抛到一边。
但是，我认为美国的种族问题已经严重到不得不直接面对的程度了。若不如此，我们就会犯和耐特一样的错误——把种族问题简单化、脸谱化，将消极面放大到足以扭曲真实的程度。实际情况是，这些过去几周浮出水面的言论和问题反映了这个国家种族问题的复杂性。这是一个我们从未完全解决的问题，也是我们的联邦需要完善的方面。如果我们现在将它搁置起来，默默地回到自己的角落，我们将永远无法再走到一起来，解决诸如医保、教育和就业等问题。
要认识这一现实，需要回顾一下我们是如何陷入今天这种困境的。威廉·福克纳曾写道：“过去既没有死去也没有被埋葬。甚至它根本就还没有过去。”在这里，我们没有必要复述这个国家种族歧视的历史。但是我们需要提醒自己，今天美国非裔社区里存在的众多不公正现象可以直接追溯到奴隶制和从吉姆·克劳法时期代代遗传下来的种族问题流毒。
种族隔离的学校过去是，现在仍然是次等学校。在布朗诉教育董事会案五十年后，这些学校的情况丝毫没有改变。它们提供的次等教育，不管是在过去还是现在，都有助于解释黑人学生和白人学生在学业成就方面存在的普遍差距。
那些合法的歧视——通过暴力禁止黑人拥有财产，拒绝给非裔美国企业主放贷，黑人买房无法享受联邦住房管理局的抵押贷款，黑人被拒绝进入工会、警察局和消防队——意味着黑人家庭无法为自己的下一代积累起足够多的财产。这就解释了为什么黑人和白人在财富和收入上存在巨大差距，为什么今天许多城市和乡村社区存在大量的贫困现象。
黑人男子缺乏工作机会这一事实，以及无法供养家庭所带来的耻辱感和沮丧，让黑人家庭面临危机——在国家现有的福利政策下，这一问题日益恶化。众多城市黑人社区基本社区服务的缺乏——如小孩儿玩耍的公园、警察巡逻、按时回收垃圾和强制建筑标准——最终导致一个无法摆脱的暴力、破败和忽视的恶性循环。
耐特和与他同时代的非裔美国人就是在这样的环境下长大的。二十世纪五六十年代的时候他们开始步入社会，当时种族隔离仍然是合法制度，黑人的诸多机会被制度性地限制或剥夺。但是这些黑人并没有屈服于严酷的环境，他们携起手来披荆斩棘、克服困难，努力为自己的下一代闯出一条路来。然而，能够最终抓住机会成就自己美国梦的黑人毕竟只是少数，他们中仍然有许多人无法实现自己的梦想，不得不以这样或那样的方式屈服于种族歧视的梦魇。这种挫败感遗传到了他们的下一代那里——年轻的黑人男子和越来越多的青年女子闲站街角无所事事，或者慵懒地躺在监狱里，对未来不抱任何希望和期待。即便对那些实现了自己梦想的人来说，种族和种族问题仍旧是他们世界观的基本来源。在与耐特同时代的男男女女脑海里，羞辱、怀疑和恐惧的记忆挥之不去，愤怒和痛苦更难忘怀。这些愤怒也许不会在公开的场合表达出来，不会在白人同事或朋友的面前表达出来。但是一旦到了相对私人的空间，比如餐桌上、理发店里，这些情感就有了倾诉的场合。有时，这些黑人的愤怒被政客们所利用，他们用种族划线捞取选票，或是掩饰其个人的失误。
我们有时也会在周日教堂的讲台或是条椅上听到类似的情感表达。许多人都对耐特布道中的激烈言辞感到震惊，但是这不过再次证明了一个事实，那就是在美国周日早上的这段去教堂祷告时间，种族分裂问题最为激化。这种发泄其实没有任何实际意义，相反，还常常影响我们对实际问题的解决。它让我们无法看清自己也应对此现状负责，让非裔美国人的社区难以联合起来做出什么实际的改变。但是我要说，这种愤怒是真实而强烈的，仅仅希望它自行消失，或是对其不假思索地进行抨击，往往只能让两个种族之间误解的鸿沟越来越大。
事实上，白人社区中也存在着与此相同的情绪。美国劳工阶层和中产阶级中的很多人都觉得自己没有因为他们的种族而获得什么特权。这些人多为移民，在他们看来自己完全就是白手起家，没有拿过谁的好处受过谁的恩惠。他们勤勤恳恳、任劳任怨，但最终却眼睁睁地看着自己的工作机会被转向国外，眼睁睁地看着自己一生积攒下来的退休金缩水。他们对自己的未来感到焦虑，感觉自己距离梦想渐行渐远。在工资不变、国际竞争加剧的情况下，所谓机会实则成为了一个零和博弈，你的成功必定要以我的失败为代价。所以，当他们被告之自己的孩子得坐公交车去上学，当他们听说非裔美国人由于那些并非他们犯下的历史过错在找工作或受教育方面享受了优惠政策，当他们对社区犯罪活动的担忧被视为带有种族偏见的时候，胸中怨恨就会随着时间推移而增长。
和黑人社区的情况类似，这些怨恨绝少会在温和的日常交往中表现出来。但是它所塑造的政治景观影响了至少整整一代美国人。对福利和“反歧视行动”的不满催生出了“里根联盟”。政客们没完没了地拿人们对犯罪的恐惧做文章、捞选票。脱口秀主持人和保守的时政评论员醉心于指责种族主义的言论多么荒唐，将关于种族不公正和不平等的合理讨论归于简单的政治正确或是种族主义的另一种表现。
正如黑人们的情感宣泄常常带来消极作用，白人们的愤怒只会让他们忽略压榨中产阶级的罪魁祸首——充斥着肮脏内幕交易、问题重重的会计活动、短视贪婪逐利的公司文化;被游说者和有特别利益的人占领的华盛顿以及偏向少数利益群体的经济政策。不去成人他们的合法诉求，反而希望这些问题能够不治自愈，或是单纯地把这些人归作被误导者或是种族激进分子，同样会加剧种族矛盾，阻碍种族之间的理解与和解。
这就是我们现在的处境。我们深陷种族主义的泥潭已有多时。与那些批评我的人，不论黑人白人，所持的观点刚好相反，我从未天真地以为种族问题能够因为一次选举而药到病除，更非一次参选就能够明显改善，况且我也不是一个完美的参选者。
但是我已经坚定了自己的信念，这个信念植根于我对上帝的信仰和对美国人民的信任。携起手来我们能够治愈种族主义的顽疾，事实上，如果我们打算在建立一个更加完善联邦的路上继续前进，我们就别无选择。
对黑人社区来说，这条道路意味着勇敢地接过历史的包袱而不被历史所荼毒;意味着继续在社会的各个方面为正义而奔走疾呼;但是，这同样意味着我们必须把自己的诉求，诸如更好的医疗、更好的教育、更好的工作——与全体美国人更大的愿望联系在一起——立志打破玻璃天花板的白人妇女、失业的白人男子以及为家庭而打拼的移民;意味着我们要为自己的生活负责，对我们的父亲提出更高的要求。花更多的时间陪孩子，给他们读书，教他们如何处理可能发生在他们身上的种族歧视。告诉他们无论如何也不要自暴自弃或愤世嫉俗，要让他们坚信命运就在自己的手中。
充满讽刺意味的是，这种经典而保守的美国式的自力更生的论调，常常出现在耐特的布道之中。但是耐特忽略了一点，所谓的自力更生必须建立在对社会的信任之上，相信这个社会是可以改变的。耐特的布道最深层次错误并不在于他公开谈论种族问题，而在于他将我们的社会看的一成不变，仿佛这么多年一点进步也没有。即便这个国家已经接纳了他的教众去竞选国家的最高公职，去建立黑人与白人、拉美裔与亚裔、富人与穷人、年轻人与老人的联盟，他仍然觉得这个社会没有改变。然而，我们知道的和看到的都明白无误的告诉我们，美国可以改变。这是这个国家真正的不凡之处。这一切改变给予我们希望——无畏的希望——它为我们的将来指明方向。
对于白人来说，通向更完善联邦的道路意味着需要承认非裔美国人的痛苦并不仅仅存在于心中。种族歧视的历史是真实的，种族歧视的现状虽不及过去严重，但也依然存在，需要着手解决。解决不能仅仅停留在口头上，而应有实际的行动——包括加大对学校和社区的投入;严格执行民权法案，保证刑事司法体系公正;为这一代人提供前几代人没有的向上发展的阶梯。需要让所有美国人意识到，别人梦想的实现并不会以自己的失败为代价。在健康、福利以及惠及多种族孩子的教育上所投入的每一分钱，最终都将促进美国的繁荣昌盛。
事实上，我们所呼吁的刚好与这个世界所有宗教的理念相契合——一所不欲，勿施于人。圣经教导我们：让我们成为兄弟的守护者。那么就让我们成为兄弟姐妹的守护者，让我们通过政治途径来谋求彼此共同的利益。
在这个国家中我们总是面临选择。我们可以接受助长分裂、冲突和愤世嫉俗的政治。我们可以把种族问题导演成闹剧，就好像我们在辛普森案中所做的那样;或者亡羊补牢，悲剧发生之后再图补救，比如我们在卡特里娜飓风袭击中所做的那样;又或将种族问题交付晚间新闻，任人评说。我们可以在每个频道反复播放耐特的言论，没日没夜地放，一直放到大选，将这次竞选演变为对一个单一话题的讨论，即美国人是否认为我会在一定程度上同意耐特的激烈言辞。我们可以抓住希拉里支持者的某些不恰当言论大书特书，指责她在玩弄种族牌。我们可以推测白人男性选民最终都将把票投给约翰·麦凯恩，不管他的政策如何。
我们可以那么做。但是如果我们做了，我可以告诉你，在下次选举中，类似的话题依然会被提起，然后是下一个，一个接一个。最终什么都不会改变。
当然，那只是我们其中的一个选项。又或许我们能就此携起手来，齐声高呼：“再也不能这样了。”我们这次得谈谈那些盗取黑人孩子、白人孩子、亚裔孩子、西班牙语裔孩子和土著孩子未来的日渐破落的学校。这次我们得抛弃那种认为这些孩子不可教或者那些和我们长相不同的孩子是别人的孩子的想法。美国的孩子不是别人的孩子，他们是我们所有人的孩子，不能让他们在二十一世纪的竞争中落后。这一次，再也不能这样了。
这次我们得谈谈医院急诊室的门外为何站满了没有医疗保险的白人、黑人和拉美裔。也许仅凭他们自己还无法和华盛顿的特殊利益群体抗衡，但是如果我们大家能挽起手来，定能和他们较量一番。
这次我们得谈谈那些破败的工厂，它们曾经为各个种族的男女提供体面的生活;这次我们得谈谈那些抵押待售的房屋，曾几何时，它们属于各个宗教、各个地区、各种职业的美国人。这次我们得谈谈一个基本的事实，并不是那些和你相貌不同的人可能会抢走你的饭碗，而是你所工作的公司正在将这些工作机会转移到海外，为的仅仅是利润。
这次我们得谈谈那些肤色不同、信仰各异的男男女女，他们在同一面骄傲的旗帜下一起服役、一起战斗、一起流血。我们得谈谈怎样把他们从这场本不应该授权，更不应该发动的战争中安全地送回。我们得谈谈怎样通过对他们以及他们家庭的关爱，怎样通过给予他们应得的回报来体现我们的爱国主义。
如非坚信这是大多数美国人民的心愿，我不会参加这次总统竞选。这个联邦也许永远都不会完美，但是一代又一代的美国人告诉我们，总有机会让它变得更好。每当我自己对这种可能性表示怀疑和厌倦的时候，美国的下一代给了我最多的希望——这些年轻人的态度、信仰和对变革的包容已经在这次选举中创造了历史。
今天，我有一个特别的故事想带给大家——一个马丁·路德·金博士诞辰那天，我有幸在他的教堂——亚特兰大的埃本内泽浸礼会教堂讲述多的故事。
有个二十三岁的年轻白人妇女名叫阿什利·拜亚，她在南卡罗来纳州的佛罗伦斯为我组织竞选活动。从这次竞选一开始，她大部分时间都扑在黑人社区里。有一天她参加了一个圆桌讨论会，大家围坐在一起聊自己为什么会到这儿来。阿什利说，她九岁那年妈妈得了癌症。由于没法继续上班她被解雇了，医疗保险也没了，一家只能申请破产。阿什利决定得为妈妈做点什么。她知道食物是全家最大的开销，于是阿什利让妈妈相信自己真的很喜欢吃泡菜三明治蘸芥末酱。因为这样吃最便宜。就这样阿什利吃了一年，直到妈妈病情有所好转。她告诉所有参加讨论会的人之所以加入助选活动是因为她能通过这种方式为成千上万想为父母做点事、帮点忙的孩子提供帮助。
阿什利本可以有其他的选择。也许一直都有人告诉她，她母亲之所以这样是因为那些懒惰的黑人躺在福利制度上睡大觉，或者告诉她这一切都是拉美裔的非法移民造成的。但是阿什利并没有听信这些，她选择与大家联合起来，对抗不公平。
阿什利讲完自己的故事之后，挨个儿问房间里的其他人为什么会支持这次竞选。每个人都有自己的故事和理由，有的人理由很具体。最后轮到一位年长的黑人男子，他自始至终都没怎么说过话。阿什利问他为什么来这儿。他没有重复刚刚大家说过的那些理由。他没有说医保或者经济，他没有说教育或者伊战，他也没有说来这儿是为了奥巴马。他对每一个在场的人说，“我来是因为阿什利。”
“我来是因为阿什利。”仅就这句话来讲，一个年轻白人小姑娘和一个年长黑人男子在某一刻达成的共识并不足以改变什么，它不能给生病的人送去医疗保险，不能帮失业的人找到工作，不能为孩子们提供更好的教育。但这是我们的新起点，我们的联邦将从此变得更强大。正如二百二十一年前，一群爱国者在费城签署了那份文件后，一代又一代的美国人意识到的那样，这，就是完善的起点。
精彩语录
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.
除非我们将这个时代的问题一起解决，除非我们完善这个联邦，否则美国将寸步难行。必须认识到，我们的生活故事可能不尽相同，但是我们的希望只有一个。来自五湖四海、有着不同的相貌与肤色的我们都朝着同一个方向前进，那就是子孙们更好的未来。
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.
这个时候我们需要的是团结，是大家走到一起解决重大问题的勇气。我们面临的困难太多：两场战争、恐怖主义威胁、摇摇欲坠的经济、旷日持久的医保危机以及灾难性的气候变化。这些问题不是黑人、白人、拉美裔或者亚裔哪一群人所要面对的，也不是哪一群人能独自解决的，我们必须共同面对。
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.
故事里抛洒的热血是我们的热血，挥洒的眼泪是我们的眼泪，晴朗的天空下，这座黑人教堂就好像一艘航船，满载着一个民族的故事缓缓驶进未来的世代，驶向更加宽广的世界。我们的历史立刻变得既独特又普遍，既是黑人的又不仅仅是黑人的。自然而然地，我们将这些黑人化的圣经故事当作是自己的历史，自己的经历来学习和珍惜，有了这些故事，我们才能重建自己的过去。
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.
我已经坚定了自己的信念，这个信念植根于我对上帝的信仰和对美国人民的信任。携起手来我们能够治愈种族主义的顽疾，事实上，如果我们打算在建立一个更加完善联邦的路上继续前进，我们就别无选择。
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.
我们所呼吁的刚好与这个世界所有宗教的理念相契合——一所不欲，勿施于人。圣经教导我们：让我们成为兄弟的守护者。那么就让我们成为兄弟姐妹的守护者，让我们通过政治途径来谋求彼此共同的利益。
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.
如非坚信这是大多数美国人民的心愿，我不会参加这次总统竞选。这个联邦也许永远都不会完美，但是一代又一代的美国人告诉我们，总有机会让它变得更好。每当我自己对这种可能性表示怀疑和厌倦的时候，美国的下一代给了我最多的希望——这些年轻人的态度、信仰和对变革的包容已经在这次选举中创造了历史。
