奧巴馬于2008年3月18日在費城國家憲法中心的演講

背景介紹

奧巴馬的此次演講發(fā)表于2008年民主黨總統(tǒng)候選人初選階段，也是奧巴馬與希拉里的角逐正酣之際。為防被抨擊打種族牌，一直以來雙方都沉著謹慎，避免圍繞種族問題發(fā)表演講。促使奧巴馬首先就種族問題開腔的原因是，奧巴馬的前牧師耶利米·賴特在布道時說出仇視白人的種族主義言論，各界紛紛要求奧巴馬表態(tài)。

2008年3月18日，奧巴馬選擇在費城的美國憲法中心，發(fā)表了這篇長達三十多分鐘的演講。演講中，奧巴馬一方面明確譴責了賴特牧師所持的種族主義觀點是扭曲的，另一方面他解釋了這類觀點的歷史淵源，號召國民認清矛盾的真相并引導國民以發(fā)展的觀點和客觀的態(tài)度看問題。當時奧巴馬在黨內的民調還遠遠落后于希拉里，但這篇演講猶如一顆定心丸,使他原有的支持者恢復了信心，更贏得了一片額外的掌聲。

貝拉克·奧巴馬關于種族、宗教以及他與其前牧師耶利米·賴特關系的演講，再一次雄辯地證明了種族主義仍然是困擾美國的一大問題。奧巴馬已經尖銳地指出了這個問題，現在需要的是在奧巴馬以及其他總統(tǒng)候選人之間就這個問題展開一場平等的高層之間的討論，以求得對這個問題的合理解決方案。

奧巴馬提出一個論點：水漲船自高。他說：“政府應該在孩子們的衛(wèi)生、福利以及教育上加大投入，不管他們是黑色、棕色還是白色人種。這種投入最終將促進美國的繁榮。”然而，正如奧巴馬所認識到的，加大投入并不能完全消除種族之間的緊張關系。無可否認，如何解決歷史遺留下來的種族歧視以及持續(xù)存在的不平等問題，仍然是美國所面臨的一大考驗。

奧巴馬將怎樣解決長期以來存在于美國學校的種族問題。例如，奧巴馬曾經提到，在大學招生的時候，“我的女兒們很可能因為黑色皮膚而被優(yōu)先考慮。但我認為我們應該同樣考慮到處于不利地位或者家境貧窮的白人小孩。”這是否意味著他認為社會經濟地位應該取代種族問題成為大學招生的考慮因素。奧巴馬在擔任國會參議員的時候，曾經填寫過一份調查表，他在其中指出，在大學招生、職位招聘以及簽約時，政府應該將種族和性別問題作為考慮的因素。2006年，奧巴馬曾經錄制一段電臺廣告，號召密歇根州的選民反對一項投票活動，該項活動試圖廢除州政府在高等教育以及其他相關領域實行種族特惠，從而促進種族多元化的制度。

奧巴馬在演講中指出，大部分處于勞動者階層以及中產階層的白種美國人，并沒有因為他們是白種人而享受特權的感覺，所以他們對積極行動計劃感到憤怒。如果奧巴馬當上總統(tǒng)，他將怎么解決這個問題或者緩和這種憤怒。奧巴馬還談到白人父母被告知他們得讓他們的孩子坐公共汽車去上學時的憤怒。但是，在2007年，當最高法院審理一起關于兩個學校將學生們按種族分組的案件的時候，奧巴馬卻主張積極行動計劃應該得到支持。當法院判決不同意他的觀點時，他公開指責“這是一份堅持錯誤的裁決”，并發(fā)誓將“任命懂得‘布朗案’的憲法重要性的人作為最高法院法官”(在“布朗案”中，法院最終廢除了學校的種族隔離制度)。

奧巴馬的演講只是給這個問題開了個頭，畢竟，正如奧巴馬所說：“我相信種族問題是美國現在無法忽視的問題。”

奧巴馬于2008年3月18日在費城國家憲法中心的演講

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.

我們合眾國的人民，為了建立更加完善的聯邦.

二百二十一年前，在對面街角那座至今仍舊巍然挺立的大廳中，美國自由的先驅聚集在一起，用簡單的話語啟動了在當時看來不可能完成的民主試驗。這些為逃避暴虐與壓迫而遠涉重洋來到北美大陸的農場主、學者、政治家和愛國者，終于在1787年春天的費城會議上，將獨立從宣言變?yōu)楝F實。

這份文件最終簽署，但事實上從未完成，它被這個國家奴隸制的原罪所玷污。在那個問題(是否保留奴隸制)上，各殖民地莫衷一是，將整個會議引入僵局。聯邦的創(chuàng)建者們選擇允許奴隸制至少存在二十年，并將這個問題留給后人去最終解決。

從一開始，奴隸制問題的解決方法就已深埋于憲法之中了——我們憲法的核心就是法律之下的公民權平等理想，它保證給予其人民自由、公正，以及一個能夠并且應該隨著時間而不斷趨向完善的聯邦。但是，羊皮紙上的詞句卻不曾讓奴隸們掙脫束縛，或完整地賦予各種膚色、各種信仰的人們作為合眾國公民的權利和義務。因此，還需要一代接一代的美國公民用大街小巷的奔走抗議、用法庭上的據理力爭，甚至訴諸于戰(zhàn)爭與對抗，冒著巨大的風險去縮小承諾與現實的差距。

從一開始我們就將建國先父們的美好愿望融入到了這次競選之中——繼續(xù)前人的長征，繼續(xù)這場旨在建立更加公正、平等、自由、博愛、繁榮美利堅的長征。我選擇在這樣的歷史時刻競選總統(tǒng)，因為我堅信除非我們將這個時代的問題一起解決，除非我們完善這個聯邦，否則美國將寸步難行。必須認識到，我們的生活故事可能不盡相同，但是我們的希望只有一個，來自五湖四海、有著不同的相貌與膚色的我們都朝著同一個方向前進，那就是子孫們更好的未來。

這一信念來自我對美國人民高尚與寬容的不可動搖的信任，也來自于我自己的美國故事。我的父親是肯尼亞黑人，母親是堪薩斯白人，我在外祖父和外祖母的撫養(yǎng)下長大。外祖父經歷過大蕭條、打過二戰(zhàn)，有幸曾在巴頓將軍的隊伍里服役，外祖母則在里文沃斯堡的一個轟炸機生產線上工作。我既接受過美國的精英教育，也在世界上最貧困的國家生活過，最后與一個奴隸和奴隸主的后代結合，把這條血脈傳給了我們的兩個寶貝女兒。我的兄弟姐妹遍及世界三個大洲，他們膚色各異、種族不同。我知道像我這樣的故事出現在其他任何一個國家都是不可能的，這段故事把我和其他的候選人區(qū)別開來，也在我的心中烙下了對這個國家最基本的理解——“合眾為一”。

這場競選的第一年里，所有相反的預測都被美國人民這種對于團結的渴望所打破。盡管有人試圖通過種族的有色眼鏡來歪曲這次競選，我們在這個國家的白人州里所取得的壓倒性勝利讓所有質疑變得蒼白無力。在邦聯旗幟人就飄揚的南卡羅來納州，黑人和白人聯合起來，一起站在我的身后搖旗吶喊。

這并不意味著種族問題不再是這次競選的一個議題。在整個競選過程中，一直都有評論員說我“太黑”或“不夠黑”。種族問題的泡泡在南卡羅來納州初選的前一周浮到了表面。新聞界在每一個投票站的出口費心地搜尋著黑人和白人之間，甚至黑人和其他人種之間種族對立的證據。

但是，直到最近幾個星期，有關種族的討論才變得特別尖銳和具有攻擊性。一方面，我聽到了這樣一種說法，即我迄今為止在競選中所獲得的一切都不過是一種安撫，不過是自由派廉價求購種族調和表象的伎倆。另一方面，我原來的牧師耶利米·耐特則使用更具煽動性和攻擊性的語言來表達自己的立場。這些語言不僅有加深種族矛盾的傾向，還侮辱了這個國家的偉大和善良，使得無論黑人還是白人同樣受到了冒犯。

我明確地譴責了耐特這些引發(fā)了巨大爭議的言論。然而，不管我怎么表述，一些人仍不滿足。我是否知道他有抨擊美國內政和外交政策的記錄?知道。我以前坐在教堂里時有沒有聽到過他發(fā)表爭議性的講話?有。我是不是從一開始就和他的政治觀點保持距離?當然——正如你們中的許多人肯定都曾從牧師、神父或拉比那里聽過不敢茍同的言論，我想它們的道理是一樣的。

然而，這些引發(fā)鋪天蓋地爭論的言論不僅僅是觀點不同那么簡單，也不僅僅是一個宗教領袖對顯而易見的社會不公的大聲抗議，它將這個國家徹底地、極度地扭曲。這種看法認為白人種族主義根深蒂固，把美國所有問題的根結置于這個偉大國家的種種優(yōu)點之上;它還認為中東沖突的癥結在于我們堅定盟友以色列的胡作非為，而非源自伊斯蘭極端主義充滿仇恨的意識形態(tài)。

耐特充滿了種族怨怒的語言不僅是錯誤的而且是極端的，這個時候我們需要的是團結，是大家走到一起解決重大問題的勇氣。我們面臨的困難太多：兩場戰(zhàn)爭、恐怖主義威脅、搖搖欲墜的經濟、曠日持久的醫(yī)保危機以及災難性的氣候變化。這些問題不是黑人、白人、拉美裔或者亞裔哪一群人所要面對的，也不是哪一群人能獨自解決的，我們必須共同面對。

由于我個人背景、政治經歷、價值觀和理想的緣故，不論我怎么譴責耐特，總會有人不依不饒，對他們來說發(fā)表聲明予以譴責是遠遠不夠的。他們的問題幾乎是一樣的，為什么我會和如此極端一個人做了這么多年朋友?為什么我不加入另一個教會?坦白講，如果我對耐特牧師的全部了解僅限于那些在電視和YouTube上循環(huán)播放的布道片斷，如果三一聯合基督教堂僅僅是某些評論者所惡意歪曲的那般模樣的話，毫無疑問，我會做出同樣的反應。但是據我了解，耐特并不完全是這個樣子。我二十多年前認識的是這樣一個人，他使我皈依了基督，教導我與眾人相親相愛，告訴我照顧病人幫助弱小的責任。他曾在美國海軍陸戰(zhàn)隊為國家服役，曾在這個國家的最高學府和神學院學習并講學。主持教堂工作三十多年間，他勤懇服務當地社區(qū)，按上帝的旨意在人間廣播福祉——收留無家可歸的人，救人于疾苦，提供嬰幼兒日托服務，為學生提供獎學金，到監(jiān)獄探視犯人并為他們禱告，還向艾滋病患者和艾滋病毒感染者伸出援助之手。

在我的第一本書《父親的夢想》里，我描述了在三一教堂第一次參加禮拜的經歷：“人們開始從座位上站起來，呼喊聲、掌聲疾風一般將那位牧師的聲音帶上房櫞……簡單的一句‘希望’擲地有聲、讓我從中聽到一些其他的東西。十字架下，全城千百個教堂里，普通黑人在我的想象中成為了圣經故事里的角色：大衛(wèi)和歌利亞的故事、摩西和法老的故事、基督徒在獅子坑的故事以及《以西結書》中滿是骨骸的大地的故事。這些關于生存、自由和希望的故事，也漸漸成為了我們的故事、我的故事，故事里拋灑的熱血是我們的熱血，揮灑的眼淚是我們的眼淚，晴朗的天空下，這座黑人教堂就好像一艘航船，滿載著一個民族的故事緩緩駛進未來的世代，駛向更加寬廣的世界。我們的歷史立刻變得既獨特又普遍，既是黑人的又不僅僅是黑人的。自然而然地，我們將這些黑人化的圣經故事當作是自己的歷史，自己的經歷來學習和珍惜，有了這些故事，我們才能重建自己的過去。”

這就是我在三一教堂的經歷。和全國其他地方以黑人信徒為主的教堂一樣，三一教堂就是一個完整的黑人社區(qū)——有醫(yī)生也有接受社會救濟的母親，有模范學生也有黑幫混混。和其他黑人教堂一樣，三一教堂的禮拜充滿喧鬧的笑聲，不時還有些粗俗的打趣。他們跳舞、拍手、尖叫或是喧鬧，不常來的人還真的會受不了。這座教堂將美國黑人的一切囊括其中，仁慈與殘忍、絕頂智慧與渾渾噩噩、奮爭與成功、愛與恨以及痛苦與偏見。

也許這些可以更好地解釋我與耐特牧師的關系。他也許并不完美，但他對我來說就像是家里的一員。他堅定了我的信仰，主持過我的婚禮，為我的女兒做了洗禮。我從來沒聽到過他用貶損的語言貶低其他族裔，他從來都是帶著禮貌和敬意來對待與他交往的白人。他是一個矛盾的集合體——好好壞壞——就像他多年為之勤奮服務的社區(qū)一樣。

和他斷絕關系就等于和整個黑人社區(qū)斷絕關系;和他斷絕關系，就好比與撫養(yǎng)我長大成人的白人外祖母，一位曾為我一再做出犧牲，一位愛我勝過世界上任何人，一位曾向我坦言她在街上會對身邊走過的黑人男子感到害怕，并曾經不止一次將那些令人恐懼的種族偏見掛在嘴邊的親人斷絕關系。這些人都是我的一部分，也是這個我深愛著的國家的一部分。

這樣說并不是在為這些不可饒恕的言論尋找托詞。相信我不是這樣的。在這件事情上，保全政治名譽最好的做法莫過于冷處理，讓它隨著時間一起慢慢淡去。我們大可將耐特看作是個思想偏激或是蠱惑人心的人，就好像某些人對待杰拉爾丁·菲拉蘿那樣，將他們的種族言論歸因于其心中深藏的種族偏見，然后將他們當作無可救藥的人拋到一邊。

但是，我認為美國的種族問題已經嚴重到不得不直接面對的程度了。若不如此，我們就會犯和耐特一樣的錯誤——把種族問題簡單化、臉譜化，將消極面放大到足以扭曲真實的程度。實際情況是，這些過去幾周浮出水面的言論和問題反映了這個國家種族問題的復雜性。這是一個我們從未完全解決的問題，也是我們的聯邦需要完善的方面。如果我們現在將它擱置起來，默默地回到自己的角落，我們將永遠無法再走到一起來，解決諸如醫(yī)保、教育和就業(yè)等問題。

要認識這一現實，需要回顧一下我們是如何陷入今天這種困境的。威廉·?？思{曾寫道：“過去既沒有死去也沒有被埋葬。甚至它根本就還沒有過去。”在這里，我們沒有必要復述這個國家種族歧視的歷史。但是我們需要提醒自己，今天美國非裔社區(qū)里存在的眾多不公正現象可以直接追溯到奴隸制和從吉姆·克勞法時期代代遺傳下來的種族問題流毒。

種族隔離的學校過去是，現在仍然是次等學校。在布朗訴教育董事會案五十年后，這些學校的情況絲毫沒有改變。它們提供的次等教育，不管是在過去還是現在，都有助于解釋黑人學生和白人學生在學業(yè)成就方面存在的普遍差距。

那些合法的歧視——通過暴力禁止黑人擁有財產，拒絕給非裔美國企業(yè)主放貸，黑人買房無法享受聯邦住房管理局的抵押貸款，黑人被拒絕進入工會、警察局和消防隊——意味著黑人家庭無法為自己的下一代積累起足夠多的財產。這就解釋了為什么黑人和白人在財富和收入上存在巨大差距，為什么今天許多城市和鄉(xiāng)村社區(qū)存在大量的貧困現象。

黑人男子缺乏工作機會這一事實，以及無法供養(yǎng)家庭所帶來的恥辱感和沮喪，讓黑人家庭面臨危機——在國家現有的福利政策下，這一問題日益惡化。眾多城市黑人社區(qū)基本社區(qū)服務的缺乏——如小孩兒玩耍的公園、警察巡邏、按時回收垃圾和強制建筑標準——最終導致一個無法擺脫的暴力、破敗和忽視的惡性循環(huán)。

耐特和與他同時代的非裔美國人就是在這樣的環(huán)境下長大的。二十世紀五六十年代的時候他們開始步入社會，當時種族隔離仍然是合法制度，黑人的諸多機會被制度性地限制或剝奪。但是這些黑人并沒有屈服于嚴酷的環(huán)境，他們攜起手來披荊斬棘、克服困難，努力為自己的下一代闖出一條路來。然而，能夠最終抓住機會成就自己美國夢的黑人畢竟只是少數，他們中仍然有許多人無法實現自己的夢想，不得不以這樣或那樣的方式屈服于種族歧視的夢魘。這種挫敗感遺傳到了他們的下一代那里——年輕的黑人男子和越來越多的青年女子閑站街角無所事事，或者慵懶地躺在監(jiān)獄里，對未來不抱任何希望和期待。即便對那些實現了自己夢想的人來說，種族和種族問題仍舊是他們世界觀的基本來源。在與耐特同時代的男男女女腦海里，羞辱、懷疑和恐懼的記憶揮之不去，憤怒和痛苦更難忘懷。這些憤怒也許不會在公開的場合表達出來，不會在白人同事或朋友的面前表達出來。但是一旦到了相對私人的空間，比如餐桌上、理發(fā)店里，這些情感就有了傾訴的場合。有時，這些黑人的憤怒被政客們所利用，他們用種族劃線撈取選票，或是掩飾其個人的失誤。

我們有時也會在周日教堂的講臺或是條椅上聽到類似的情感表達。許多人都對耐特布道中的激烈言辭感到震驚，但是這不過再次證明了一個事實，那就是在美國周日早上的這段去教堂禱告時間，種族分裂問題最為激化。這種發(fā)泄其實沒有任何實際意義，相反，還常常影響我們對實際問題的解決。它讓我們無法看清自己也應對此現狀負責，讓非裔美國人的社區(qū)難以聯合起來做出什么實際的改變。但是我要說，這種憤怒是真實而強烈的，僅僅希望它自行消失，或是對其不假思索地進行抨擊，往往只能讓兩個種族之間誤解的鴻溝越來越大。

事實上，白人社區(qū)中也存在著與此相同的情緒。美國勞工階層和中產階級中的很多人都覺得自己沒有因為他們的種族而獲得什么特權。這些人多為移民，在他們看來自己完全就是白手起家，沒有拿過誰的好處受過誰的恩惠。他們勤勤懇懇、任勞任怨，但最終卻眼睜睜地看著自己的工作機會被轉向國外，眼睜睜地看著自己一生積攢下來的退休金縮水。他們對自己的未來感到焦慮，感覺自己距離夢想漸行漸遠。在工資不變、國際競爭加劇的情況下，所謂機會實則成為了一個零和博弈，你的成功必定要以我的失敗為代價。所以，當他們被告之自己的孩子得坐公交車去上學，當他們聽說非裔美國人由于那些并非他們犯下的歷史過錯在找工作或受教育方面享受了優(yōu)惠政策，當他們對社區(qū)犯罪活動的擔憂被視為帶有種族偏見的時候，胸中怨恨就會隨著時間推移而增長。

和黑人社區(qū)的情況類似，這些怨恨絕少會在溫和的日常交往中表現出來。但是它所塑造的政治景觀影響了至少整整一代美國人。對福利和“反歧視行動”的不滿催生出了“里根聯盟”。政客們沒完沒了地拿人們對犯罪的恐懼做文章、撈選票。脫口秀主持人和保守的時政評論員醉心于指責種族主義的言論多么荒唐，將關于種族不公正和不平等的合理討論歸于簡單的政治正確或是種族主義的另一種表現。

正如黑人們的情感宣泄常常帶來消極作用，白人們的憤怒只會讓他們忽略壓榨中產階級的罪魁禍首——充斥著骯臟內幕交易、問題重重的會計活動、短視貪婪逐利的公司文化;被游說者和有特別利益的人占領的華盛頓以及偏向少數利益群體的經濟政策。不去成人他們的合法訴求，反而希望這些問題能夠不治自愈，或是單純地把這些人歸作被誤導者或是種族激進分子，同樣會加劇種族矛盾，阻礙種族之間的理解與和解。

這就是我們現在的處境。我們深陷種族主義的泥潭已有多時。與那些批評我的人，不論黑人白人，所持的觀點剛好相反，我從未天真地以為種族問題能夠因為一次選舉而藥到病除，更非一次參選就能夠明顯改善，況且我也不是一個完美的參選者。

但是我已經堅定了自己的信念，這個信念植根于我對上帝的信仰和對美國人民的信任。攜起手來我們能夠治愈種族主義的頑疾，事實上，如果我們打算在建立一個更加完善聯邦的路上繼續(xù)前進，我們就別無選擇。

對黑人社區(qū)來說，這條道路意味著勇敢地接過歷史的包袱而不被歷史所荼毒;意味著繼續(xù)在社會的各個方面為正義而奔走疾呼;但是，這同樣意味著我們必須把自己的訴求，諸如更好的醫(yī)療、更好的教育、更好的工作——與全體美國人更大的愿望聯系在一起——立志打破玻璃天花板的白人婦女、失業(yè)的白人男子以及為家庭而打拼的移民;意味著我們要為自己的生活負責，對我們的父親提出更高的要求?；ǜ嗟臅r間陪孩子，給他們讀書，教他們如何處理可能發(fā)生在他們身上的種族歧視。告訴他們無論如何也不要自暴自棄或憤世嫉俗，要讓他們堅信命運就在自己的手中。

充滿諷刺意味的是，這種經典而保守的美國式的自力更生的論調，常常出現在耐特的布道之中。但是耐特忽略了一點，所謂的自力更生必須建立在對社會的信任之上，相信這個社會是可以改變的。耐特的布道最深層次錯誤并不在于他公開談論種族問題，而在于他將我們的社會看的一成不變，仿佛這么多年一點進步也沒有。即便這個國家已經接納了他的教眾去競選國家的最高公職，去建立黑人與白人、拉美裔與亞裔、富人與窮人、年輕人與老人的聯盟，他仍然覺得這個社會沒有改變。然而，我們知道的和看到的都明白無誤的告訴我們，美國可以改變。這是這個國家真正的不凡之處。這一切改變給予我們希望——無畏的希望——它為我們的將來指明方向。

對于白人來說，通向更完善聯邦的道路意味著需要承認非裔美國人的痛苦并不僅僅存在于心中。種族歧視的歷史是真實的，種族歧視的現狀雖不及過去嚴重，但也依然存在，需要著手解決。解決不能僅僅停留在口頭上，而應有實際的行動——包括加大對學校和社區(qū)的投入;嚴格執(zhí)行民權法案，保證刑事司法體系公正;為這一代人提供前幾代人沒有的向上發(fā)展的階梯。需要讓所有美國人意識到，別人夢想的實現并不會以自己的失敗為代價。在健康、福利以及惠及多種族孩子的教育上所投入的每一分錢，最終都將促進美國的繁榮昌盛。

事實上，我們所呼吁的剛好與這個世界所有宗教的理念相契合——一所不欲，勿施于人。圣經教導我們：讓我們成為兄弟的守護者。那么就讓我們成為兄弟姐妹的守護者，讓我們通過政治途徑來謀求彼此共同的利益。

在這個國家中我們總是面臨選擇。我們可以接受助長分裂、沖突和憤世嫉俗的政治。我們可以把種族問題導演成鬧劇，就好像我們在辛普森案中所做的那樣;或者亡羊補牢，悲劇發(fā)生之后再圖補救，比如我們在卡特里娜颶風襲擊中所做的那樣;又或將種族問題交付晚間新聞，任人評說。我們可以在每個頻道反復播放耐特的言論，沒日沒夜地放，一直放到大選，將這次競選演變?yōu)閷σ粋€單一話題的討論，即美國人是否認為我會在一定程度上同意耐特的激烈言辭。我們可以抓住希拉里支持者的某些不恰當言論大書特書，指責她在玩弄種族牌。我們可以推測白人男性選民最終都將把票投給約翰·麥凱恩，不管他的政策如何。

我們可以那么做。但是如果我們做了，我可以告訴你，在下次選舉中，類似的話題依然會被提起，然后是下一個，一個接一個。最終什么都不會改變。

當然，那只是我們其中的一個選項。又或許我們能就此攜起手來，齊聲高呼：“再也不能這樣了。”我們這次得談談那些盜取黑人孩子、白人孩子、亞裔孩子、西班牙語裔孩子和土著孩子未來的日漸破落的學校。這次我們得拋棄那種認為這些孩子不可教或者那些和我們長相不同的孩子是別人的孩子的想法。美國的孩子不是別人的孩子，他們是我們所有人的孩子，不能讓他們在二十一世紀的競爭中落后。這一次，再也不能這樣了。

這次我們得談談醫(yī)院急診室的門外為何站滿了沒有醫(yī)療保險的白人、黑人和拉美裔。也許僅憑他們自己還無法和華盛頓的特殊利益群體抗衡，但是如果我們大家能挽起手來，定能和他們較量一番。

這次我們得談談那些破敗的工廠，它們曾經為各個種族的男女提供體面的生活;這次我們得談談那些抵押待售的房屋，曾幾何時，它們屬于各個宗教、各個地區(qū)、各種職業(yè)的美國人。這次我們得談談一個基本的事實，并不是那些和你相貌不同的人可能會搶走你的飯碗，而是你所工作的公司正在將這些工作機會轉移到海外，為的僅僅是利潤。

這次我們得談談那些膚色不同、信仰各異的男男女女，他們在同一面驕傲的旗幟下一起服役、一起戰(zhàn)斗、一起流血。我們得談談怎樣把他們從這場本不應該授權，更不應該發(fā)動的戰(zhàn)爭中安全地送回。我們得談談怎樣通過對他們以及他們家庭的關愛，怎樣通過給予他們應得的回報來體現我們的愛國主義。

如非堅信這是大多數美國人民的心愿，我不會參加這次總統(tǒng)競選。這個聯邦也許永遠都不會完美，但是一代又一代的美國人告訴我們，總有機會讓它變得更好。每當我自己對這種可能性表示懷疑和厭倦的時候，美國的下一代給了我最多的希望——這些年輕人的態(tài)度、信仰和對變革的包容已經在這次選舉中創(chuàng)造了歷史。

今天，我有一個特別的故事想帶給大家——一個馬丁·路德·金博士誕辰那天，我有幸在他的教堂——亞特蘭大的埃本內澤浸禮會教堂講述多的故事。

有個二十三歲的年輕白人婦女名叫阿什利·拜亞，她在南卡羅來納州的佛羅倫斯為我組織競選活動。從這次競選一開始，她大部分時間都撲在黑人社區(qū)里。有一天她參加了一個圓桌討論會，大家圍坐在一起聊自己為什么會到這兒來。阿什利說，她九歲那年媽媽得了癌癥。由于沒法繼續(xù)上班她被解雇了，醫(yī)療保險也沒了，一家只能申請破產。阿什利決定得為媽媽做點什么。她知道食物是全家最大的開銷，于是阿什利讓媽媽相信自己真的很喜歡吃泡菜三明治蘸芥末醬。因為這樣吃最便宜。就這樣阿什利吃了一年，直到媽媽病情有所好轉。她告訴所有參加討論會的人之所以加入助選活動是因為她能通過這種方式為成千上萬想為父母做點事、幫點忙的孩子提供幫助。

阿什利本可以有其他的選擇。也許一直都有人告訴她，她母親之所以這樣是因為那些懶惰的黑人躺在福利制度上睡大覺，或者告訴她這一切都是拉美裔的非法移民造成的。但是阿什利并沒有聽信這些，她選擇與大家聯合起來，對抗不公平。

阿什利講完自己的故事之后，挨個兒問房間里的其他人為什么會支持這次競選。每個人都有自己的故事和理由，有的人理由很具體。最后輪到一位年長的黑人男子，他自始至終都沒怎么說過話。阿什利問他為什么來這兒。他沒有重復剛剛大家說過的那些理由。他沒有說醫(yī)?；蛘呓洕?，他沒有說教育或者伊戰(zhàn)，他也沒有說來這兒是為了奧巴馬。他對每一個在場的人說，“我來是因為阿什利。”

“我來是因為阿什利。”僅就這句話來講，一個年輕白人小姑娘和一個年長黑人男子在某一刻達成的共識并不足以改變什么，它不能給生病的人送去醫(yī)療保險，不能幫失業(yè)的人找到工作，不能為孩子們提供更好的教育。但這是我們的新起點，我們的聯邦將從此變得更強大。正如二百二十一年前，一群愛國者在費城簽署了那份文件后，一代又一代的美國人意識到的那樣，這，就是完善的起點。

精彩語錄

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.

除非我們將這個時代的問題一起解決，除非我們完善這個聯邦，否則美國將寸步難行。必須認識到，我們的生活故事可能不盡相同，但是我們的希望只有一個。來自五湖四海、有著不同的相貌與膚色的我們都朝著同一個方向前進，那就是子孫們更好的未來。

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.

這個時候我們需要的是團結，是大家走到一起解決重大問題的勇氣。我們面臨的困難太多：兩場戰(zhàn)爭、恐怖主義威脅、搖搖欲墜的經濟、曠日持久的醫(yī)保危機以及災難性的氣候變化。這些問題不是黑人、白人、拉美裔或者亞裔哪一群人所要面對的，也不是哪一群人能獨自解決的，我們必須共同面對。

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.

故事里拋灑的熱血是我們的熱血，揮灑的眼淚是我們的眼淚，晴朗的天空下，這座黑人教堂就好像一艘航船，滿載著一個民族的故事緩緩駛進未來的世代，駛向更加寬廣的世界。我們的歷史立刻變得既獨特又普遍，既是黑人的又不僅僅是黑人的。自然而然地，我們將這些黑人化的圣經故事當作是自己的歷史，自己的經歷來學習和珍惜，有了這些故事，我們才能重建自己的過去。

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.

我已經堅定了自己的信念，這個信念植根于我對上帝的信仰和對美國人民的信任。攜起手來我們能夠治愈種族主義的頑疾，事實上，如果我們打算在建立一個更加完善聯邦的路上繼續(xù)前進，我們就別無選擇。

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.

我們所呼吁的剛好與這個世界所有宗教的理念相契合——一所不欲，勿施于人。圣經教導我們：讓我們成為兄弟的守護者。那么就讓我們成為兄弟姐妹的守護者，讓我們通過政治途徑來謀求彼此共同的利益。

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.

如非堅信這是大多數美國人民的心愿，我不會參加這次總統(tǒng)競選。這個聯邦也許永遠都不會完美，但是一代又一代的美國人告訴我們，總有機會讓它變得更好。每當我自己對這種可能性表示懷疑和厭倦的時候，美國的下一代給了我最多的希望——這些年輕人的態(tài)度、信仰和對變革的包容已經在這次選舉中創(chuàng)造了歷史。