The Marilyn Girl

Jag fick aldrig träffa honom den där sista gången. Jag har varit hemma hos mormor hela helgen. Igår fick vi beskedet att han var borta. Sorgen och saknaden är fruktansvärd.

Morfar har ramlat och brutit benet. Han klarade operationen men är nu mycket sämre, en dag senare. Det är svårt att återhämta sig efter en sådan påfrestning, när man snart är 98 år. De ville att vi alla skulle komma in, till sjukhuset. Det kan vara sista gången jag ser honom.

Jag tittar ut genom fönstret och ser en helt vanlig dag. Solen kikar fram genom en spricka i molnen. Iskalla vindar viner i trädtopparna och marken är helt täckt av snö. Av någon anledning förstår jag inte varför tiden inte bara stannar. Varför inte träden står stilla, trots vinden. Varför inte allt är fruset. Avvaktande. Jag svär att jag just hörde mitt hjärta sluta slå.  

Nu har jag nog lessnat rejält. Jag ska nog tamejfan ta och skaffa mig en karl. Vad jag sedan skulle ha honom till är en annan femma, jag har nog helt enkelt inte tänkt så långt. Men det är väl av samma anledning som man skulle ha en Tamagotchi som åttaåring. "För att alla andra har en". Det flyttas ihop, skaffas kids och förlovas hit och dit och helt plötsligt känns det som om man trots allt har en del vuxenpoäng att ta igen. Jag som skaffade så många, så tidigt. 

Helt ärligt nu. Finns det INGEN som känner någon vettig snubbe som är för snygg för att vara singel? Öppen för förslag.. Njae.. Öppen för förslag kanske.

Absoluta krav är dock:
*stort intresse för samhällsfrågor/politik
*empatisk förmåga (nej, det är inte alls självklart tyvärr)
*över 180 cm över marken
*vältränad
*tycker om barn och katter
*ordnat liv

Absoluta NO-NO's:
*rökare
*partykille
*rik (har tyvärr aldrig träffat en rik snubbe med en vettig människosyn, men framförallt blir relationen meckig)
*feminina män (jag älskar feminina män, dock inte som pojkvänner)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fEzli6FVKfY&feature=related

Komikern Margaret Cho kommer ut, eller? Hur som helst, hon är sjukt rolig!

  "Usch, nej aldrig, där skulle jag aldrig någonsin kunna bo". Det var svaret jag fick när jag tipsade en bekant om att man kan få en hyreslägenhet i Hässelby på bara tre veckor. Helt lagligt och inga konstigheter. När det står mellan hyrestvåa i Hässelby eller fortsätta bo hemma hos mamma och pappa kände han trots allt att han var för fin för Hässelby. Hellre bo hemma i väntan på bättre tider på bostadsmarknaden. Det finns få saker som stör mig så mycket som den extrema statusfixeringen i samhället och i synnerhet i Stockholm. När det handlar om var man bor blir man dömd av omvärlden på en nanosekund, och det slutar inte där.

  Samtidigt har jag en mor som inte vill tala om vad jag gör när någon frågar henne, för att hon tycker att jag är misslyckad. Jag är 21 år gammal och har ett hederligt heltidsjobb, eget kontor, och en lön som snart kommer landa på ca 25 lax per månad. Det är över genomsnittslönen i Sverige idag, tro det eller ej. Jag har en egen lägenhet, visserligen i förorten, men jag tycker att jag klarar mig bra. Hade jag fått välja mellan att flytta hem till föräldrarna och att bo i en etta i Tensta hade jag satt mig på blåa linjen utan att tveka. För den som inte har varit i Tensta kan jag tala om att det är väldigt fint där, vackra omgivningar och mycket grönt med vackra träd och blommor kring lägenhetsbyggnaderna. Det är dessutom säkrare att bo där än i innerstan, sett till risken för att drabbas av våldsbrott.  

  Jag har full förståelse för den som tycker att det är viktigt att ha en tjusig titel på visitkortet eller för den som gärna vill bo centralt. Det jag avskyr är att det inte är socialt accepterat att tänka utanför lådan i det fallet. Synen på att man inte är värdig som människa om man inte har "rätt" utbildning, "rätt" jobb eller "rätt" bostad. Tvåbarnsmamman Annika som bor i Falun, är 35 år och jobbar på Lindex, vad har hon att skämmas för? Egentligen? Ljuger Annikas mamma om vad hon gör på dagarna eller gläds hon istället år sin familj och sina underbara barnbarn? Hur mår egentligen många människor som är över 35, som inte har barn och satsar på karriären. Som inte hinner hälsa på farmor på åldersomshemmet för att de måste jobba. Som drömmer om en familj men som istället gör vad de förväntas göra, och när den dagen kommer är det redan för sent?

  Varför är det ingen som reagerar på vårt sätt att leva? Varför är vi för fina för att bo i Hässelby eller för att gifta oss med en snickare? Varför skäms vi över våra barn om de inte lever som vi förväntar oss? Varför är det så tabu att vara nöjd med något annat än pengar och varför är vår bild av lycka att kunna känna sig finare eller mer värd än andra människor? Idag anser vi att det är onormalt att drömma om en stor familj och normalt att drömma om en stor förmögenhet. Handlar fattigdom verkligen om brist på finansiella resurser eller handlar det istället om att leva under ett ständigt strävande efter status, att blint följa omvärldens krav och försaka sina egna drömmar?  

I helgen fick jag reda på att Tanya Stephens spelade i Stockholm. Något som jag totalt hade lyckats missa. Desperat inser jag att jag inte hade någon att gå dit med. Har lite svårt att övertala mina vänner att med sjukt kort varsel gå och se en artist en sen söndagkväll, och betala runt 300 spänn, vilket man förstår då de flesta av mina vänner bara känner till Tanya Stephens som "den där jamaicanska tjejen Mika tjatar om hela tiden". Jag får hoppas att jag är ute i mer god tid nästa gång. Eller att Danne är hemma, min bästa killkompis och enda reggaefanet jag känner om man bortser från gamla ex. Jag hade kanske dessutom kunnat följa med honom och se något av hans blues-snubbar.. Om någon av dem fortfarande lever.. 

Hur som helst, hur hittar man reggaefans? Hur lär man känna dem och hur känner man igen dem? Tanya- fans därute, snälla hör av er! Jag vill aldrig någonsin missa Tanya Stephens igen, hon är helt fantastisk och helt klart min favoritartist någonsin. Respekt till den här kvinnan!
 
 Bild från omslaget till albumet "Rebelution" 

  Finanskrisen är ett faktum. Den globala recessionen drabbar idag även vanliga medborgare och går inte längre att förneka. Arbetare förlorar sina jobb och bankdirektörerna tar förmodligen mer antidepressiva läkemedel idag än landets alla tonårstjejer tillsammans. Länge har det viskats om en recession som under 30- talet, men i Stockholm unnar man sig fortfarande en latte var och varannan dag. Den som inte levde på 30- talet har förstås ingen aning om vad vi kan vänta oss. Mina morföräldrar, 97 och 89 år gamla, minns den förra recessionen och har ofta vittnat om de dåliga tiderna och fattigdomen den förde med sig. Tanken får mig att rysa.

  Det är snart 80 år sedan. Visst har väl samhället utvecklats sedan dess? I Sverige behöver ingen längre riskera att bli fattig, eller? Den dagen jag började inse att finanskrisen skulle komma att drabba även mig blev jag mycket upprörd. För drabbar den mig, vad händer då med tredje världen? Jag är inte rik, men jämfört med en ensamstående trebarnsmamma i ett utvecklingsland är jag det, hur påverkas hennes vardag? Idag är vi alla beroende av västvärlden, och västvärlden faller sönder och samman. Jag har aldrig skickat så mycket pengar till hjälporganisationer som jag gör idag och jag önskar jag kunde göra mer.  

  Det är då jag funderar över systemet som det ser ut idag. Bankchefer som tillsammans tar ut så höga bonusar varje månad att de senaste årens värdetransportrån liknar snatteri i jämförelse. Det är klart att ekonomin kraschar, bankerna rånar ju sig själva! Mitt under pågående kris dessutom. Kapitalismen biter ständigt sig själv i röven och vi vet ju innerst inne att det bara var en tidsfråga innan det hände. Västvärlden är byggd från grunden på resten av världens resurser. På krigsbyten, slaveri och orättvis handel. Är det inte dags att ifrågasätta systemet? Begrava det gamla, börja om på nytt. Hitta något som fungerar i längden.

  Allt vi i väst hade från början, var jord. Det var innan vi i väst började plundra världens rikedomar. Vår hunger efter pengar förgiftar vår moral och tvingar fattiga människor att svälta. Jag tillhör inte dem som kallar mig för kommunist men någonting måste göras. Men vad? Idag, när hela korthuset rasar är det tid att börja fundera. Göra om och göra rätt. Jag vill säga som prästen skulle sagt, när han slänger en näve jord på kapitalismens kista sedan den sänkts ner i marken. "Jord ska du åter bli".         

Är hon inte underbar?


 lilla Misty och jag

Alla som sett serien Lyxfällan vet vad jag pratar om. Människor som totalt har tappat kontrollen på sin ekonomi och drar på sig skuld efter skuld utan att betala och sedan stoppar huvudet i sanden och låtsats som ingenting. Är det synd om dem? Visst. Men när man beställer hem varor från internet för tusentals kronor och hämtar ut dem utan att betala så handlar det ju om ren stöld, eller hur? Banken hinner inte reagera i tid, och sedan söker kronofogden med ljus och lykta. Utan resultat. Hur är det möjligt? I dagens samhälle av internet-exhibitionister finns det ingenting som heter att inte synas. Varenda svensk som lever och andas har idag minst en blogg, och framförallt har de Facebook.

Idag upptäckte jag till min förvåning att en person som stulit varor för tusentals kronor från familjens företag och som jagas av kronofogden för ett trettiotal betalningsärenden finns på Facebook. Där var hon. Livs levande och det tog mig 10 sekunder att hitta henne. Jag vet precis hur hon ser ut och var hon befinner sig, det vill säga när hon inte gömmer sig för myndigheterna. Jag kan inte låta bli att undra vad som hade hänt om scenariet varit ett annat, om mitt namn istället var Ronny från Hells Angels och om jag satt och slipade mitt basebollträ istället för att fila naglarna. Eller laddade ett vapen.

Det är farligt att vara kriminell i dagens samhälle, och det är farligt att ha skulder. Med dagens teknik vet vi alltid hur alla ser ut och var de befinner sig, med eller utan politiskt inkorrekt FRA-lag. Hon hade tur denna gång att jag är en relativt ofarlig person som på sin höjd är riktigt förbannad. Jag kan inga kampsportsknep från Kill Bill och jag känner ingen Ronny från HA. Men alla är inte lika snälla som jag och det är det som är så otäckt. Klantar man till det här i livet gör man nog klokt i att dissa Fejan. För det är alltid någon som ser dig. Det är alltid någon som känner en "Ronny från HA". Han är hög på steroider, stor som ett hus och vet var din brevlåda bor.       

Jag är glad. Sådär ettrigt jobbigt glad. Det vet de (typ 3-4 pers) som varit inne på msn såhär dags. Jag är på partyhumör och ingenting kan stoppa mig! Tjohooo!


Sov över hos mina föräldrar i natt, försökte följa valet från början men somnade framför tv:n. Ett tag ledde McCain, ett tag ledde Obama. Väcktes tidigt, tidigt av min mor som hittade mig på soffan. "Vakna, McCain vann!" , jag slog upp ögonen och stirrade uppgivet på henne i en sekund innan hon sa "Nej Mika, jag ville bara att du skulle vakna". Det tog två sekunder för mig att inse att de pratade om President Obama på tv:n. Älskar min mors härliga humor så tidigt på morgonen.

 bild från expressen

Jag är lycklig. Jag är otroligt lättad. Att se nya presidenten Barack Obamas segertal var helt fantastiskt. Jag gråter fortfarande glädjetårar. Amerikanernas röster har räknats och europeernas böner har blivit besvarade. Idag har alla som vågade tro på förändring tillsammans, över en natt, skapat både historia och en ny framtid. Vi har fortfarande en lång väg att gå, men vi har tagit de första stegen mot en bättre värld. Jag hoppas på rättvisa, fred och en bättre framtid för våra barn. Världen behöver ett demokratiskt styre i USA, världen behöver president Barack Obama och vicepresident Joe Biden. Hos så många människor har det i natt tänts ett hopp om en framtid som de knappt vågat drömma om. Förrän i natt. Idag är en ny dag och imorgon är allting möjligt. 


God Bless America  

Försökte mysa ner mig framför tv:n med en stooor kopp varm hjortronglögg (alkoholfri) och titta på alla specialprogram om det amerikanska valet. Knappt hade jag hunnit sätta mig ner förrän jag drabbades av en akut rastlöshet, en känsla av att det liksom kryper i hela kroppen, en känsla av att jag helst av allt skulle vilja ut och springa, bara för att rensa tankarna en stund. Jag har obehagliga känslor av muskelvärk, halvt inbillad hjärtklappning och allmän stress. En känsla av sprudlande glädje i hela kroppen som då och då byts ut mot ångestknip i magen.

Denna väntan. Denna väntan gör mig galen. Istället ser jag på humorserier och läser bloggar på Hanky. Jag det finns ingenting jag hatar mer än saker som jag inte kan påverka. Detta val betyder så otroligt mycket för mig och många förstår mig inte alls, men det spelar ingen roll egentligen. Vi har alla våra anledningar att tro på saker här i världen. Vi har alla skäl som kanske inte är alltför uppenbara men som för den sakens skull inte kan anses vara mindre viktiga. 

Jag är så rädd att republikanerna kommer att fuska till sig segern, i år igen. Jag är så rädd för ytterligare fyra svåra år. Jag är så rädd att det demokratiska partiet kommer att snubbla på mållinjen igen. Samtidigt förutspås det högsta valdeltagandet i USA på över hundra år. Människor vill verkligen se en förändring i amerikansk politik. Sedan var det ju den där drömmen om ett helt jämlikt samhälle, en dröm som med Barack Obama som president skulle kännas lite närmare. Den dagen kanske jag aldrig får uppleva, men att ha fått leva och se den första afroamerikanska presidenten flytta in i vita huset skulle kännas helt fantastiskt. 

Idag har USA fått en unik chans att förändra världen. Imorgon blir en dag av obeskrivlig lycka eller obeskrivlig ångest.  

    

http://www.realclearpolitics.com/epolls/2008/president/us/general_election_mccain_vs_obama-225.html

Försöker lugna mig med statistik. Detta val påverkar hela världen, en värld som tycks falla samman från alla håll och kanter. Jag förväntar mig inte att Barack Obama ska ställa allting till rätta, men med honom som president får vi en ny inrikting i världspolitiken, en ansvarsfull ledare som kan ge oss den förändring vi alla önskat så länge. Vi behöver honom, av så många skäl. Vi befinner oss i en situation då vi inte har råd att göra politiska misstag.

Vi ser tillbaka på åtta långa år med Bush-administrationen och vi ser vilka resultat de gett oss. Med McCain och Palin tar USA ytterligare ett steg i en farlig högerriktning. Vi ser en kvinna helt utan utrikespolitiska erfarenheter, en kvinna som går till val på att förneka kvinnor de rättigheter vi i generationer kämpat för, en kvinna som anser att 12 åriga incestoffer ska tvingas föda sina fäders barn för att hon vill att man ska "välja livet". Vems liv? 

Denna fruktansvärda människa är bara en hjärtattack från den totala makten. Vi ser på högersidan  inskränkta bokstavstolkande Bibelfanatiker som bombar först och ställer frågor sedan. Som hellre satsar på att undersöka eventuella encelliga organismer på andra planeter, än använder resurser till sjukvård och ett socialt skyddsnät för samhällets mest utsatta. De går till val och lovar världen minst fyra år till av krig och elände, i dessa svåra tider.     

Om fyra år är jag 25 år, snart 26. Förhoppningsvis har jag redan en egen familj. Barn som jag vill ska växa upp under tider av fred, välstånd och hopp inför framtiden. I en värld som bara blir bättre för varje dag som går. Jag har hört sägas att USA:s president är världens mäktigaste person, kanske stämmer det inte riktigt, men visst ligger det ändå ett visst mått av sanning i det. En person med så mycket makt som en amerikansk president har bör vara en person som försöker göra det han eller hon kan för att skapa stabilitet både inom det egna landet och utrikespolitiskt.

Undersökningar visar att de mest välutbildade väljarna stödjer Obama, jag tror inte att det är ett sammanträffande. För mig skulle en demokratisk regering i USA betyda hopp, och det är något jag vet att jag delar med många miljoner människor. Så mycket hopp, för så många människor, av olika bakgrund som nu står enade i det gemensamma syftet att förändra världen till det bättre. Barack Obama personifierar den kampen. Att skapa framtid och historia på samma gång.   


  

March 18, 2008
Transcript

Barack Obama's Speech on Race
The following is the text as prepared for delivery of Senator Barack Obama's speech on race in Philadelphia, as provided by his presidential campaign.

"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 of 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 is we are to continue on the path of a more perfect union.

For the African-American community, that path means embracing the burdens of our past without becoming victims of our past. It means continuing to insist on a full measure of justice in every aspect of American life. But it also means binding our particular grievances - for better health care, and better schools, and better jobs - to the larger aspirations of all Americans -- the white woman struggling to break the glass ceiling, the white man whose been laid off, the immigrant trying to feed his family. And it means taking full responsibility for own lives - by demanding more from our fathers, and spending more time with our children, and reading to them, and teaching them that while they may face challenges and discrimination in their own lives, they must never succumb to despair or cynicism; they must always believe that they can write their own destiny.

Ironically, this quintessentially American - and yes, conservative - notion of self-help found frequent expression in 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.