I want to live my life with autonomy, mastery, and purpose*.
Autonomy–the freedom to act and decide my own direction.
Mastery–excelling at whatever I choose to do.
and Purpose–the why behind my actions.
My purpose in life is driven by a great love for people, and a desire for them to be powerful in their lives.
What is power? Power is the ability to make change, to accomplish things, to be proficient, to have a say.
When you have power, you are confident, you get things done, you can unleash your creativity in solving problems. Powerful people make change for themselves and others.
My purpose is to help others find their power. This applies to all people–
I want all people to have a voice in decisions that affect them
I want people to unleash their creativity in service of solutions that improve the world
I want my children to grow up to be independent/free-thinking adults
I want the opportunity for all people to live a life of autonomy, mastery, and purpose
The work I do supports this purpose, and I am always looking for ways to push my impact deeper and broader.
Believe that with your feelings and your work you are taking part in the greatest; the more strongly you cultivate this belief, the more will reality and the world go forth from it.
A few weeks ago I felt a change in the force that drives me to do my work. It was a good and welcome change, one of renewed energy and focus. I wrote about how Africa has leapt back to the forefront of my mind, back to a position of prominence it held long ago. I have much to learn and catch up on as try to get reconnected to Africa. It’s an exciting time!
I’ve started connecting with interesting NGOs and entrepreneurs working in Africa. Through my contacts at work, I’ve been learning about some of the work being done in some of the countries in Africa. These conversations have been very interesting and helpful. I wrote a bit a while back about the cloud and the stack of infrastructure it relies on. This resetting of the landscape is an excellent process to undergo for me. It’s a process of understanding new constraints. Feeling out those constraints is key to critically thinking and solving problems. Knowledge workers who don’t understand the constraints they work under are doomed to come up with solutions that will not work.
And it’s been amazing to know those constraints but to keep in mind that boxes need to be broken out of. While constraints make you think creatively, blindly accepting those constraints is unacceptable if we want to bring about transformative change. Last week I changed my status message on IM from “constraints breed creativity” to “constraints are for suckers” to try to get at this duality. Understand, but do not accept the binds you feel!
A great place to get grounded in some of the newest thinking about Africa is to watch Africa-themed TED talks. So many of these talks are mind-blowing. In 2007, TED Global went to Tanzania and there are many amazing talks from that conference. If you’ve ever talked with me for more than 20 minutes, I’ve probably recommended a TED talk to you. I recommend watching them all! Stories about leadership, entrepreneurship, the economy, banking, the list goes on.
I’ve found a great way to follow what’s going on in Africa is to find the amazing folks on Twitter interested in the topics. I’ve created a list of Africa-related Twitter accounts I follow. Many are technology related, but not all. Feel free to peruse or follow the list if you want daily info on what’s happening in Africa from some amazing people.
Following Twitter will point you to all these blogs eventually. They’re all great:
Ryan Norbauer just published a really deep article about one of my favorite pieces of software, Omnifocus. It’s a great tutorial on how to use the program, but I think it’s real value is as a description of what Getting Things Done (GTD) really is.
The great achievement of David Allen’s framework has more to do with relieving stress about work than organizing your lists, a fact that is seemingly lost on most of the GTD-professing masses who spend all day twittering about lifehacks and Moleskine list-management. GTD is about psychology, not “productivity” per se. Moreover, the system pays most of its psychological benefits when it’s implemented fully, and I mean really nitty-gritty, every-little-thing-in-your-head fully. The difference between 99% and 100% implementation is truly vast, as anyone who has made it to 100% readily attests (David himself included).
Jack Ricchiuto has an amazing essay on working beyond goals and plans. His articulation of opportunistic action in a dynamic world resonates with me at the deepest levels. I wrote earlier about how to act now in service of long-term goals, and I find that Jack has summed up everything I was trying to say much more eloquently. Here’s a passage I love, but please go read the entire essay. Thanks to Jodie for passing this on!
New questions are more powerful than plans because they cause us to learn what’s possible rather than presume what’s possible. Learning is the opposite of presumption. Questions lead us to discover clear and passionate vision and notice changes in our world.
Plans create a version of the world that becomes increasingly inaccurate and invalid in a dynamic world. Questions on the other hand make us both more proactive and agile than we would be trying to follow static plans in dynamic environments. They cause us to follow the actual changing landscape of the world rather than a static version of it.
New actions are more powerful than goals because they cause us to do whatever we can to realize our vision of what we want to create as possible. When we commit to any action, we commit to it as long as it’s realizing our vision of what we want to see possible.
The expansiveness of action is the opposite of the constraint of plans. When we act on our new actions, we often discover that it is possible to find ways to realize our questions beyond the limits defined by our plans. Actions are never predefined in the ways that plans predefine us.
Ideas are not enough for me.
Cast me in with the tinkers, the makers, the creators of things.
Revel in all their dented, half-functional glory!
For it is only through action that this world will change.
By making, by trying, we move–we learn
what works and what does not.
On this kinetic path lies the world we make
and remake daily, never satisfied,
always moving.
Dreamforce is a 4 day software user conference. It’s easy to look at it from afar and see only that–money to be made, customers to retain, sales to be won. And it’s absolutely true that Dreamforce is about all of that. Customers want value. Salesforce.com wants to give it to them. Partners want to get the word out about their solutions. All of that is true.
But I left Dreamforce feeling transformed–personally and professionally. I didn’t expect it. And I’m not exactly sure what to do with it.
I realized last week the reason I took my current job. People ask me all the time. It was clearly a good fit for my skills. The people are great. And it’s a lot of fun. But I realized the real reason last week.
I took this job so that I can help create better lives for millions of people.
Not tens, not hundreds, but millions. Even hundreds of millions. That’s why I’m on this earth. That’s what I think I can contribute to our shared existence. And I think I can do that in my job.
What brought about this clarity? I met some amazing people. I met one woman who has an amazingly clarity of her purpose in life, and that purpose is to help Africa transform itself. To break the colonial, top-down models and return to self-organized, systemic change, completely in partnership with Africans. No more $1M schools dropped from the sky. Holistic, collaborative, community-based change. Generational change. She burns with this goal, and nothing will stand in her way.
Her passion lit a fire in me. And caused me to ask questions of myself. How does my bug fixing contribute to the reemergence of Africa? Am I making the kind of difference I need to make? What can I do differently?
I met a man who has a full-time job and volunteers with a group working in the Sudan. They are building a school from compressed soil, hand dug, hand compressed, and it will be hand built. I had talked to him about his Salesforce needs before I realized he was a volunteer. I thought he was an employee. But it turns out his organization only has one employee. He quietly does this work in his spare time, because he can’t possibly not do it. That wouldn’t make sense to him. And his work is infectious. He asked me, “do you want to go to the Sudan?” Hell yes I want to go to the Sudan.
I met a woman who is taking a holistic approach to education in Tanzania. Children found abandoned in garbage heaps find a home with her organization. They learn and grow because of her work. Their lives are forever changed. She does this work which has nothing to do with her professional history. She was called to it. And is phenomenal.
These people showed me their fire, their passion, the absolute unacceptability of doing nothing. The necessity of action today. The absolute need for impatience and patience all at once. It bowled me over. I’m reeling from it still.
It has caused me to look at my work differently. I will continue to do the best work I possibly can with the responsibilities I have. And I feel compelled to start initiatives of my own. The first thoughts I’ve had is to make Salesforce.com the absolute standard for use in Africa. Here’s what I think needs to be done to show that Salesforce.com can excel for nonprofits in Africa:
Nonprofit Starter Pack
I need to make this code base the best it can be. I want no software bugs standing in the way of this work. It’s the easiest place for me to make an impact on Monday, and I will.
Language Support
Salesforce is translatable into many languages. At this writing, that list includes 20 languages. English, French and Spanish are official languages in many African countries, and those languages are supported currently. I want Salesforce.com to be available in the next tier of African languages: Arabic, Swahili, Portuguese (Brazilian Portuguese is currently available, and maybe that’s close enough?), and perhaps Afrikaans. There are over 2000 languages spoken in Africa, so we may never get to support Berber, Hausa, Xhosa, and the countless others.
Are these the right languages? I’m new to this, but Arabic, Swahili, and Portuguese seem like the place to start. Arabic is a right to left language, so Salesforce.com first must be able to be switched to that mode, but once that’s possible, I want Arabic the next day.
And as soon as Salesforce.com supports a language, we’ll start the work to translate the Nonprofit Starter Pack to that language.
Offline Support
As you know, much of Africa lacks reliable Internet access. Much of Africa lacks clean water, electricity, and other services much more basic than that. So to support Africans working to transform their countries, we need rock-solid offline tools. Salesforce.com has had offline support in Internet Explorer for years, and many African nonprofits are currently using that to successfully support their work.
Salesforce.com recently released Adobe Flashbuilder for Salesforce a toolkit that includes easy to use offline support. I think we need to build some killer offline apps with this toolkit to show the way in this space. Classroom attendance, health clinic service tracking, micro-finance payment collection. We need to build these and share the source code.
Deep Case Studies
I want to work with a few nonprofits in Africa to go deep in their usage of Salesforce.com. I want to hear the stories of how this helps them achieve their goals, and I want to share those stories with the world. Knowing what’s possible is an important step in the path to impact and excellence. We need to prove it, show it, tell it.
I normally don’t share my goals publicly. I like to under promise and over deliver. That’s worked for me for years. But I can’t seem to contain this new fire I feel. So I’m laying out what I want to see happen and I’ll do what I can to bring it about.
If you feel a stirring when you read this, join me. What will we do? I don’t know. How will we do it? We’ll figure it out. But I need to act today. If you feel that need, drop me a line, and we’ll help Africa together.
On a recent trip to the Bay Area, I had a chance to share a dinner with an amazingly productive and visionary friend who works in the social change field. In the midst of dinner she asked me a very interesting question,
“When your goal is very long-term, how do you decide what to do today? What is your process for making choices about what gets done first?”
Really, really interesting question that is at the heart of my work, and at the heart of all self-directed knowledge work. With knowledge work, we often aren’t told what to do, or even what our outcomes should be. We have to start with a long-term vision and walk back to tangible tasks to do and real systems to build.
In the course of our conversation some cool things came out.
First, I tend to prefer tasks that get others unstuck. If people can’t get some of their work done because of a bug or bad process, I want to address that as soon as I can. A key thing about knowledge work–so much of what gets done gets done by other people. We’re almost always in teams, and unsticking teammates is crucial to team success.
Another thing about getting other people unstuck is it shows you are listening. Addressing a piece of work that others have raised shows you respect the needs and input of others. That will bank good will for when you need it in the future.
Second, I like to do things that overtly show movement in the right direction. People love incremental improvement they can see. It’s much better to take many small steps toward a goal, and let people see them happen, than to take a giant leap that happens behind closed doors. Salesforce.com has done an exceptional job at this over the years. There is a faith among the customer base that all problems will be eventually resolved, because they’ve seen progress every 3 months for years now, even if there isn’t faith they will be all addressed tomorrow.
Third, do things that don’t create a big support tail for you. When you work with a community of users or customers, their requests can easily overwhelm you. Don’t jump to do work that creates an untenable support load. Analyze all work you’re considering with this lens. It’s not always clear if you’re setting yourself up for a big tail, so be careful. Doing things without a tail will allow you to move on to the next task with all you’ve got.
Fourth, think about how you would undo or improve the work you just accomplished. If you are implementing a process that thousands of people will interact with, you want to get it right the first time because changing that in the future may involve re-training all those people. But if you’re designing how a request from that system is handled behind the scenes, it might not affect many users to swap out a new way to handle that request. If you’re abstracted from the end users, with technology or personal processes, things will be easier to change. And if things are easy to change in the future, you can move more quickly now, and get more done.
Finally, don’t make any decisions today that you can‘t put off to tomorrow. This may sound like procrastination, but it’s not. You will usually have more information tomorrow than you do today, so if you can make progress without locking yourself into something, you’re better off.
I hope this helps you think about the knowledge work you’re doing every day. We all make this kind of analysis innumerable times subconsciously in our work. It was great to have my friend raise the question and get me thinking about it.
Barack Obama commented on the state of race relations in America today, delivering a compelling narrative of where we are as a nation, and a clarion call to action to take a major step toward achieving the vision of the enlightenment–equality of all people on earth. Here is the text in full:
Remarks of Senator Barack Obama
“A More Perfect Union”
Constitution Center
Tuesday, March 18th, 2008
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
“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.
