From ‘Dreams from my Father’, “The emotion between the races could never be pure, even love was tarnished by the desire to find in the other some element that was missing in ourselves. Whether we sought out our demons or salvation, THE OTHER RACE (WHITE) WOULD ALWAYS REMAIN JUST THAT: MENACING, ALIEN AND APART." Barack Hussein Obama
From Dreams from My Father: “That hate hadn’t gone away,” he wrote,.. BLAMING “WHITE PEOPLE — some CRUEL, some IGNORANT, sometimes a single face, sometimes just a faceless image of a system claiming power over our lives.” Barack Hussein Obama
From ‘Dreams From My Father’, “There were enough of us on campus to constitute a tribe, and when it came to hanging out many of us chose to function like a tribe, staying close together, traveling in packs,” he wrote. “It remained necessary to prove which side you were on, TO SHOW YOUR LOYALTY TO THE BLACK MASSES, TO STRIKE OUT and name names” Barack Hussein Obama
From ‘Dreams From My Father’, 'I VOWED THAT I WOULD NEVER EMULATE WHITE MEN and brown men whose fates didn't speak to my own. IT WAS INTO MY FATHER'S IMAGE, THE BLACK MAN, SON OF AFRICA, THAT I'D PACKED ALL THE ATTRIBUTES I SOUDHT IN MYSELF, THE ATTRIBUTES OF Martin and MALCOLM, DuBois and Mandela.”
From The Audicity of Hope: TO AVOID BEING MISTAKEN FOR A SELLOUT, I CHOSE MY FRIENDS CAREFULLY. The more politically active black students. The foreign students. The Chicanos. THE MARXIST PROFESSORS and structural feminists.”
From The Audicity of Hope: (After graduating from college, Obama eventually went to Chicago to interview for a job as a community organizer. His racial attitudes came into play as he sized up the man who would become his boss:) “There was something about him that made me wary,” Obama wrote. “A little too sure of himself, maybe. And white.”
From The Audacity of Hope:..'the white race...“that ghostly figure that haunted black dreams.”
From “Dreams”: (after making his first visit to Kenya, he wrote of being disappointed to learn that his paternal grandfather had been a servant to rich whites. that the revelation caused) “ugly words to flash across my mind. Uncle Tom. Collaborator. House n-----".
From The Audacity of Hope: “We are no longer just a Christian nation... We are also a Jewish nation, a MUSLIM nation, a Buddhist nation, a Hindu nation, and a nation of disbelievers"
From 'Audacity': “Her memories of the Christians who populated her youth were not fond ones....For my mother, organized religion too often dressed up closed-mindedness in the garb of piety, cruelty and oppression in the cloak of righteousness.”
From Audacity: “Malcolm X’s autobiography seemed to offer something different. His repeated acts of self-creation spoke to me; the blunt poetry of his words, his unadorned insistence on respect, promised a new and uncompromising order, martial in its discipline, forged through sheer force
Then there is his love of Islam:
From Dreams From My Father: "THE PERSON WHO MADE ME PROUDEST OF ALL, THOUGH, WAS MY [half brother], ROY..HE CONVERTED TO ISLAM".
From ‘Dreams From my Father’, "IN INDONESIA, I SPEND TWO YEARS AT A MUSLIM SCHOOL" "..I STUDIED THE KORAN.."
From ‘Audacity of Hope: "LOLO (Obama’s step father) FOLLOWED ISLAM...."I LOOKED TO LOLO FOR GUIDANCE".
From ‘The Audacity Of Hope, "I WILL STAND WITH THEM (MUSLIMS) SHOULD THE POLITICAL WINDS OF WAR SHIFT IN AN UGLY DIRECTION.." .
http://www.examiner.com/a-536474~_Trapped_between_two_worlds_.html http://www.examiner.com/a-534540~Can_a_past_of_Islam_change_the_path_to_president_for_Obama_.html?cid=dc-article-obama
Their just ain't going to be a do over of 2008, that's history. Real Americans want bills paid, elimination of give aways, and people pulling their own cart.
Many of these quotes are urban legends. Here are the actual ones, with page numbers.
That was the problem with people like Joyce [a college classmate of Italian, African-American, Native American, and French ethnicity]. They talked about the richness of their multicultural heritage and it sounced real good, until you noticed that they avoided black people. …The truth was that I understood [Joyce], her and all the other black kids who felt the way she did. In their mannerisms, their speech, their mixed-up hearts, I kept recognizing pieces of myself. And that’s exactly what scared me. Their confusion made me question my own racial credentials all over again. …To avoid being mistaken for a sellout, I chose my friends carefully. The more politically active black students. The foreign students. The Chicanos. The Marxist professors and structural feminists and punk-rock performance poets.
“Dreams From My Father,” pages 99-100
But this strategy alone couldn’t provide the distance I wanted, from Joyce or my past. After all, there were thousands of so-called campus radicals, most of them white and tenured and happily tolerated. No, it remained necessary to prove which side you were on, to show your loyalty to the black masses, to strike out and name names.
“Dreams From My Father,” page 101 (paperback, ISBN 978-1-4000-8277-3)
Tim was not a conscious brother. Tim wore argyle sweaters and pressed jeans and talked like Beaver Cleaver. …His white girlfriend was probably waiting for him up in his room, listening to country music.
“Dreams From My Father,” pp. 101-102
It contradicted the morality my mother had taught me, a morality of subtle distinctions–between individuals of goodwill and those who wished me ill, between active malice and ignorance or indifference. I had a personal stake in that moral framework; I’d discovered that I couldn’t escape it if I tried. And yet perhaps it was a framework that blacks in this country could no longer afford; perhaps it weakened black resolve, encouraged confusion within the ranks. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and for many blacks, times were chronically desperate. If nationalism could create a strong and effective insularity, deliver on its promise of self-respect, then the hurt it might cause well-meaning whites, or the inner turmoil it caused people like me, would be of little consequence.
If nationalism could deliver. As it turned out, questions of effectiveness, and not sentiment, caused most of my quarrels with Rafiq.
–Dreams From My Father, pp. 199-200
…I ceased to advertise my mother’s race at the age of twelve or thirteen, when I began to suspect that by doing so I was ingratiating myself to whites… (page xv)
I blew a few smoke rings, remembering those years. Pot had helped, and booze; maybe a little blow when you could afford it. Not smack, though… (page 93) [http://www.whitehousedrugpolicy.gov/streetterms/ByAlpha.asp?strTerm=B, “Blow” = “Cocaine; to inhale cocaine; to smoke marijuana; to inject heroin”]
I would occasionally pick up the paper [Louis Farrakhan’s “The Final Call”] from these unfailingly polite men, in part out of sympathy to their heavy suits in the summer, their thin coats in winter; or sometimes because my attention was caught by the sensational, tabloid-style headlines (CAUCASIAN WOMAN ADMITS: WHITES ARE THE DEVIL). Inside the front cover, one found reprints of the minister’s [Farrakhan’s] speeches, as well as stories that could have been picked straight off the AP news wire were it not for certain editorial embelleshments (”Jewish Senator Metzenbaum announced today…”). Dreams From My Father, p. 201
Good stuff! Trouble is he didn’t write those books. Maybe the ghostwriter quoted him.