If I Were Barack Obama: Part II

This is a hypothetical speech which Senator Obama could give in New Orleans, kicking off a "Week with America." It segues from the last entry. See if my speech writing skills pass the test.

Friends and family of New Orleans,

Tonight I begin again.

Two weeks ago I did something which 24-hours earlier would have seemed impossible: I stopped dead in my tracks.

I canceled a meeting with my advisers. I delayed a rally.

Instead, I went for a walk. I took pause.

Pause for the sake of reflecting on that which lies before me. Pause for the sake of reconnecting with myself, my God, and my fellow man.

In doing so I reminded myself that my pursuits on this earth -– my successes and my failures, my hopes and my ambitions –- are but a small part of God’s greater plan.

I also reminded myself that he is a loving God, faithful to us in every imaginable way, working in ways that we can not begin to understand or fathom.

800 days ago the levees broke and a mighty sea engulfed this soulful city. And only God knows why.

But as for what happened next, after the levees broke and the waters continued to rise, I need not turn to God for an explanation.

I know that our country failed you.

Our government failed you.

And I failed you.

Levees break from time to time. The bonds of men have to be stronger than any rain. Stronger than the wind and the sea.

For you are my brother’s keeper and I am yours. And in times of distress, when levees break, our bonds must be unbending. Our bonds must ensure safe keeping.

For if my neighbor suffers, then I also suffer. If my neighbor is without shelter, then I too must feel the storm's raging winds.

Compassion and empathy – these are our most noble birthrights – and in times of distress they must be infinite in their reserve.

But in August of 2005, when the levees broke, our government failed you. In your hour of need, our compassion was finite.

And for that we all share in the blame.

I find solace only in knowing that the darkest hours in our nation’s history have often preceded a luminous dawn.

“Hope has never trickled down. It always springs up” -- these are the words of the great Chicago historian Studs Terkel. With tomorrow there is possibility, where hours before, only despair.

When tyranny reigned over the colonies, we fought for independence.

When our union was severed and a race unto man enslaved, we fought for a new nation: of, by, and for the people.

When the Depression struck, we made a New Deal.

When the world wanted war, we answered with the greatest generation.

When civil rights were denied, we had a dream, and then we overcame.

Our nation has triumphed in the face of war and hunger, disease and depression, prejudice and presumption. Over time, in every direction, there in only hope.

But as we stand here on this delta, I know it’s difficult for the people of this city to feel the inertia of hope. In the wake of an unprecedented flood, and a government which lay idle, the audacity of hope must seem audacious indeed.

So let this next point be abundantly clear: when the rain comes and the waters rise, those in power must spring to action. It shouldn’t require an act of Congress or a calling card.

A President’s primary responsibility is protecting the lives of each and every citizen. And protection must extend beyond terrorist acts and the wars of nations. Protection must include refuge from raging fires and shelter from deadly storms.

A government is responsible whenever and wherever its citizens are suffering. And a government’s responsibility does not lessen until that suffering has ceased altogether.

If a government does not act with conviction and immediacy in protecting its people, both at home and abroad, then new leaders should be made to govern. For if a people loses faith in their government, then that government has failed in its fundamental function, and it will come undone.

I can not control the swelling of the seas, but if elected, I will do more than preach. My government -– our government -- will pour the cement. We will do the heavy lifting.

We will spring to action when action is called for. We will look out for the least able among us, every hour of the day.

For right now, on this bayou, the trumpet summons us again.

We are the nation which created the Peace Corps and the G.I. Bill.

We are a farmer for the hungry, and a doctor for the sick.

We put a man on the moon, and we will find a cure for cancer.

Our nation's potential is limitless; we do whatever comes next.

And the time has come for those who would do for their country to rise again: the vitality of this soulful city has been threatened by a momentous storm.

So let us build schools as a reminder that torrential rains can not dampen our children's future.

Let us build houses as a reminder that violent winds can not shatter our resolve.

Let us create jobs as a reminder that commerce can not be deterred by a high water mark.

Let us build a cathedral as a requiem for Katrina, where the people of this great city can worship in their own way, in their own time, before their own God.

Let us build a government which leads by example and inspires its citizens to grab a hammer and lend a hand.

And let us agree, right here, right now – that this will be more than rhetoric. Let us agree that we will enlist the services of our neighbor, to help thy neighbor.

Nails for a home do not require Congressional approval. Teachers do not require a reminder, “no child left behind.” Kindness does not require an invitation.

We must all contribute and that includes me.

Beginning this week, as I lay out my vision for America, I will address the pivotal issues facing our nation -- healthcare, immigration, the economy, and national defense -- and I will remind American families that we are not finished in New Orleans.

I will remind America that we must increase the bandwidth of humanity, beginning on this bayou. I will remind America that our obligation begins this week, not next week.

Every week matters in America.

(Pause)

Soon you will vote, because thousands have given their lives so that we might have a free and impartial election. They gave their lives to foster a democracy based on liberty and equality, in which all persons alike share in the government to the utmost.

But also know this: after your votes are cast and counted, I will come back to the crescent city. I will return regardless of the election's outcome. I will do my part to help build a cathedral from Katrina.

I will make phone calls. I will dial for dollars. I will ask others to join us in New Orleans as we create anew. I will pick up a hammer and put it to wood.

It is the least I can do.

(Pause)

As I leave here tonight, already anticipating my return, I hark back to the refrain that hangs from the sign on the Statue of Liberty: "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses who yearn to breathe free."

In our own way, we are all tired; we are all poor; and above all else, we all yearn to breathe free.

But freedom is more than a place in time or a state of mind. Freedom is more than the air we breathe.

Freedom is an unwavering commitment to the woman on your left, and a newfound compassion for the man on your right.

Freedom is an inseparable band of brothers, and a consecrated union between two loving men.

Freedom is the right to speak out in protest, and the right to openly bear arms.

Freedom is a playground where little white boys, and little black girls, swing in each other's arms without a reason for reservation.

And freedom is an oasis of justice in the face of oppression.

Freedom is a bridge leading to the brilliant yonder of tomorrow, where every valley shall be exalted, and every hill made low.

And at the end of the day, freedom is a psalm unto God in heaven, sung in a piercing falsetto voice.

My friends, freedom is America. And tonight it summons us again.

Come and join me. Hear its calling.

For the sun will soon rise over a hopeful tomorrow, and there is no telling what the new dawn will bring.

God bless you all. And God bless The United States of America.