记录一下-奥巴马演讲-视频、中英全文

奥巴马演讲不管怎样,美国选总统是件大事,从各个角度来说都应该记录一下,比如说政治、经济、金融、和平、安全、人文、语言、演讲、人文、活动、策划……,美国确实影响着世界,各个方面都是,比如说政治、经济、金融、和平、安全、人文、语言、演讲、人文、活动、策划……
视频,很长呀!

英文:

“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 its very core the ideal of equal citizenship under the law; a Constitution that promised its people liberty, and justice, and a union that could be and should be perfected over time.

And yet words on a parchment would not be enough to deliver slaves from bondage, or provide men and women of every color and creed their full rights and obligations as citizens of the United States. What would be needed were Americans in successive generations who were willing to do their part – through protests and struggle, on the streets and in the courts, through a civil war and civil disobedience and always at great risk – to narrow that gap between the promise of our ideals and the reality of their time.

This was one of the tasks we set forth at the beginning of this campaign – to continue the long march of those who came before us, a march for a more just, more equal, more free, more caring and more prosperous America. I chose to run for the presidency at this moment in history because I believe deeply that we cannot solve the challenges of our time unless we solve them together – unless we perfect our union by understanding that we may have different stories, but we hold common hopes; that we may not look the same and we may not have come from the same place, but we all want to move in the same direction – towards a better future for our children and our grandchildren.

This belief comes from my unyielding faith in the decency and generosity of the American people. But it also comes from my own American story.

I am the son of a black man from Kenya and a white woman from Kansas. I was raised with the help of a white grandfather who survived a Depression to serve in Patton’s Army during World War II and a white grandmother who worked on a bomber assembly line at Fort Leavenworth while he was overseas. I’ve gone to some of the best schools in America and lived in one of the world’s poorest nations. I am married to a black American who carries within her the blood of slaves and slaveowners – an inheritance we pass on to our two precious daughters. I have brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, uncles and cousins, of every race and every hue, scattered across three continents, and for as long as I live, I will never forget that in no other country on Earth is my story even possible.

It’s a story that hasn’t made me the most conventional candidate. But it is a story that has seared into my genetic makeup the idea that this nation is more than the sum of its parts – that out of many, we are truly one.

Throughout the first year of this campaign, against all predictions to the contrary, we saw how hungry the American people were for this message of unity. Despite the temptation to view my candidacy through a purely racial lens, we won commanding victories in states with some of the whitest populations in the country. In South Carolina, where the Confederate Flag still flies, we built a powerful coalition of African Americans and white Americans.

This is not to say that race has not been an issue in the campaign. At various stages in the campaign, some commentators have deemed me either “too black” or “not black enough.” We saw racial tensions bubble to the surface during the week before the South Carolina primary. The press has scoured every exit poll for the latest evidence of racial polarization, not just in terms of white and black, but black and brown as well.

And yet, it has only been in the last couple of weeks that the discussion of race in this campaign has taken a particularly divisive turn.

On one end of the spectrum, we’ve heard the implication that my candidacy is somehow an exercise in affirmative action; that it’s based solely on the desire of wide-eyed liberals to purchase racial reconciliation on the cheap. On the other end, we’ve heard my former pastor, Reverend Jeremiah Wright, use incendiary language to express views that have the potential not only to widen the racial divide, but views that denigrate both the greatness and the goodness of our nation; that rightly offend white and black alike.

I have already condemned, in unequivocal terms, the statements of Reverend Wright that have caused such controversy. For some, nagging questions remain. Did I know him to be an occasionally fierce critic of American domestic and foreign policy? Of course. Did I ever hear him make remarks that could be considered controversial while I sat in church? Yes. Did I strongly disagree with many of his political views? Absolutely – just as I’m sure many of you have heard remarks from your pastors, priests, or rabbis with which you strongly disagreed.

But the remarks that have caused this recent firestorm weren’t simply controversial. They weren’t simply a religious leader’s effort to speak out against perceived injustice. Instead, they expressed a profoundly distorted view of this country – a view that sees white racism as endemic, and that elevates what is wrong with America above all that we know is right with America; a view that sees the conflicts in the Middle East as rooted primarily in the actions of stalwart allies like Israel, instead of emanating from the perverse and hateful ideologies of radical Islam.

As such, Reverend Wright’s comments were not only wrong but divisive, divisive at a time when we need unity; racially charged at a time when we need to come together to solve a set of monumental problems – two wars, a terrorist threat, a falling economy, a chronic health care crisis and potentially devastating climate change; problems that are neither black or white or Latino or Asian, but rather problems that confront us all.

Given my background, my politics, and my professed values and ideals, there will no doubt be those for whom my statements of condemnation are not enough. Why associate myself with Reverend Wright in the first place, they may ask? Why not join another church? And I confess that if all that I knew of Reverend Wright were the snippets of those sermons that have run in an endless loop on the television and You Tube, or if Trinity United Church of Christ conformed to the caricatures being peddled by some commentators, there is no doubt that I would react in much the same way

But the truth is, that isn’t all that I know of the man. The man I met more than twenty years ago is a man who helped introduce me to my Christian faith, a man who spoke to me about our obligations to love one another; to care for the sick and lift up the poor. He is a man who served his country as a U.S. Marine; who has studied and lectured at some of the finest universities and seminaries in the country, and who for over thirty years led a church that serves the community by doing God’s work here on Earth – by housing the homeless, ministering to the needy, providing day care services and scholarships and prison ministries, and reaching out to those suffering from HIV/AIDS.

In my first book, Dreams From My Father, I described the experience of my first service at Trinity:

“People began to shout, to rise from their seats and clap and cry out, a forceful wind carrying the reverend’s voice up into the rafters….And in that single note – hope! – I heard something else; at the foot of that cross, inside the thousands of churches across the city, I imagined the stories of ordinary black people merging with the stories of David and Goliath, Moses and Pharaoh, the Christians in the lion’s den, Ezekiel’s field of dry bones. Those stories – of survival, and freedom, and hope – became our story, my story; the blood that had spilled was our blood, the tears our tears; until this black church, on this bright day, seemed once more a vessel carrying the story of a people into future generations and into a larger world. Our trials and triumphs became at once unique and universal, black and more than black; in chronicling our journey, the stories and songs gave us a means to reclaim memories that we didn’t need to feel shame about…memories that all people might study and cherish – and with which we could start to rebuild.”

That has been my experience at Trinity. Like other predominantly black churches across the country, Trinity embodies the black community in its entirety – the doctor and the welfare mom, the model student and the former gang-banger. Like other black churches, Trinity’s services are full of raucous laughter and sometimes bawdy humor. They are full of dancing, clapping, screaming and shouting that may seem jarring to the untrained ear. The church contains in full the kindness and cruelty, the fierce intelligence and the shocking ignorance, the struggles and successes, the love and yes, the bitterness and bias that make up the black experience in America.

And this helps explain, perhaps, my relationship with Reverend Wright. As imperfect as he may be, he has been like family to me. He strengthened my faith, officiated my wedding, and baptized my children. Not once in my conversations with him have I heard him talk about any ethnic group in derogatory terms, or treat whites with whom he interacted with anything but courtesy and respect. He contains within him the contradictions – the good and the bad – of the community that he has served diligently for so many years.

I can no more disown him than I can disown the black community. I can no more disown him than I can my white grandmother – a woman who helped raise me, a woman who sacrificed again and again for me, a woman who loves me as much as she loves anything in this world, but a woman who once confessed her fear of black men who passed by her on the street, and who on more than one occasion has uttered racial or ethnic stereotypes that made me cringe.

These people are a part of me. And they are a part of America, this country that I love.

Some will see this as an attempt to justify or excuse comments that are simply inexcusable. I can assure you it is not. I suppose the politically safe thing would be to move on from this episode and just hope that it fades into the woodwork. We can dismiss Reverend Wright as a crank or a demagogue, just as some have dismissed Geraldine Ferraro, in the aftermath of her recent statements, as harboring some deep-seated racial bias.

But race is an issue that I believe this nation cannot afford to ignore right now. We would be making the same mistake that Reverend Wright made in his offending sermons about America – to simplify and stereotype and amplify the negative to the point that it distorts reality.

The fact is that the comments that have been made and the issues that have surfaced over the last few weeks reflect the complexities of race in this country that we’ve never really worked through – a part of our union that we have yet to perfect. And if we walk away now, if we simply retreat into our respective corners, we will never be able to come together and solve challenges like health care, or education, or the need to find good jobs for every American.

Understanding this reality requires a reminder of how we arrived at this point. As William Faulkner once wrote, “The past isn’t dead and buried. In fact, it isn’t even past.” We do not need to recite here the history of racial injustice in this country. But we do need to remind ourselves that so many of the disparities that exist in the African-American community today can be directly traced to inequalities passed on from an earlier generation that suffered under the brutal legacy of slavery and Jim Crow.

Segregated schools were, and are, inferior schools; we still haven’t fixed them, fifty years after Brown v. Board of Education, and the inferior education they provided, then and now, helps explain the pervasive achievement gap between today’s black and white students.

Legalized discrimination – where blacks were prevented, often through violence, from owning property, or loans were not granted to African-American business owners, or black homeowners could not access FHA mortgages, or blacks were excluded from unions, or the police force, or fire departments – meant that black families could not amass any meaningful wealth to bequeath to future generations. That history helps explain the wealth and income gap between black and white, and the concentrated pockets of poverty that persists in so many of today’s urban and rural communities.

A lack of economic opportunity among black men, and the shame and frustration that came from not being able to provide for one’s family, contributed to the erosion of black families – a problem that welfare policies for many years may have worsened. And the lack of basic services in so many urban black neighborhoods – parks for kids to play in, police walking the beat, regular garbage pick-up and building code enforcement – all helped create a cycle of violence, blight and neglect that continue to haunt us.

This is the reality in which Reverend Wright and other African-Americans of his generation grew up. They came of age in the late fifties and early sixties, a time when segregation was still the law of the land and opportunity was systematically constricted. What’s remarkable is not how many failed in the face of discrimination, but rather how many men and women overcame the odds; how many were able to make a way out of no way for those like me who would come after them.

But for all those who scratched and clawed their way to get a piece of the American Dream, there were many who didn’t make it – those who were ultimately defeated, in one way or another, by discrimination. That legacy of defeat was passed on to future generations – those young men and increasingly young women who we see standing on street corners or languishing in our prisons, without hope or prospects for the future. Even for those blacks who did make it, questions of race, and racism, continue to define their worldview in fundamental ways. For the men and women of Reverend Wright’s generation, the memories of humiliation and doubt and fear have not gone away; nor has the anger and the bitterness of those years. That anger may not get expressed in public, in front of white co-workers or white friends. But it does find voice in the barbershop or around the kitchen table. At times, that anger is exploited by politicians, to gin up votes along racial lines, or to make up for a politician’s own failings.

And occasionally it finds voice in the church on Sunday morning, in the pulpit and in the pews. The fact that so many people are surprised to hear that anger in some of Reverend Wright’s sermons simply reminds us of the old truism that the most segregated hour in American life occurs on Sunday morning. That anger is not always productive; indeed, all too often it distracts attention from solving real problems; it keeps us from squarely facing our own complicity in our condition, and prevents the African-American community from forging the alliances it needs to bring about real change. But the anger is real; it is powerful; and to simply wish it away, to condemn it without understanding its roots, only serves to widen the chasm of misunderstanding that exists between the races.

In fact, a similar anger exists within segments of the white community. Most working- and middle-class white Americans don’t feel that they have been particularly privileged by their race. Their experience is the immigrant experience – as far as they’re concerned, no one’s handed them anything, they’ve built it from scratch. They’ve worked hard all their lives, many times only to see their jobs shipped overseas or their pension dumped after a lifetime of labor. They are anxious about their futures, and feel their dreams slipping away; in an era of stagnant wages and global competition, opportunity comes to be seen as a zero sum game, in which your dreams come at my expense. So when they are told to bus their children to a school across town; when they hear that an African American is getting an advantage in landing a good job or a spot in a good college because of an injustice that they themselves never committed; when they’re told that their fears about crime in urban neighborhoods are somehow prejudiced, resentment builds over time.

Like the anger within the black community, these resentments aren’t always expressed in polite company. But they have helped shape the political landscape for at least a generation. Anger over welfare and affirmative action helped forge the Reagan Coalition. Politicians routinely exploited fears of crime for their own electoral ends. Talk show hosts and conservative commentators built entire careers unmasking bogus claims of racism while dismissing legitimate discussions of racial injustice and inequality as mere political correctness or reverse racism.

Just as black anger often proved counterproductive, so have these white resentments distracted attention from the real culprits of the middle class squeeze – a corporate culture rife with inside dealing, questionable accounting practices, and short-term greed; a Washington dominated by lobbyists and special interests; economic policies that favor the few over the many. And yet, to wish away the resentments of white Americans, to label them as misguided or even racist, without recognizing they are grounded in legitimate concerns – this too widens the racial divide, and blocks the path to understanding.

This is where we are right now. It’s a racial stalemate we’ve been stuck in for years. Contrary to the claims of some of my critics, black and white, I have never been so naïve as to believe that we can get beyond our racial divisions in a single election cycle, or with a single candidacy – particularly a candidacy as imperfect as my own.

But I have asserted a firm conviction – a conviction rooted in my faith in God and my faith in the American people – that working together we can move beyond some of our old racial wounds, and that in fact we have no choice 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 the 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, ure 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.

中文:

“美国是一个任何事情都有可能发生的国家,对于这一点如果还有任何人心存怀疑的话,今晚就是对这一问题的最好回答”

美国已经做出了回答。现在,就在芝加哥格兰特广场上聚集的125,000名支持者面前,我们的新总统诞生了。
下面就是奥巴马所做的2008年总统候选人就职演讲全文:

美国是一个任何事情都有可能发生的国家,对于这一点如果还有任何人心存怀疑,对民主的力量还表示疑虑的话,今晚就是对这一问题的最好回答。

这个答案早已经印在了到处悬挂在学校和教堂的竞选条幅上,人们随处可见;这些人们已经等待了三四个小时,对于他们当中的大多数,这是有生以来第一次经历这样的过程,因为他们坚信这一时刻注定与众不同,而这种不同便有可能源自他们所发出的声音。

这个答案出自这些人之口,无论是青年还是老年,穷人还是富人,民主党还是共和党,黑人还是白人,拉丁裔、亚裔还是美国本土人,同性恋者还是异性恋者,残疾人还是非残疾人——他们向世界发出了这样的信息——我们从来不分红色之州和蓝色之州,我们永远都是美利坚合众国。

这个答案告诉了那些一直以来充满焦虑、恐惧和怀疑的人们,我们可以将双手放在历史的转折点上,将它再次带向充满希望的美好明天。

这一刻我们已经等待了太久,但是今晚,由于我们在这一决定性的时刻所作出的选择,美国便迎来了它崭新的一刻。

我刚刚接到了来自麦凯恩议员的电话。他在这场漫长而艰难的选举中一直努力着,而他为他所热爱的国家所付出的努力甚至更加艰辛而久远。可能我们当中的很多人甚至都无法想象,麦凯恩议员从何时便开始为我们的国家奉献自己,而我们却早已享受到了这位勇敢无私的领导者为国家所做出的贡献。对于他和佩林所付出的努力,我表示衷心的感谢,同时我也期待着,能够和他们一同努力,共同实现我们这几个月来所做出的承诺。

我要感谢我的竞选伙伴,新当选的美国副总统乔·拜登,这一路走来,他始终遵循着自己内心深处的那个声音,他始终代表着那些和他一起在斯克兰顿街边长大,一起坐着火车回到故乡特拉华州的人们的声音。

如果没有过去这16年来挚友的支持,没有稳定的家庭和对生活的爱,没有我们国家的下一位第一夫人,米歇尔·奥巴马,今晚我将不可能站在这里。萨莎和玛丽亚,我爱你们,你们已经得到了一只新的小狗,它将和我们一起入住白宫。还有我的祖母,虽然她已经不能和我们一起分享这一刻,但是我知道,她正和我的家人一起,注视着我,陪我经历着这一刻。我不会忘记,是他们养育我成人,今晚我是如此的想念他们,我知道,我所亏欠他们的,是永远无法报答的恩情。

对我的竞选负责人大卫?普罗菲,我的首席战略家大卫·亚克瑟罗德以及有史以来最优秀的竞选团队,我想对你们说的是——是你们成就了今天的一切,我将永远感激你们所付出的这一切。

但是,最重要的是,我将永远不会忘记,这个胜利是真正属于你们的!

我一直都不是最有希望的那个候选人,一开始的时候我们便没有那么多的资金或支持。我们的竞选之路并不是从华盛顿的高楼礼堂中开始的,它从德梅因的后院、协和酒店的客厅以及查尔斯顿的门廊中迈出了第一步。

它由那些需要从自己有限的存款中拿出5美元、10美元和20美元的工人们建立起来;那些摒弃了他们那一代人冷漠神话的年轻人,那些远离家乡亲人在外打拼却只能赚得微薄工资的人们,那些抵抗着刺骨的寒冷和灼人的炎热敲响了陌生人家大门的人们,是你们给了它成长的力量;数以百万计的美国人民自愿组织起来,他们想要去证明两个多世纪之后,一个由人民组成的政府,一个属于人民的政府,一个为了人民的政府是不会从地球上消亡的,这就是属于你们的胜利!

我知道,你们这样做并不只是想赢得一场选举,我也知道,你们这样做并不是为我一个人。你们这样做,是因为你们了解前方的任务是如何的艰巨。甚至就在我们庆祝的同时,我们也清楚地明白,明天将要面临的挑战是多么巨大——两大战争,一个处于危险中的星球,本世纪最严重的经济危机。就在我们站在这里的同时,我们清楚地知道,还有许多勇敢的美国人正在伊拉克的沙漠和阿富汗的群山中醒来,为了我们而冒着生命的危险。还有许许多多的父母们,只有在自己的孩子入睡后才能躺下,他们为房子的贷款和医院的账单还有孩子们的学费而发愁。放心,我们会注入新的能量,创造新的就业机会,建设新的学校,面对威胁与挑战,修复我们的联盟。

前方的道路还很漫长。我们所面临的山峰是险峻的。或许一年甚至很长一段时间我们都无法攀上峰顶,但是美国——我从来没有像今晚这样坚信,我们最终一定会到达。我向你保证——我们的民族最终会到达山顶的。

也许会有挫折坎坷,作为总统我所做出的决定和政策必定会遭到一些人的反对,而我们也知道政府不能够解决所有问题。但是我将会诚实地告诉你们我们所面对的挑战。我会耐心倾听你们的心声,尤其是在遇到分歧的时候。而最重要的是,我将会让你们加入到重建我们国家的队伍当中来,沿着美国这221年来一直所走的那条道路——一块块砖瓦,一双双手,一点点堆砌出我们的家园。

21个月之前的那个冬天所开始的,不会在这个秋天的夜晚结束。这个胜利本身并不是我们所要找寻的改变——这只是一个改变的机会。如果我们回到老路上,那么一切都不会得到改变。没有你们,这一切也不会得到改变。

那么,就让我们重新召唤起爱国主义、公仆之心以及国家责任的精神来,每个人都参与其中,一起努力,不单只是关心自身,而是互相照顾。让我们记住这场经济危机所教会我们的一点,如果主街道遭受了打击,那么华尔街也不可能幸免——在这个国家,我们作为一个民族,一个整体,同存亡共荣辱。

让我们摒弃掉那些长久以来一直危害我们的政治生活的那些幼稚琐碎的党派之争。让我们记住,是这个国家的人第一次将共和党的横幅挂在了白宫之上,而共和党的建立便是基于对自力更生、独立自由和国家统一价值的肯定。这一价值是我们所共享的,即便民主党今晚赢得了大选,我们也会怀着谦虚的心态,去消除这一分歧和隔膜。在面临着比今天更严重的国家分裂时,林肯说过,“我们不是敌人,而是朋友…我们友情的纽带,或会因情绪激动而绷紧,但决不可折断。” 而对于那些我还没有赢得支持的选民们——也许我还没有赢得你们的选票,但是我听到了你们声音,我需要你们的帮助,而我也同样是你们的总统。

对于那些远在大洋彼岸的,在国会和皇宫中,在我们这个世界被遗忘的角落中围在收音机旁关注着大选之夜的人们——我们的故事是不同的,但是我们的命运却是紧紧连在一起的,美国领袖新的一天的黎明即将到来。对于那些会将世界四分五裂的人们,我们将打败你们,对于那些渴求和平和安全的人们,我们将支持你们。而对于所有那些想知道,自由女神像手中的火炬是否还会依旧闪耀光芒的人们,今晚我们再次证明了,我们民族的真正实力并不只是来自于武力和财富,而是来自于我们理想的力量:民主,自由,机遇以及永不屈服的希望。

美国真正的天赋在于,它懂得改变。我们的联盟会不断完善自己。而我们已经取得的成就给了我们希望,让我们坚信我们能够并且即将取得成功。

这次选举拥有许多故事和数不清的第一次,它们将被世世代代流传。但是今晚在我脑海中一直浮现的,是亚特兰大一位女性选民。她就像成千上万的其他选民一样,排在队伍中喊出自己的心声,唯一不同的是——安·尼克松·库伯已经106岁了。

她出生的时候正是奴隶制度解除之后;那时候还没有汽车和飞机;像她一样的人那个时候是没有选举权的,因为她是女人,还因为她皮肤的颜色。

但是今晚,我思考着她所经历的这一个世纪的美国——心痛和希望;斗争与进步;我们被告知我们不能做什么的时代,以及美国人的信条:是的,我们可以!

在那个女性不能发出声音的时代,在那个女性的希望被剥夺的时代,她看着她们站了起来,大声说出自己的想法,投出了自己的选票。是的,我们可以!

当绝望和大萧条袭来的时候,她看到了一个民族通过新政、新的工作和新的共同目的感战胜了恐惧。是的,我们可以!

当炸弹在珍珠港爆炸,当暴政威胁这个世界的时候,她见证了一代人的强大,见证了民主得到了捍卫。是的,我们可以!

她见证了蒙哥马利汽车暴动,见证了塞尔玛大桥事件,遇到了那位来自亚特兰大的牧师,他告诉人们“我们终将会克服一切。”是的,我们可以!

人类登上了月球,柏林墙倒塌了,世界由于我们自身的科学和想象力被连接到了一起。而在这一年,在这次选举中,她的手指触摸到了屏幕,她投出了自己的一票,因为在美国经历了106年的变迁,经历了最好的与最坏的时代后,她了解美国是如何变化的。是的,我们可以!

美国,我们已经走了这么远,我们已经看到了这么多,但是仍然有许多事情等待着我们去做。那么今晚,让我们扪心自问——如果我们的孩子看到了下一个世纪;如果我的女儿也能够和安·尼克松·库伯一样幸运地活到了106岁,那么他们将会看到怎样的变化?我们又将会取得什么样的进步?

对于我们来说,这正是一个对这一疑问给出回答的机会。这是我们的时刻,这是我们的时代——让我们的人民重新回去工作,为我们的孩子打开机会的大门;积累财富,促进和平;重拾美国梦,重申基本的真象——相对于大多数而言,我们是独一无二的;当我们呼吸时,我们希望,在我们面对讥笑、怀疑以及别人对我们说我们不能的时候,我们将会用凝聚了人类精神的永恒信条作出回应:

是的,我们可以!

谢谢你们,愿上帝保佑你们,愿上帝保佑美利坚合众国。(青云/编译)

声明: 本文采用 BY-NC-SA 协议进行授权 | Gkoo.net | 极库
转载请注明转自《记录一下-奥巴马演讲-视频、中英全文