How Could Someone Kill a Child?

Scene outside of school.

It has been about 12 hours since I saw the breaking news of another school shooting. When I first heard of it, my mind sort of forced the image of Columbine High School, Pearl, MS or Jonesboro, AR. These were locations where high school students shot their classmates. When I heard that these were elementary kids, my heart sank. When I learned that these were kindergarten children, I was in disbelief—total denial. My mind could not comprehend what I had just heard. I remember sitting up in my bed and my mouth being open. My first thought was how—not why—could someone kill a child? What type of person could exact that kind of carnage on a 5-year-old?

Think for a moment what life is like for kindergarteners. A 5-year-old is roughly 40 inches tall and between 38 and 45 pounds. This is their first year of school. Gone are the days when they were fearful of mom or dad dropping them off at school. Now, they are halfway through the school year and look forward to each day at school. They wear little book bags that carry folders of their work: coloring pages, circling oranges, crossing out apples, lined papers they print the “A-B-Cs”. Papers that have “smiley” faces and Gold stars on them. They walk everywhere in a line, following their teachers. They are polite. They are sweet. They are loving. They are young enough to look at the good in people and not see the bad. They do not look at the color of their classmates, or the label in their clothes. They have not been corrupted by society. They are sweet and innocent. How could someone kill a child?

I can imagine what this morning might have been like in any of their homes. Climbing up into their chair at the breakfast nook to eat their breakfast and were glad it was Friday. They might have asked their mom “How many more days of school?”, then replied by counting the days out on their fingers and asking their mom “Is it this many?” Or, perhaps one of them asked what was packed in his lunch making sure mom included some pudding or Go-Gurt. On the way out the door, stopping to look at the Christmas tree and decorations reminding them that Santa would soon be coming. Each mom and dad who dropped their baby off at school had no idea that they would never again see their baby alive. They would never again be able to hug them. They would never again hear their laughter. How could someone kill a child?

I can imagine what it was like first thing this morning in the classroom. The teachers were calling role; telling the class to settle down and get ready for the first lesson. I can see the teacher passing out papers and writing on the whiteboard. I can hear laughter. I can hear murmuring between classmates. Then all goes quiet. Then the silence is broken by the unmistakable sound of gunfire. The sound of teachers locking the doors and going through emergency procedures. The sound of screaming. More gunfire. What did those babies think? How frightened were they when they saw a man dressed in black carrying firearms? What did they think when they saw the shooter pull the trigger and shoot a classmate? How fast were their hearts beating? What did they think when they saw blood splatter as the bullet entered into that small body? Then the second classmate was shot, then the third, and so on. Each child slowly realizes that help will not come for them. How many of them were so frightened they soiled their clothing? What did the last child shot think? “Please don’t hurt me. MOM…!” How could someone kill a child?

I can only imagine the destruction caused by a 9mm round on a small child. Firearms by their nature are destructive. They are designed to maim and kill. The basic operation is simple: a controlled explosion with a directed force acting on a projectile. The same technology propels us into space, with the shuttle/orbiter/satellite taking the place of the projectile. Most everyone has seen the hole a projectile leaves in a paper plate or cardboard box when shooting in a backyard. This does not illustrate the destructive nature of firearms. It is not simply a hole. No. Not only does a round tear a hole in the flesh, but it hits the body with such force, that it destroys tissue, organs, and bones. Just think of Newton’s Second Law of motion represented by the equation F=ma from Physics (Force is equal to the mass of an object multiplied by the object’s acceleration.) A 9mm round with a mass of 124 grains traveling at 1200 fps, the muzzle kinetic energy is about 405 ft-lbs of force—about half a ton. This is just what the impact feels like. As the round enters the body, it causes lacerations and crushing wounds. The round then continues, puncturing and tearing its way through tissue and bone. The “shock” of the round creates a temporary “cavity” pushing the organs aside, then quickly closing as the round passes. The cavity from the “shock wave” causes damage to nearby tissue, organs, and bones. This is assuming the round remains intact; if it is a hollow point or one that is frangible (breaks apart), even more damage is caused. I shudder at what just one round could do to a small 40-pound child. How could someone kill a child?

Scared children.

I can only imagine what the crime scene was like; what the first responders saw when they entered the room. The smell of gunpowder lingers in the air so strong you can taste it. The smell of blood—it smells like iron or dirt. Perhaps there was an overbearing smell of vomit, urine, and feces. No matter how awful and overloaded the smell of the scene, it does not compare to the sights. Small, lifeless, torn bodies, were strewn across the room. Some shot in the back while running away. Some slumped over in their desks—perhaps appearing as if they were taking a nap. Perpetual slumber. This crime scene will remain with them for the rest of their lives. The responders taking it all in—trying to remain detached and professional, trying to make sense of this; trying to bring order to this chaos. How could someone kill a child?

I can only imagine what the holidays will be like for the community and families affected by this senseless tragedy. The small churches host funerals instead of performing Christmas musicals. The pastor gives eulogies over the dead instead of heralding in the birth of another child 2000 years ago. The little coffins lined up at the front of the church—the children’s wing empty. The Hanukkah presents that have been opened, but will never be played with or used. The wrapped presents under the tree that will never be opened. The houses Santa Claus will not visit this year because the children are not there. The homes will be silent on Christmas morning because there is no laughter in their hearts. The parents and family members numb with pain, asking themselves all manner of questions. What could I have done differently? How could someone kill a child?

I can imagine in those last moments, there was someone else in the room—someone the shooter could not see. Someone only the innocent saw. He was standing there in His robes of white, looking each child in the eye. Giving them peace and preventing any pain. Telling them, “Come on, let’s go back to my place”. I find comfort in knowing that those innocent children are now seated around and even on the lap of Jesus. He is laughing with them…tickling them, telling them stories about Noah and the Ark, Jonah in the whale, how short Zacchaeus is, and laughing at him trying to “climb down from that tree”. Yes, I have no doubt these children are in a better place—a place where there is no carnage, no destruction, no death. A place where they are experiencing the lyric “Yes, Jesus loves me” forevermore. Sadly, while their children are in heaven the parents and family members are in a living hell. They need our prayers and support.

Sandy Hook Chapel.

We, parents from around the world, grieve with you the parents of Newtown, CT. We anguish alongside you at the loss of such, sweet, innocent lives. Lives that will never see their dreams realized. But know this, God has promised,

A time is coming where there are no more tears.

A time of comfort is at hand.

A time when peace shall be restored.

A time when joy shall be renewed.

            
We pray God's promises for you.

"The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you or forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged." Deuteronomy 31:8

Those Magnificent Bastards

Belleau Wood.

Iwo Jima.

Chosin Reservoir.

You may not recognize the names above, but ask any Marine and he will tell you all you want to know. Each is a great battle the United States Marine Corps engaged an overwhelming number of enemies. They were victorious in all but the last. At the bottom of this blog is a quick reminder for the first two battles.

South Korea has been indirectly in the news for the past several days. Rap singer Psy, a South Korean, was invited and performed at the annual White House Christmas party. Years ago, Psy spoke out against the US and our military. I enjoy watching all the girls dance “Gangnam” style and will continue to watch the videos. I have not purchased any of his music, and have no intention in the future. I really do not care what a South Korean rap singer says, but I do think that his choice of words should have kept him from performing for and taking pictures with the President and Vice-President along with their families of the United States of America. Regardless, this piece is not about Psy. Instead, it is about a battle that took place in The Forgotten War—The Korean War. If it had not been for the US military, Psy would be locked inside a peninsula called “Korea” and he would be singing for his “Dear Leader”. He would not have been allowed to become rich; not have been allowed to travel; not have been able to speak freely. I think Psy owes us more than a two-sentence apology that came 7 years after his comments and only 2 days before his performance. Perhaps, he needs to read this and see what the United States military and specifically, the United States Marine Corps did for his forefathers.

Area of Operations.

Since 1919, the Korean Peninsula has been ruled by the Empire of Japan. At the conclusion of WWII, American administrators divided the peninsula along the 38^th parallel. The US stationed some forces on the South of the parallel alongside the Republic of Korea forces. Soviet military forces stood alongside the forces of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea on the North side. Things were “fine” until 25 JUN 1950, when the North invaded the South. Within days, the North had nearly conquered the entire country. The only maps the US and her allies had were old Japanese maps. The Japanese had incorrectly labeled the “Changjin” Reservoir as Chosin Reservoir. The latter has never appeared on a map.

After a successful landing at Inchon, US forces attacked and cut off the supplies to Communist forces in the South. General Douglas MacArthur, Commanding, USA, wanted another landing on the Eastern side at Wonsan. After the landing, MacArthur formulated and launched his “Home-by-Christmas” Offensive. His plan was to surround the Chosin Reservoir and cut off the Manpojin-Kanggye-Huichon supply line. To support this, Major General Edward M. Almond, commander of the US X Corps, ordered the US 1^st Marine Division to advance on the Yalu River near Yadami-ni. The US 7^th Infantry Division would provide the 31^st Regimental Combat Team to provide security on the right or eastern side of the reservoir.

Aerial view of Chosin Reservoir.

On 15 NOV 1950, the lead elements of 1stMarDiv reached the Chosin Reservoir. Commanding Officer Major General Oliver P. Smith, USMC, questioned the wisdom of his senior commander, MG Edward M. Almond. In his letter to General Clifton B. Oats, Commandant of the Marine Corps, he writes: “I do not like the prospect of stringing out a Marine division along a single mountain road for 120 miles from Hanhung to the Manchurian border….I have little confidence in the tactical judgment of X Corps or the realism of their planning.”

These words would prove prophetic in just 12 short days. The enemy they had encountered months earlier, members of the North Korean People’s Army (NKPA) had retreated to the hills of the northern perimeter. In their place were hardened troops of the Chinese Communist Forces (CCF) that had slipped over the border and across the Yalu River.

On the evening of 27 NOV 1950, more than 60,000 CCF troops had infiltrated undetected from Manchuria and attacked the 1stMarDiv on the west bank and the 31^st RCT on the east bank. (During the 17-day battle, an estimated 60,000 additional CCF troops joined the original 60,000 troops.) Within two days, the entire 1stMarDiv and what was left of the 31^st RCT were completely surrounded. Colonel Lewis B. “Chesty” Puller, USMC quipped “They are in front of us, behind us and we are flanked on both sides by an enemy that outnumbers us. They can’t get away from us now!” In addition to the enemy, the Marines and Soldiers were fighting the terrain and the weather. At night, the lows were between minus 20^o F and minus 40^o F. This was back before GoreTex and microfleece and they did not have much to keep them warm.

On day six, in order to save his Division, MajGen Smith ordered a 78-mile fighting withdrawal from the Chosin. Over 40,000 CCF stood in their way. For seventeen days, our forces fought against a determined enemy—an enemy that took no prisoners—that fought with every ounce of their being. When the Marines approached the outskirts of Hagaru-ri, they remembered they were Marines. They formed up and marched into the city. They had fought an enemy non-stop for 15 days. Tired, cold, hungry, wearing tattered blood-stained uniforms, many wounded, carrying their dead, wounded, and equipment they let the world know, they were United States Marines—the finest fighting force in the world. Lieutenant Junior Grade Robert Harvey, USN remarked with awe, “Look at those bastards, those magnificent bastards.”

Accompanying the Marines were 68,000 refugees fleeing the CCF. On their backs were their few belongings, perhaps a child or elderly parent. The CCF was not finished. Along their way, they killed every man, woman, and child that “could have” helped the US. They burned all buildings and when approaching Hagaru-ri, opened fire on the refugees. The same Marines that just fought for 15 days, fought an additional two days while the refugees were loaded on Navy transport ships. When the fighting was over five of the ten CCF Divisions—the 124^th, 79^th, 58^th, 59^th, and 60^th—were completely destroyed and never again appeared during the Korean War. Two of the ten Chinese Divisions never unfurled their banner again.

From a strictly military analysis, the “Home-by-Christmas” campaign was a failure. We were unable to stop or interrupt the supply line. From a historical analysis, it was an overwhelming success. We killed or wounded far more of their troops than they were ours. We learned that the CCF were not afraid to one enter the war, and two they were well trained and disciplined. The “they are only laundry men” mentality was proven false. We learned of their tactics and their willingness to engage in barbaric acts of killing innocents. To the Marines, Sailors, and Soldiers that fought, you would have a hard time convincing them, they lost the battle. I tend to agree with them.

The frozen dead.

I enjoy sitting and chatting with anyone. I especially enjoy speaking to people much older than myself. I love hearing their stories, sharing their memories, and hearing of past events from a first-person perspective. It is especially rewarding if the person served in the military. I’ve met several WWII vets and sat like a First Grader while the teacher read from my favorite book. While I know the ending, it is the untold story that I appreciate. In addition to the WWII vets, I have met four Korean War vets, of which two were Marines who fought at Chosin Reservoir. They are members of an elite group—the Chosin Few. Rarely do combat veterans share their stories, but when they do, take note. When they are recounting their stories, they rarely look at you. Instead, they look through you, as if watching a home movie filmed decades ago. You can almost sense they feel the concussion of the explosions, hear the rounds whizzing by or the sound of a friend calling out in pain, and see the carnage of battle. The thing I remember most was how one of them described the fallen. Because of the bitterly cold temperatures, the bodies froze. They froze in whatever position they had fallen. Arms outstretched; legs askew. When it was time to load them for transport, many times they had to break their arms and legs. He said, “I will never forget the sound of bone and frozen tissue breaking.”

Korean War Memorial.

To many in the US, the Korean War is the Forgotten War. It only lasted 3 years and it was sandwiched between WWII and Vietnam. It has the fewest number of participants, and most of those who fought in Korea also fought in either WWII or Vietnam. While many here might have forgotten the South Koreans have not. They established a foundation that pays 100% of the costs for Korean War vets and a family member to return to walk the battlefields. While there, they receive special recognition and are treated like heroes. Elementary students (classrooms) are assigned sections of national war cemeteries, where they keep them clean and free of trash and debris. They cut the grass with scissors as a means to offer thanks. Today, South Korea has a modern infrastructure with multi-lane highways, electrical grid, and telecommunications. Cities have skyscrapers, underground transportation, and an educated workforce. Those who fought in Korea accomplished a lot. In addition to stopping the spread of Communism, they preserved the integrity of the nation. They preserved the Freedom of the People. Let’s make sure they are not part of “The Forgotten War”.

Today, there are an estimated 1 million people alive who are descendants of the 68,000 refugees saved by the US Military. Perhaps, Psy is one of those individuals.

Semper Fi, do or Die!

Chosin Reservoir by the Numbers
Unit	Total Strength	KIA (EKIA for CCF)	WIA (EWIA for CCF)
1stMarDiv	15,000	836	1,600
31st Army RCT	3,000	1,000	1,400
CCF	120,000	25,000	17,000
Awards	17 Medal of Honor	73 Navy Cross	23 Distinguished Service Cross

  

-------------------------- 

During JUNE 1918 in WWI, outside of Paris, France near a place called Chateau-Thierry, a place called Belleau Wood, the Marines of the 2^nd Marine Division were surrounded by German soldiers. The French continually urged the Marines to retreat prompting Marine Captain Lloyd W. William of the 2^nd Battalion 5^th Marines to retort, “Retreat? Hell, we just got here!” After the battle, the French renamed the wood “Bois de la Brigade de Marine” (“Wood of the Marine Brigade). Because of the tenacity of the Marines, the German soldiers called them “Teufel Hunden”—Devil Dogs.

During the months of FEB-MAR 1945, on a small atoll in the South Pacific called Iwo Jima, Marines of the 3^rd Marine Division fought hard in the island-hopping campaign to gain the airfield on Iwo. It was on Iwo where 5 Marines and 1 Navy Corpsman raised the flag on Mt. Suribachi.  To which Fleet Admiral Chester W. Nimitz remarked, “Uncommon Valor was a Common Virtue”.

For additional reading on the Battle of Chosin Reservoir, I recommend the article by Major Allan C. Bevilacqua, USMC, "Chosin 1950: When Hell Froze Over". 

Tonight, We Are Young

Years ago, while serving in uniform I had several “periods of instructions” from guys with lots of letters behind their names teaching us how to take in and record the situation—essentially they taught us how to make a memory. They explained how different senses store memories in different parts of the brain. The intent or purpose of the instruction was to help us capture data in the field and then be able to ‘download’ it when we returned to base. So many hours of close your eyes and tell me, “What do you smell?” “What do you feel?” What do you hear?” “What do you taste?” and finally, “What do you see?” We got to the point where we were always on sensory overload, but it worked. Today, people say, “Eddy remembers everything”. Or, “Eddy is great with dates.” (I assume they are referring to calendar dates, but I like to think I am (was) great with the ladies I took on dates.) Regardless, we need our senses. They are the inputs for our environment. Our senses are the pathways for interpreting the world.

(l-r) Author, Shavone, Billy Joe, DEC 84.

(l-r) John, Randy, Author. DEC 81.

Many things we experience through our senses can transport us to another time and place. The smell of bacon reminds me of all the mornings camping as a young boy with my family. Mom would usually fry bacon and scrambled eggs. That aroma puts me in my sleeping bag at any of a hundred campsites. The smell of homemade rolls reminds me of Thanksgiving at my maternal grandmother’s house—we always had to eat at 1100!  The sight of a green rose stops me in my tracks; the world gets fuzzy then I am back in the arms of an older woman; her soft, smooth, skin, contagious laughter, and the scent of perfume on her wrists and neck. Beautiful memories. Songs can have the same impact on us. Something as simple as a college fight song can pull you back to a time of watching your team take the field. Music is everywhere: in the background of commercials, in malls or shopping centers, passing cars, and soundtracks to movies.

Over the last several months I have heard the song “We Are Young” by the Indie Rock group Fun. featuring Janelle Monàe. Yes, there is a period after the band’s name. This is the song that was in the Super Bowl ad for the Chevy Sonic. The chorus is simply:

Tonight, we are young

So let’s set the world on fire

We can burn brighter than the sun.

Author. AUG 1978

The lyrics accompanied by the drum, piano, and guitar plus the tempo in which they are singing, grab me. Throw in Janelle’s bluesy, sultry voice and it makes you sing along. This song takes me to a time of just beginning my “adult” life. A time when I no longer had the constraints of a curfew. A time of feeling invincible. A time of great promise. A time with wonderful friends, who together can do anything, and we are going to do it tonight. A time filled with youthful exuberance when we would not let anything come between us and our goals. A time we felt invincible. A time we told lies and made memories.

I remember all the nights with Randy Meredith, all the places we went, the people we met; all the fun we had. We would buy a 1.75-liter bottle of Jack (back when it was 90-proof) and we would drink it all on Friday and Saturday nights. Nights we spent at Rodeo (Holiday Inn behind University Mall), closing it down and going to Waffle House (Double Double platter) before going back to his momma’s house. We would inevitably wake her because our rooms were directly above hers. Do you remember trying to drive from Ft. Pickens back to Gulf Breeze on the beach with Mimi and getting my F150 4x4 stuck? Do you remember the many nights with Robin the DJ at WXBM playing the songs from Byrd's (Maples) "Do Not Play" stack? I still cannot believe she opened the door at midnight to two guys she had only talked to on the phone.

I remember all the nights in Palm Springs, CA while stationed at 29 Palms MCAGCC, CA. On my first night in Las Vegas, walking from one Casino to the next. Oh yes, I remember Bambi. She had her own burlesque show and taught me the tease was more important than the strip. I remember the cold sleepless nights at Amphibious Reconnaissance School (think Ranger school on steroids and you spend the entire time wet). I just wanted to make it through until morning. Then I can eat some chow. Then hang on until lunch. When I finished the course, I was invincible.

I remember all the piano and jazz bars in Chicago. Such wonderful music, great drinks, and fun people. Never wanting the night to end. Her voice, her incredible voice. She was a transplant from The Big Easy to her new home in The Windy City. She was a “redbone” girl with a mixed heritage of Black, Native American, and French. She sang with an emotion in her voice that left no doubt she had experienced all she sang about.

I remember all the past girlfriends and why it did not work out for us. The possibility of what could have been. I remember kissing you for our last goodbye as the Sun rose over the Atlantic and walking alone on an empty beach as the last of the Sun’s rays filled the western sky, setting over the Pacific. I remember the feelings of falling in love; when I could not wait to hear her voice on the telephone. I remember the scent of her hair as she sat beside me in my truck. I remember seeing her for the first time and having to think to breathe. I remember riding horses beside the creek. I remember picnics and the sundress she wore, and the sandals she so easily kicked off.

Donna and Author. JUN 1982

I remember my first time at Walt Disney World and riding Space Mountain for the first time with Kim Watson. I remember my trip to Disneyland—I went alone because no other Marine wanted to go. I remember my nights at Hotel del Coronado. I remember the first time I “jumped” from an aircraft and the first time I met a Gold Star Wife.

Normally, my memories of yesteryear are triggered by hearing a song of the time around the accompanying memory. Songs like “Hot Blooded”—always think of Kerrie Shaw dancing with me, “Key Largo”—I wanted a love affair like "Bogie and Bacall", “Working on our 'Night Moves'” with so many beautiful girls, the songs of Kansas, Boston, and Lynyrd Skynyrd; the list is endless. However, this song—this contemporary song—turns the calendar back decades. I do not know if it does the same to you, but you know what I am referring to. The songs that evoke a tangible emotion connecting us with our past.

For me, this song evokes great memories. We all have those moments in our past. The times we spent with great friends. Times full of youthful indiscretions. Times when we had our entire lives ahead of us. Times when we did not worry about tomorrow; “now” was far more important. Times of throwing responsibility aside and living in the moment. The times we felt invincible. The times we just enjoyed telling lives and making memories

As we get older, the distance between the “now” and the times of the memories grows. It is sometimes hard to accept that we might never be able to capture the magic of those moments. This makes the memory sweeter. Please do not misunderstand. I am not suggesting at our age we should roll over and die—we have a lot of living left in us. A lot of memories left to make. But the times of our youth are behind us. We cannot go back. You do not need all the “periods of instruction” from the government teaching about memories. I am glad I received the training; it helps me at times when I want to recall my past. Some of my memories are only important to me and those I was with at the time. With songs like this, I simply close my eyes and relive some of my happiest and even saddest moments.

With my current health, I cannot do what I used to do. I realize each year my pain level increases and my mobility decreases. Yet, I want more memories. I want to live like there is no tomorrow. I want to be with my friends. I want to go out and do crazy things. I want to stay out all night. I want to feel invincible. I want to tell lies and make memories.  I want you to join me. I want to live as if Tonight, We Are Young.

"Oh yeah, life goes on, long after the thrill of living is gone." - John Cougar 

"Why Don't You Stand Up?"

Actual bus; Serial #1132.

On 01 DEC 1955, one young black woman in Montgomery, AL decided she had been a second-class citizen long enough. She had witnessed others of her “color” humiliated in ways that I—as a “Southern Born and Southern Bred” man—am ashamed to even acknowledge. She started a movement by keeping her seat. She lit a fire, by remaining cool. She politely refused to give up her seat on a bus to a white male passenger. Four days later, the Montgomery Bus Boycott began and lasted for 381 days. Today, her willingness and her courage to do what she felt was right for her people, and by extension this country, she is known as the “Mother of the Modern Day Civil Rights Movement”.

President Obama's picture observing 57th anniversary.

Saturday was the 57^th anniversary of her deciding to remain seated. So what did our president do to mark this anniversary? He released a picture of himself sitting alone on the same bus, and presumably the same seat Rosa Parks refused to give up. (NOTE: From what I remember she sat on the side with the doors, not the driver's side. From the photo, he is on the driver's side.)

I do not agree with the way this man is inserting himself into history. Just read the following statements and ask "What does Barack H. Obama have in common with USA Blacks?.

• He was not part of the Civil Rights movement.
• He is not a descendant of slaves, like most Blacks.
• He never sat at a segregated lunch counter, nor did any of his ancestors.
• His father was from Kenya that studied at Harvard then returned to Kenya.
• His mother was white.
• He grew up in Hawaii and Indonesia.
• He attended private schools, then went on to Occidental, Columbia, and finally Harvard Law School.

In Dreams from My Father, he wrote he was waiting on his mother in the lobby of the American embassy in Indonesia and picked up a copy of Life magazine. While perusing the magazine, he states he found an article about a black man in America who underwent chemical treatments to lighten his skin. He states the article included a picture of the man who looked sick, like “a radiation victim or an albino.” Obama writes, he reacted in horror “I felt my face and neck get hot. My stomach knotted; the type began to blur on the page….I had the desperate urge to jump out of my seat…to demand some explanations or assurance.” He could not believe that life was so bad for this black man, that he wanted to undergo horrendous treatments in an attempt to appear less black and more white.

Many magazines and newspapers reported the story then a search was conducted for the original article. Guess what? There never was any article published by Life magazine. Obama was then questioned, hoping to spur his memory. He thought it might have been in Ebony magazine. Not the case. An exhaustive search for any publication carrying the article turned up nothing except a book written in the early 1960s by a white man who took skin treatments to darken his skin, so he could try to experience what black men endured living in the South. Dinesh D’Souza in his book The Roots of Obama’s Rage,[i] posits Obama got the idea from reading Frantz Fanon’s book Black Skin, White Masks. Obama admits to reading this book in Dreams From My Father. The book recounts how some laboratories are searching for a “denegrification” serum that could lighten the African skin color so they could live as peers to the French that controlled Algeria. What was Obama’s motivation for not only distorting the facts—assuming he was recalling reading the book—but making up the facts? I believe he did so to gain an emotional connection to USA Blacks.

While campaigning in Selma, AL in March 2007, he made a statement “Don’t tell me I’m not coming home to Selma, Alabama.” The crowd sat silently. He had to make the connection. “Something happened back here in Birmingham that sent out what Bobby Kennedy called ripples of hope all around the world. Something happened when a bunch of women decided they were going to walk instead of ride the bus after a long day of doing someone else’s laundry, looking after someone else’s children. When men who had Ph.D.s decided that’s enough and we’re going to stand up for our dignity. That sent a shout across oceans so that my grandfather began to imagine something different for his son.” Obama asserted that because of these actions, President John F. Kennedy and his family started an airlift mission to travel to Africa and bring back young Africans and give them scholarships to study. Obama stated his father got one of those tickets, and because he came to the USA to study at Harvard, he met his wife and then had Barak H. Obama, Jr. The problem with this is, it is not true. Yes, there were airlifts from Kenya to the US, but they were funded by philanthropists and had nothing to do with the Kennedys. Obama, Sr, did not get one of those tickets. Furthermore, his father came to the US in 1959. The Selma March did not happen until 1965. Obama, Jr. was born in 1961. Perhaps all the discussion on where he was born impacted his memory on when he was born. Regardless, this was another misrepresentation of the facts, but this one was a material misrepresentation. What my mom, would call a lie.

I think the President has created this “biography” to make him acceptable to “true” American Blacks. In a previous blog I wrote of the hypocrisy of claiming whites voting for Romney is racist, while Blacks voting for Obama is not. People actually smirked when Colin Powell was asked why he was voting for President Obama. The insinuation is that he endorsed and voted for him because of his skin color. If so, that is fine. But other than skin color, Barack Obama has nothing in common with the true American Blacks. He has no Civil Rights credentials and he certainly does not share the same lineage of the people he so desperately wants to identify.

Had Colin Powell, Condi Rice, Oprah Winfrey, or other notable Blacks who either lived with prejudiced bigots, forced to use separate building entrances, ate at segregated lunch counters, or were forced to give up their seats on a bus, released this picture, I would wholeheartedly accept and applaud it. They represent the results of Parks' and others' efforts six decades earlier. They were a part of our country's darkest moments, yet rose above it. President Obama's picture does not give Rosa Parks the recognition she deserves.

On that day 57 years ago, the “custom” allowed blacks to ride the bus, but only in black-only sections that were dependent on the number of whites riding. The blacks were forced to give up their seats, either to move to the rear, get off entirely, or stand up. On this day, there were more whites than normal, so the bus driver approached her and three others. He told them they must give up their seats for the “whites”. All four got up. Three moved to the rear and she moved from the aisle seat to the window seat, and there she remained. The bus driver threatened to call the police if she did not comply and asked for the last time if she was going to stand up. She replied, “Why don’t you stand up?” I like to think she was asking the bus driver to not physically stand up but to do so metaphorically—for him to take a stand, to ‘stand up’ for what is right and just. I don’t know. But, her question rings just as true today as on that late Thursday back in December 1955. Why don’t we stand up for what is right? Mr. President, the same question goes to you as well. “Why don’t you stand up?” Put aside your narcissistic view of yourself, your desire to create a socialistic society, and your constant efforts to pit the “have-nots” against the “haves”. Instead, represent all of America, and what is best for the entirety of the whole. If not, If he continues, I feel this picture when viewed by those in the future could be captioned, "President Obama riding with all the people he helped."

"I would like to be remembered as a person who wanted to be free…so other people would be also free." Rosa Parks.

 "Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction….Man is not free unless government is limited."  Ronald Reagan.

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[i] Dinesh D’Souza, The Roots of Obama’s Rage (Washington D.C., Regnery, 2010) p.24. Nook epub.