Until I read this speech, I felt that my anger was unhealthy and un-American.  Sometimes, I really, well, sometimes I really hate America.  I'm sorry.  I'm being honest here.  Sometimes, I really just do.  I'm angry sometimes.  I'm angry I can't get married.  I'm angry that, in most of America, I can get fired for being gay.  I'm angry that I am treated, openly treated, as a second class citizen.  I'm angry that I am expected to understand that people are uncomfortable with open displays of affection between two men (or women).  I'm angry that I am expected to understand that I am less deserving of equal treatment under the law.

I have been told many times that my anti-Bush, anti-Republican rhetoric borders on the extreme.  Even my closest friends have confessed this to me.  I have wondered if I am the only person that ever feels this anger, this disgust at seeing America referred to as the land of the free and equal opportunity and justice is blind and all men are created equal and blah blah blah.  

Really.  That's bullshit.  That is total bullshit.

I learned that when my so-called Christian church friends called me "queer" and "faggot" and ostracized me with the tacit approval of the Christian adults at my church.  I learned that in July 2003 when a couple of my grad school friends got drunk at a bar to celebrate the Supreme Court ruling that two gay men could finally fuck without fear of being arrested.

All this time, I thought I was irrational for being angry.  And then the Rev. Jeremiah Wright appeared on my television screen and said, "God Damn America!"  At first, I didn't get it.  Honestly, my first thought was that Obama's negatives would go through roof, handing Hillary a huge victory in Pennsylvania.  Then, I read Obama's speech (thanks to China's blocking YouTube, I could only watch the first half).

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.

A part of me can't believe it.  Somebody else feels just as screwed over and angry and bitter as I do and we're not all crazy.  Ninety-nine percent of the time, I love my country and I proud to be an American, but every now and then, I just want to say, "God Damn America!"

I realize that most of the people reading this were profoundly disturbed by the clips of Rev. Jeremiah Wright and cannot imagine that he could ever be the spiritual mentor of a man who wants to end racial division and bring America together.  Just know that a person cannot carry that kind of anger around 24-7.  If I were always so bitter about how I have been treated by my church, by my country, I simply would not be able to function as a human being.  One thing that targets of prejudice must learn to do is adapt.  If we want to maintain our sanity, if we want to function and live a normal life, we have to play the hand that we are dealt.  But that doesn't mean that we have to accept, forgive, and forget.  When Barack Obama says that the clips of Rev. Wright's sermons playing on TV are not representative of the man and the church, I understand.  Sometimes, the bullshit is just too much to take and you have to let it out.

In this speech, even as he connects with the anger of the black community, he connects with the white community, as well.

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.

Senator Obama finally showed me that he really can be a uniter.  He goes on in his speech to talk about how to heal racial divides and bring white people and black people (and other minorities) together.  He talks a great deal about what we have in common and working together.  For the first time in more than 13 months, I see that passion and potential in Barack Obama.  I also see that he really understands people like me.  For so long, his talk about a new governing majority worried me, as I felt that those at the margins, people like myself, might be left behind.  Now, I realize that he really does understand all of us and is sincere in his beliefs.

Now all of this said, I want to emphasize that I am still a Clinton partisan.  I still wholeheartedly believe in Hillary Clinton and her candidacy.  I believe that she has a viable and realistic path to the nomination.  I believe that she would be the best nominee and would make an amazing president.  My admiration for Hillary Clinton goes back more than a decade and I personally identify with her struggle to become a respected, intelligent leader in her own right.

If anything, Senator Obama showed that he is a shrewd politician in the way that he has dealt with this.  He managed to mention Geraldine Ferraro twice in this speech and he has been very creative in explaining when he became aware of Rev. Wright's controversial comments.  His refusal to endorse a new primary in Michigan has only reinforced this perception.  But what Senator Obama did for me today was to motivate me to support him should he be the Democratic Party's nominee in November.  I swore a long time ago that I would support whoever won the nomination battle, but until now, I was tepid in my commitment to helping Barack Obama.  No more.  

I haven't drank the entire glass, but I've sipped the Kool-Aid, and I have to admit, it doesn't taste so bad.