csua.org/u/l5p -> hughhewitt.townhall.com/talkradio/transcripts/Transcript.aspx?ContentGuid=23d13477-3c5a-4cb1-b5e0-e6caef00e848
Do you think looking back, it was a wise idea for Barack Obama to record this book? MS: Well, let me say first of all, about the book, I'm not a big audio book man, so when I read the book, I read it in old fashioned print form. And the reason I think it's better than so many political autobiographies is because it feels like a novel. In a sense, you get the feeling that he created a character for this book. It's not the usual political memoir in which the guy retells a dull story of how he got the airport parking lot extension bill passed. It's actually, it actually feels as if Barack Obama is an invented character. And that's one reason why the book works, but it also gets to the heart of some of the problems he's had in the last few weeks. HH: As a way of talking about that, I'm going to play some of the clips, some my audience has heard before, some new ones today. Cut number one, Barack talking about Malcolm X and what it meant to him. It's audio number three: BO: Only Malcolm X's autobiography seemed to offer something different. 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 of will. All the other stuff, the talk of blue-eyed devils and apocalypse, was incidental to that program, I decided. Religious baggage that Malcolm himself seemed to have safely abandoned toward the end of his life. And yet, even as I imagine myself following Malcolm's call, one line in the book stayed with me. He spoke of a wish he'd once had, the wish that the white blood that ran through him, there by an act of violence, might somehow be expunged. I knew that for Malcolm, that wish would never be incidental. I knew as well that traveling down the road to self-respect, my own white blood would never recede into mere abstraction. I was left to wonder what else I would be severing, if and when I left my mother and my grandparents at some uncharted border. HH: Mark Steyn, clearly a first for presidential memoirs, if he becomes president. MS: Yes, I think so, and I think as we were saying earlier, the key word there, what he identifies with in Malcolm X, is self-creation. And I think it's, in a sense, there's a tragedy about Barack Obama, because he didn't have to be a guy who mired himself in all the grim pathologies of the racial grievance industry. I thought when he first appeared on the national stage, that he was a character more like Colin Powell. Colin Powell and Barack Obama are both the children of British subjects. In Colin Powell's case from the West Indies, in Obama's case, from Kenya. And the advantage of that is that they're not part, they're not part of what we call now the African-American experience. They're not part of the Jesse Jackson-Al Sharpton narrative. So there's something very bizarre about Obama in effect artificially trying to find ways of identifying with that particular, I would regard, that particular self-defeating narrative. HH: That's almost the perfect analytical tool, as will become obvious in the next two clips. Cut number four: BO: I spent the last two years of high school in a daze, blocking away the questions that life seemed insistent on posing. I kept playing basketball, attended classes sparingly, drank beer heavily, and tried drugs enthusiastically. I discovered that it didn't make any difference whether you smoked reefer in the white classmate's sparkling new van, or in the dorm room with some brother you'd met down at the gym, or on the beach with a couple of Hawaiian kids who had dropped out of school, and now spent most of their time looking for an excuse to brawl. Nobody asked you whether your father was a fat cat executive who cheated on his wife, or some laid-off Joe who slapped you around whenever he bothered to come home. And if the high didn't solve whatever it was that was getting you down, it could at least help you laugh at the world's ongoing folly, and see through all the hypocrisy and bullshit and cheap moralism. He's in college at Occidental: BO: To avoid being mistaken for such 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. At night in the dorms, we discussed neocolonialism, Frantz Fanon, Euro-centrism, and patriarchy. When we ground out our cigarettes in the hallway carpet, or set our stereos so loud that the walls began to shake, we were resisting Bourgeois society's stifling constraints. Cut number eight: BO: Freshman year, when I was still living in the dorms, there'd be the same sort of bull sessions that I'd had with Ray and other blacks back in Hawaii - the same grumblings, the same list of complaints. Otherwise, our worries seemed indistinguishable from those of the white kids around us: surviving classes, finding a well-paying gig after graduation, trying to get laid. HH: Mark Steyn, it's all sort of, piece by piece, he's putting himself together. MS: Yes, and the interesting thing about it is, which strikes you when you see Obama live, there's a reserve about him, and a remoteness about him when you see him on stage at one of these rallies, as if he is, in some sense, unknowable. And I think that's true when you listen to this book, too, that he's talking about neocolonialism and patriarchy and Euro-centrism. And there's a kind of air of amused detachment about it. But it's never clear, and never swims into focus what it is he really believes. If you listen to Michelle Obama, and she was using words like Euro-centrism and patriarch and neocolonialism, you would feel for sure that she meant that for real, and meant it seriously. With Obama, again, there seems to be something empty deep down inside him. Cut number 13: BO: In 1983, I decided to become a community organizer. When classmates in college asked me just what it was that a community organizer did, I couldn't answer them directly. And my friends, black and white, would heartily commend me for my ideals before heading toward the post office to mail in their graduate school applications. HH: But before he became a community organizer, he had to go to work for a little bit. Cut number 14: BO: Eventually, a consulting house to a multinational corporation agreed to hire me as a research assistant. Like a spy behind enemy lines, I arrived every day at my mid-Manhattan office, and sat at my computer terminal, checking the Reuters machine that blinked bright emerald messages from across the globe. As far as I could tell, I was the only black man in the company, a source of shame for me, but a source of considerable pride for the company's secretarial pool. HH: Mark Steyn, throughout the memoir, there is a hostility, sometimes not concealed at all, to basic capitalism, and a sort of profound economic ignorance. And we heard that today in a speech he made on the economy. MS: No, and when he says he's a spy behind enemy lines at this company he was working for in midtown Manhattan, this is ridiculous. This is a fellow who's had a privileged upbringing, been to some of the best educational institutions on the planet. What smells phony is his decision to become a "community organizer". As he says, he can't explain to any of his college pals what it actually is. I mean, it has a sort of Marxist air, as if you're in a sense corralling the proletariat into, and honing them into a tool to overthrow capitalist oppression. But other than that, nobody can tell me what it is that a community organizer is. This is Barack at his father's gravesite, weeping and reflecting on his life. Cut number 24: BO: For a long time, I sat between the two graves and wept. When my tears were finally spent, I felt a calmness wash over me. I realized that who I was, what I cared about, was no longer just a matter of intellect or obligation, no longer a construct of words. I saw that my life in America, the black life, the white life, the sense of abandonment I'd felt as a boy, the frustration and hope I had witnessed in Chicago, all of it was connected with this small plot of Earth an ocean away, connect...
|