Coach Dave Daubenmire
July 18, 2008
“Obama ain’t black.”
I turned to look over my shoulder to see who had uttered that ridiculous statement.
“Pardon Me?” I squinted at the dark-skinned man who had just interjected himself into my over-coffee conversation with my buddy, Kevin.
“Obama ain’t black.” He said again more matter-of-factly as he walked around the porcelain dividing wall and stood at our table where he could be more active in our conversation.
“My name’s Andree,” he said as he extended his hand. “I couldn’t help but hear what you boys had been discussin’ and I don’t mean to stick my nose in where it don’t belong, but I couldn’t leave without settin’ you straight. Obama ain’t black.”
I looked at Kevin as he shifted nervously in his seat, not sure how to take this visitor to our table.
“Well, have a seat Andree,” somewhat trying to judge the book by its cover. “I’m Dave, but most folks call me Coach, and this is Kevin.” Kevin extended his hand politely.
“Oh, I know who you are. I‘m always seein’ you in the news and I listen to your radio show, that’s why I decided I needed to say something. Do you mind if I have a seat?”
“Absolutely…sit down.” He had my attention as I tried to figure out where this conversation was headed.
“I don’t have a whole lot of time, so let me say my piece and then I gotta get off to work.” He was dressed neatly in his brown package-delivery service attire.
"I want you to know that not all black folk are the dummies the media makes us out to be. Lots of us think for ourselves. You have a voice, Coach, but more importantly, you have courage. You are not afraid to say what needs to be said. I know that about you. I don’t really know you…but I know that about you. The kind of courage you have is rare these days."
“Thanks, Andree,” I said as I looked into his deep, thoughtful eyes. “Feel free to say what is on your mind, brother….” (Bells and sirens starting going off in my head.) I had just called this strange black man “brother” – and not because he was black but because I’ve developed a habit of calling fellow Christians “brother.”
“Please forgive me, Andree,” I hurriedly interjected an apology for my insensitive remark. “I didn’t mean anything by it…sorry if I offended you.” He leaned forward slowly and looked directly in my eyes. “See, that’s why I sat down here, brother; and we are brothers. They’ve got even honest folks like you afraid to speak the truth. Talk to me like I’m white, and I’ll talk to you like you were black, OK? Let me fill you in on what is really going on.”
“Obama ain’t black -- only his skin is. He is what I like to call a BOSCO…Black On Skin Color Only. They are doing all they can to try and convince everyone that he is black but Obama is white.”
I was not sure how to react. I was only thinking what would be said about me if I were to say this on my radio show or write about it in my weekly column. But I wasn’t about to do that. I’m aware of the double standard that exists. Only whites can be racists, blacks can’t. To say what Andree had just said has ruined many a career. A white guy would have to be a fool to raise questions regarding Obama’s blackness in today’s PC culture.
“Come on now, Coach,” he continued. “I know you are a man who is not afraid of the truth, so let me pass you a little pepper to mix with that salt of yours. The only thing black about Obama is his daddy. Other than that, he is a white boy. His mama was a white woman from Kansas, he was born in Hawaii, his daddy wasn’t even an American, he moved to Indonesia at the age of six, moved back to Hawaii at the age of ten where he lived with his white grandparents who enrolled him in an uppity prep school. He went to college at leftist Columbia, and eventually Harvard law school. How many boys from the hood can claim those accomplishments? There ain’t one thing black about his life-experience. Obama is a BOSCO. If he had a white face he would just be another Dennis Kucinich.”
“Jesse Jackson is black. Al Sharpton is black. Minister Farrakhan is black. But Obama…sorry, Coach, Obama ain’t black. You see, those in the black community will tell you that you are black by the way you behave, not by the color of your skin. It is a cultural thing, as the rappers love to say.”
“Clarence Thomas was never accepted by the black community. Neither was J. C. Watts, or Kenneth Blackwell, or Michael Steele. In fact, Bill Cosby was on of the most admired blacks in America until he started talking like he was white…expecting black daddies to raise their babies. Remember, being black is a cultural thing. Bill Clinton was black and so was Hillary, at least until she ran into Obama. He made her look like a pale-face. Why, just last week Rev. Jackson accused Obama of ‘talking down to blacks.’ How does a black talk down to blacks?”
“I get all of that, Andree, but why is Obama so popular with limousine-liberal, white politicians?” I asked.
“Come on, Coach, I thought you were sharper than that. Obama is popular because he is a BOSCO. He has a black face, which makes all of those on the black-plantation vote for him out of hope, but he talks and thinks like a white guy. Jesse couldn’t pull that off. Sharpton could never appeal to white folks, but Obama can pull it off because he doesn’t act black, he just looks black. He is less scary to white middle class America. He thinks and speaks like them. Most whites will vote for a black face, but they will never vote for the black culture. Obama holds the black vote and snookers the white vote.”
Look what happened when it was discovered that Barry O. may have thought like a black guy. You remember Rev. Wright and his black liberation theology? Well, for twenty years Obama was buddies with the Reverend so that he could convince the black community that he wasn’t just another J. C. Watts, but when the truth about the way his pastor really thought came out, Rev. Wright was booted off of the bus. Why? Rev. Wright scared white folks. He reminded folks of Jackson, Sharpton, and Farrakhan. But not Obama. Remember, Obama was raised white.”
“Connect the dots for me, Andree.” How I wished others could hear this average black man’s perspective. “Why has he risen so fast? No one had even heard of him five years ago.”
“Coachie,” he giggled. “I thought you were smarter than you are showing, being a talk-show host and all. The Democrats aren’t interested in Obama’s skin color. They are interested in his politics. Obama is a socialist...which is what they like. But it is deeper than that. They used to call Clinton the “Teflon President” because nothing stuck to him. Well, Obama is the “radioactive” candidate. You don’t dare touch him or it will be death to your career.”
“If you mention his religion, you are a racist. If you question his experience you are a racist. When you point out his leftist record you are accused of racism. If you are against anything he stands for then it has to be because you are another one of those hateful, racist bigots. He’s untouchable. Barry is a white socialist liberal with a black man’s face. Come on, Coach, do you think his meteoric rise had anything to do with his skin color? He is the perfect candidate to sell socialism to America.”
“I ain’t gonna say he is a Muslim like some others, but he sure isn’t a real Christian. I am a Christian and that is why I sat down to talk to you. Somebody has to tell the truth, Coach, somebody with some courage. Obama is a big-government socialist dressed up in a Willy Wonka suit. He will destroy what is left of America.”
“I love this country. I fought in Iraq for her….saw lots of men die. And I’ll tell you this; they didn’t die so that a woman could kill her baby or so that a man could marry a man. And I quaran-dam-tee you they didn’t fight and die to see this country handed over to the communists.”
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“Barack Obama is not black, Coach. He is a white big-government liberal with a chocolate veneer. If he gets elected we’ll all be slaves. Please tell folks, Coach. Somebody has to do something. I know you are not afraid to speak the truth. Lots of folks are counting on you.”
He got up, shook my hand and walked out to his brown truck.
“Hmm.” Kevin grunted at me. “I hope you’re not thinking of taking that one on?”
“Not me,” I winked. “I could never get away with saying those things.”
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