Here are some suggestions of mine (with some input from my dad especially with Immigration) on how to solve a couple of America's biggest problems:
Social Security
This program created by one of our most progressive presidents, FDR, is likely to be the biggest wormhole for our economy. What I think the U. S. should do to solve Social Security is this. First, go to a plan, similar to the one proposed by George W. Bush, were Social Security starts being payed into your own personal government account. This would last for about ten years and part of the social security would still go to the elderly so as not to completely cut them off immediately. Second, all money taken out of Social Security would go to your own government account for you. This would go on for another ten years. Third, less and less money would be taken out of income for Social Security and people would be encouraged (not required or forced) to put money into their own private retirement fund. This process would last for about five years. Last of all, the whole Social Security program will be taken away and people will have to save for their own retirement. In the end people might not save for retirement, but that is their choice, to work the rest of their lives. Although it would take years, my idea would get rid of Social Security in a gradual way, rather than completely dropping it altogether.
Immigration
My plan for immigration would be as follows. First of all, make the process of obtaining citizenship easier. Make the cost of citizenship minimal and give no excuse for illegals to say it's too hard to come legally. On the other hand, tighten border security to maximum capacity. Allow law enforcement to use force to stop illegals from crossing the border. It sounds almost inhuman, but after a few examples, illegals will be more willing to come legally. Last of all, increase the penalty for hiring an illegal immigrant to a detrimental height, such as 20,000 per illegal immigrant. Without a job what would illegals want to come to the U. S. illegally for?
Well these are just some of my opinions on how to deal with immigration and Social Security. And as always things sound so good on paper, but a lot of times never really work well.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
English Creative Writing Story
Here is a story I wrote for English. My teacher had us use a story to fulfil the researce benchmark for our state. Hopefully you'll enjoy:
The story of the human race is war (Churchill, 102). And now the story of my life had become war, war, and more war. Every single day since January 6th 1942 had been hell, pure hell on earth. Today was no exception.
Driving through the jungles of Okinawa in my Sherman tank was like driving a tin can through an oven. Battles were even worse because of the heat coming from my tank’s 75 mm gun as it fired off rounds at Japanese bunkers (Hickman). Today we were trying to destroy a ring of bunkers, but to get into firing range we had to cross an open area that had been clear-cut by artillery. I could hardly hear my commander over the noise of battle, so I relied heavily on his feet taping my shoulders for direction. Tap left, two taps—stop, three taps—go, tap right and the tank continued on at 24 miles per hour with machine guns blaring all the way (Hickman). Bang, one shell into the hillside…a minute later another. All were sounds I had heard before. Screams of horror and pain rang out all over the place, but no one cared. Along with the ping of bullets ringing in my head, I had become numb when it came to that horrible sound of human screaming.
My commander tapped my shoulder to stop, so I obeyed. My fellow tank crew members began to unload shells and machine gun bullets at one of the Jap bunkers. When we typically stopped all I did was wait until I felt the tap of the commander’s foot and then I would drive on. Waiting there with nothing to do was torture. Deaf as I was from the canons, I could still hear screams of men dying all around my tank.
Oftentimes I would think back on my life before I was sent to this hell they call war. Now, as I sat in the driver’s seat of my Sherman I recalled the life I had before this one. I could remember the summer days in Idaho picking potatoes and sugar beets. At the time I had hated those days, but now I looked back on them with fondness. There was no shooting, dying, or screaming. There were only those potatoes and beets. Potatoes and beets, boy, did that sound good. Of course while in high school I wouldn’t have wanted to ever see another potato again, but here in the jungle canned food was the only thing to be had. A nice hot potato, it was almost too much to bear, sitting here in this hellish place.
Three taps. I awoke from my dream and faced reality, as I pushed the Sherman closer to the enemy entrenchments. Now it would really get ugly. Our tanks and men were now within one thousand yards of the bunkers.
We had been firing at one particular bunker for the past half hour and it appeared invincible. The fire coming out of that Japanese stronghold was mind blowing. I swiveled my periscope over just as the tank on our left flank was covered with dirt and smoke from a near miss. The explosion caused a tower of debris to shoot up above the tank, perhaps seventy-five feet in the air (Dick, 149). I didn’t receive the order, but I immediately backed up as I saw the closeness of the shells.
Not three minutes had passed before I saw a Japanese shell land right in the place where I had just parked the tank. We could have been dead men. I was not going to be in trouble with the commander for driving without his orders, rather he would most likely thank me for moving. I had just saved the lives of myself and my fellow crew-members. It was time to head back to a safer area for some rest.
In my tent back at camp, after I had eaten a can of beans from my K-rations, I wrote one of my usual daily letters to my younger brother:
Dear Robert,
Today, was hot. Real hot. Regarding your question as to whether you should join the army when you graduate, I will now answer.
First I want you know that this is no bed of Roses. The signs you see may sound and read good but they are nothing like the army. The minute you sign your name to that piece of paper you are no longer your own boss. Anytime someone of a higher rank tells you to do something you have got to do it no matter how it hurts you. So gets on your nerve and sometimes you get so mad that you could knock them all down and give up and quit but you know it won’t do you any good because they can court martial you and if they want then can send you to prison for the rest of your life (A. Sorenson). If at all possible don’t join the military. It controls your life and if you saw half the stuff I see here you would understand.
Anyway, I hope life at home is going well. I wish I could be there just for one meal to taste mothers baked chicken, but I’m here on this mass grave they call an island instead. Write soon.
Your Brother,
Raymond
After finishing my letter I went into my usual restless sleep just waiting to hear the sound of a Japanese night attack. Luckily the night it never came and I made it through to fight another day.
Today our mission was different. Convoy duty. My tank was to be the lead tank of a convoy of fifteen supply trucks. This was stressful driving. As the lead escort, orders were to never stop until reaching the destination. Twenty miles through a mountain pass just to take some Marines a few letters and some smokes? It didn’t make sense to me, but then again I wasn’t the smartest man. Heck, I joined this army voluntarily. How smart was that?
As I drove along the mountain rode I looked for any sign of a Japanese ambush. Then I saw it. There was a large wooden spool blocking the road. I had two options run it over and go on or stop and have some men move it. Since orders were to stop for nothing I figured I’d run it over and continue leading the convoy.
As I drove the tank closer to the spool I began to feel a little nervous. Was this a Japanese trap? I guess I would find out.
About three feet away from the spool I heard an explosion right underneath the tracks of my tank. It was an ambush! The Sherman immediately halted as its tracks were disabled. Then came the unnerving scream of Japanese soldiers, most likely drunk with false courage. This would end up being a fight for survival.
As we couldn’t go on because the tank wouldn’t move, the commander ordered us out to fight before a Japanese soldier had the opportunity to open the hatch and toss down a grenade. I grabbed my .45 ACP M3 submachine gun and took of out the hatch (Military Factory). This type of fighting was the most unnerving. The first thing I saw when I jumped out of the tank was about fifteen Japanese soldiers attacking my tank crew. The commander was in hand to hand combat with one of the soldiers and he ended up winning by stabbing him in the chest with his knife. I lifted the submachine gun and began firing at a rate of 350 rounds per minute at the remaining Japanese soldiers (Military Factory). One went down, shot through the heart, another wounded in the leg.
The gunner caught a Japanese bayonet to the right of me and without hesitation I shot his attacker. Killing was no big deal when it meant survival. I no longer thought of the Japanese as humans, but mere animals. It made killing them a little easier to do. Deaths were happening so often now that it was impossible to muster much emotion (Hughes, 3).
I continued fighting. The Japanese wouldn’t surrender. Death was all over the place. I turned and shot another Japanese soldier as he ran at me with a knife. Did they ever stop coming? I spun around and noticed a Jap climbing the tank. He began opening the hatch and in his hand I noticed a grenade. If he got into the tank to its 400 hp Continental R 975-C1 engine and blew it up, that would be the end of the Sherman and there would be no way out of the mountains but to walk fifteen miles through enemy held jungle (Hickman). I needed that tank. Tracks could be put back on, but repair a blown up engine? It wouldn’t happen. I needed to stop that Jap. I fired a shot hitting him in the shoulder. He winced in pain, but continued to raise the hatch. I jumped up onto the turret and went after him pulling out my knife. He was inside already and as I jumped down into the Sherman I felt the scream of a bullet fly past my ear. This was battle.
The Jap swung at me with a fist, but I quickly dodged the blow. Then it was my turn. I punched him right in the stomach. He bent over in pain. It was just enough time to kill him with my knife.
As he died he pulled the pin of the grenade in his hand. I quickly grabbed it and through it out the hatch, but it was almost too late. It blew up five feet in the air knocking me unconscious.
I awoke in a medical tent with a strange feeling in my head. I was alive with only a large chunk of flesh missing from my arm. I could feel the wound under its bandages. I looked around the tent and noticed a few other people were there. My commander lay in the cot next to me and I noticed he had lost an arm. He was headed home. We had survived.
Today, I was lucky to get away with what I did, only a large hole in my arm. Others were not so lucky. I had made it and I hoped I could just hold on in this hellish war until I was shipped home to Idaho for a nice home cooked meal.
Churchill, Winston, and James C. Humes. The Wit & Wisdom of Winston Churchill: a Treasury of More than 1,000 Quotations and Anecdotes. New York: HarperCollins, 1994. Print.
Dick, Robert C. Cutthroats: the Adventures of a Sherman Tank Driver in the Pacific. New York: Presidio / Ballentine, 2006. Print.
Hickman, Kennedy. "M4 Sherman - World War II M4 Sherman Tank." Military History - Warfare through the Ages - Battles and Conflicts - Weapons of War - Military Leaders in History. Web. 10 Nov. 2010. <http://militaryhistory.about.com/od/vehiclesarmor/p/M4Sherman.htm>.
Hughes, Dean. Since You Went Away. Salt Lake City, UT: Deseret Book, 2005. Print.
Sorenson, Alfred. Personal Letter. 28 November 1942
Writer, Staff. "M3A1 (Grease Gun) - Submachine Gun - History, Specs and Pictures - Military, Security, Civilian, Law Enforcement and Sporting Small Arms, Weapons and Equipment." Military Factory - Military Weapons: Cataloging Aircraft, Tanks, Vehicles, Artillery, Ships and Guns through History. Web. 10 Nov. 2010. <http://militaryfactory.com/smallarms/detail.asp?smallarms_id=65> .
From Potato Field to Battle Field
The story of the human race is war (Churchill, 102). And now the story of my life had become war, war, and more war. Every single day since January 6th 1942 had been hell, pure hell on earth. Today was no exception.
Driving through the jungles of Okinawa in my Sherman tank was like driving a tin can through an oven. Battles were even worse because of the heat coming from my tank’s 75 mm gun as it fired off rounds at Japanese bunkers (Hickman). Today we were trying to destroy a ring of bunkers, but to get into firing range we had to cross an open area that had been clear-cut by artillery. I could hardly hear my commander over the noise of battle, so I relied heavily on his feet taping my shoulders for direction. Tap left, two taps—stop, three taps—go, tap right and the tank continued on at 24 miles per hour with machine guns blaring all the way (Hickman). Bang, one shell into the hillside…a minute later another. All were sounds I had heard before. Screams of horror and pain rang out all over the place, but no one cared. Along with the ping of bullets ringing in my head, I had become numb when it came to that horrible sound of human screaming.
Oftentimes I would think back on my life before I was sent to this hell they call war. Now, as I sat in the driver’s seat of my Sherman I recalled the life I had before this one. I could remember the summer days in Idaho picking potatoes and sugar beets. At the time I had hated those days, but now I looked back on them with fondness. There was no shooting, dying, or screaming. There were only those potatoes and beets. Potatoes and beets, boy, did that sound good. Of course while in high school I wouldn’t have wanted to ever see another potato again, but here in the jungle canned food was the only thing to be had. A nice hot potato, it was almost too much to bear, sitting here in this hellish place.
Three taps. I awoke from my dream and faced reality, as I pushed the Sherman closer to the enemy entrenchments. Now it would really get ugly. Our tanks and men were now within one thousand yards of the bunkers.
We had been firing at one particular bunker for the past half hour and it appeared invincible. The fire coming out of that Japanese stronghold was mind blowing. I swiveled my periscope over just as the tank on our left flank was covered with dirt and smoke from a near miss. The explosion caused a tower of debris to shoot up above the tank, perhaps seventy-five feet in the air (Dick, 149). I didn’t receive the order, but I immediately backed up as I saw the closeness of the shells.
Not three minutes had passed before I saw a Japanese shell land right in the place where I had just parked the tank. We could have been dead men. I was not going to be in trouble with the commander for driving without his orders, rather he would most likely thank me for moving. I had just saved the lives of myself and my fellow crew-members. It was time to head back to a safer area for some rest.
In my tent back at camp, after I had eaten a can of beans from my K-rations, I wrote one of my usual daily letters to my younger brother:
Dear Robert,
Today, was hot. Real hot. Regarding your question as to whether you should join the army when you graduate, I will now answer.
First I want you know that this is no bed of Roses. The signs you see may sound and read good but they are nothing like the army. The minute you sign your name to that piece of paper you are no longer your own boss. Anytime someone of a higher rank tells you to do something you have got to do it no matter how it hurts you. So gets on your nerve and sometimes you get so mad that you could knock them all down and give up and quit but you know it won’t do you any good because they can court martial you and if they want then can send you to prison for the rest of your life (A. Sorenson). If at all possible don’t join the military. It controls your life and if you saw half the stuff I see here you would understand.
Anyway, I hope life at home is going well. I wish I could be there just for one meal to taste mothers baked chicken, but I’m here on this mass grave they call an island instead. Write soon.
Your Brother,
Raymond
After finishing my letter I went into my usual restless sleep just waiting to hear the sound of a Japanese night attack. Luckily the night it never came and I made it through to fight another day.
Today our mission was different. Convoy duty. My tank was to be the lead tank of a convoy of fifteen supply trucks. This was stressful driving. As the lead escort, orders were to never stop until reaching the destination. Twenty miles through a mountain pass just to take some Marines a few letters and some smokes? It didn’t make sense to me, but then again I wasn’t the smartest man. Heck, I joined this army voluntarily. How smart was that?As I drove along the mountain rode I looked for any sign of a Japanese ambush. Then I saw it. There was a large wooden spool blocking the road. I had two options run it over and go on or stop and have some men move it. Since orders were to stop for nothing I figured I’d run it over and continue leading the convoy.
As I drove the tank closer to the spool I began to feel a little nervous. Was this a Japanese trap? I guess I would find out.
As we couldn’t go on because the tank wouldn’t move, the commander ordered us out to fight before a Japanese soldier had the opportunity to open the hatch and toss down a grenade. I grabbed my .45 ACP M3 submachine gun and took of out the hatch (Military Factory). This type of fighting was the most unnerving. The first thing I saw when I jumped out of the tank was about fifteen Japanese soldiers attacking my tank crew. The commander was in hand to hand combat with one of the soldiers and he ended up winning by stabbing him in the chest with his knife. I lifted the submachine gun and began firing at a rate of 350 rounds per minute at the remaining Japanese soldiers (Military Factory). One went down, shot through the heart, another wounded in the leg.
I continued fighting. The Japanese wouldn’t surrender. Death was all over the place. I turned and shot another Japanese soldier as he ran at me with a knife. Did they ever stop coming? I spun around and noticed a Jap climbing the tank. He began opening the hatch and in his hand I noticed a grenade. If he got into the tank to its 400 hp Continental R 975-C1 engine and blew it up, that would be the end of the Sherman and there would be no way out of the mountains but to walk fifteen miles through enemy held jungle (Hickman). I needed that tank. Tracks could be put back on, but repair a blown up engine? It wouldn’t happen. I needed to stop that Jap. I fired a shot hitting him in the shoulder. He winced in pain, but continued to raise the hatch. I jumped up onto the turret and went after him pulling out my knife. He was inside already and as I jumped down into the Sherman I felt the scream of a bullet fly past my ear. This was battle.
The Jap swung at me with a fist, but I quickly dodged the blow. Then it was my turn. I punched him right in the stomach. He bent over in pain. It was just enough time to kill him with my knife.
As he died he pulled the pin of the grenade in his hand. I quickly grabbed it and through it out the hatch, but it was almost too late. It blew up five feet in the air knocking me unconscious.
I awoke in a medical tent with a strange feeling in my head. I was alive with only a large chunk of flesh missing from my arm. I could feel the wound under its bandages. I looked around the tent and noticed a few other people were there. My commander lay in the cot next to me and I noticed he had lost an arm. He was headed home. We had survived.
Today, I was lucky to get away with what I did, only a large hole in my arm. Others were not so lucky. I had made it and I hoped I could just hold on in this hellish war until I was shipped home to Idaho for a nice home cooked meal.
Works Cited
Churchill, Winston, and James C. Humes. The Wit & Wisdom of Winston Churchill: a Treasury of More than 1,000 Quotations and Anecdotes. New York: HarperCollins, 1994. Print.
Dick, Robert C. Cutthroats: the Adventures of a Sherman Tank Driver in the Pacific. New York: Presidio / Ballentine, 2006. Print.
Hickman, Kennedy. "M4 Sherman - World War II M4 Sherman Tank." Military History - Warfare through the Ages - Battles and Conflicts - Weapons of War - Military Leaders in History. Web. 10 Nov. 2010. <http://militaryhistory.about.com/od/vehiclesarmor/p/M4Sherman.htm>.
Hughes, Dean. Since You Went Away. Salt Lake City, UT: Deseret Book, 2005. Print.
Sorenson, Alfred. Personal Letter. 28 November 1942
Writer, Staff. "M3A1 (Grease Gun) - Submachine Gun - History, Specs and Pictures - Military, Security, Civilian, Law Enforcement and Sporting Small Arms, Weapons and Equipment." Military Factory - Military Weapons: Cataloging Aircraft, Tanks, Vehicles, Artillery, Ships and Guns through History. Web. 10 Nov. 2010. <http://militaryfactory.com/smallarms/detail.asp?smallarms_id=65> .
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Question with Boldness
"Fix reason firmly in her seat, and call to her tribunal every fact, every opinion. Question with boldness even the existence of a God; because, if there be one, he must more approve of the homage of reason, than that of blindfolded fear." -Thomas Jefferson to nephew Peter CarrThis is one of the coolest quotes I have ever read. "Question with boldness"--in this instance Jefferson applied it to knowing if there is a God. I have thought about it many times as I go to school and read the news. I hope that, unlike many people, I will always question everything and not just take other people's word for it. Whenever a historic statement is made I do my best to go to the source and find out for myself what was said. With religion I try to do the same thing and find it in the scriptures. (It makes a lot of people made when so many questions are asked, but it is essential for knowing things for yourself.) It would be great if more people in this world would "Question with boldness".
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Gunning Bedford Jr.-Signer of the Constitution
Bedford attended the College of New Jersey (which is now known as Princeton), graduating in 1771. While at the college, he became acquainted with the most key figure in forming of the Constitution, James Madison. They were classmates as well as roommates in New Jersey.
After graduating from college, Bedford studied law under Joseph Read. In the later years of the Revolution, he started a law practice in Dover, Delaware. He also began his political participation as a representative to the Continental Congress between the years of 1783 and 1785. Bedford also served as the Delaware state Attorney General from 1774-1789. As one of Delaware's great statesman, he was selected to attend the Annapolis Convention which led to the Constitutional Convention. He, like many other delegates, did not end up making it to Annapolis.
At the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia, Bedford was a strong advocate of the small states. He was concerned that small states, such as Delaware, would be pushed around by the larger states. As a delegate from Delaware, he was instructed to stick with the New Jersey Plan. He ended up helping hammer out the Great Compromise between the large state plans and the small state plans as he sat on the Committee which drafted the compromise. William Pierce wrote that Gunning Bedford was, "Bold...[with] a very commanding and striking manner [but] warm and impetuous in his temper and precipitate in his judgement".
Bedford was a key figure, along with John Dickinson and William Basset, in getting Delaware to be the first state to ratify the Constitution. Without the help of Gunning Bedford Jr., the United States would not be the great nation it was formed to be.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Thomas Jefferson the Christian
Was Thomas Jefferson a deist? Many historians today would say that, yes our third President and writer of the Declaration of Independence was a deist. Perhaps one of our most well known founding fathers, Jefferson was a man of great talent ranging from the creation of new farming techniques to various inventions, and most notably, his talent as a statesman. Among this man’s talents was not that of being a deist. Through his own words, Thomas Jefferson made it quite clear that he was not a deist. By his words, one can find for themselves the falsie to the claims made by many historians concerning Jefferson’s beliefs.
First, of all what is this belief Jefferson is claimed to be a part of? What is deism and what is a deist? Well, here are the following definitions to aid in understanding this belief:
1. Deism: n. [Fr. Deisme; Sp. Deismo; It. Id.; from L. dues, [God]. The doctrine or creed of a Deist; the belief or system of religious opinions of those who acknowledge the existence of one God, but deny revelation: or deism is the belief in natural religion only, or those truths, in doctrine and practice, which man is to discover by the light of reason, independent and exclusive of any revelation from God. Hence deism implies infidelity or a disbelief in the divine origin of the scriptures.It is not extremely hard to make Thomas Jefferson a deist, because frankly he fits parts of the above definitions. Jefferson was indeed “[o]ne who believed in the existence of a God”, “one who profess[ed] no form of religion”, and he was a “free thinker” (1). Still, Jefferson was not a deist because of the fact that while deists believed that God created the earth and left it to natural laws without any intervention, thus also disclaiming the divinity of Jesus Christ as God’s son and discrediting God’s intervention, through the Atonement of his son, Thomas Jefferson did believe in God’s intervention through Jesus Christ. Jefferson was opposed to the corruptions of the religion of his day, but he himself considered himself to be a Christian, when he said the following in a letter to Benjamin Rush:
2. Deist: n. [Fr. Deiste, It. Deista.] One who believes in the existence of a God, but denies revealed religion; one who professes no form of religion, but follows the light of nature and reason, as his only guides in doctrine and practice; a free thinker. (1)
My views of [the Christian religion] are the result of a life of inquiry and reflection, and very different from that anti-Christian system imputed to me by those who know nothing of my opinions. To the corruptions of Christianity I am indeed opposed; but not to the genuine precepts of Jesus himself. I am a Christian, in the only sense in which he wished anyone to be—sincerely attached to his doctrines in preference to all others. (2)Jefferson indeed was a true Christian. As another proof to his belief in Christ, he took the New Testament and copied the words he believed to be the actual words of Christ. These words were copied, in his hand, into a book in several languages to allow Jefferson the fullest understanding of Christ’s words as he could possibly find. In Jefferson’s mind he held the “precepts of Jesus, as delivered by himself, to be the most pure, benevolent, and sublime which have ever been preached to man.” (3) Those words from Jefferson don’t appear to be congruent to a man who’s belief held that God did not intervene in the lives of man.
Jefferson did not seem to be a conforming Christian by historians because he simply felt the doctrines of Christ were corrupted by man. Our third president, however, felt and firmly believed that there would be a restoration of true Christianity. He once said in a letter to Dr. Benjamin Waterhouse that he was happy “in the prospect of a restoration of primitive Christianity.” (4) He noted of both a restoring of truth and the corruptness of the present religions, in his time, when he said:
If freedom of religion guaranteed to us by law in theory can ever rise in practice under the overbearing inquisition of public opinion, truth will prevail over fanaticism, and the genuine doctrines of Jesus, so long perverted by his pseudo-priests, will again be restored to their original purity. This reformation will advance with the other improvements of the human mind, but too late for me to witness it. (5)Jefferson, if a deist, would never have even wanted a reformation or restoration of true Christianity. The fact that he does, easily denounces any claim to him holding any beliefs others than that of a Christian.
As is evident, Jefferson was no deist; neither was he anything other that a Christian. He may well have been more of a Christian than the average church-goer in his day. Jefferson is easily dismissed as being a deist through his own words and also through his belief in a restoration of true Christianity.
References
1. Webster, Noah. First Edition of an American Dictionary of the English Language (1828). San Francisco: Foundation for American Christian Education, 1967.
2. Thomas Jefferson to Dr. Benjamin Rush (21 Apr. 1803), Bergh 10:379-80.
3. Thomas Jefferson to Jared Sparks (4 Nov. 1820), Bergh 15: 288.
4. Thomas Jefferson to Dr. Benjamin Waterhouse (19 July 1822), Bergh 15:391
5. Thomas Jefferson to Jared Sparks (4 Nov. 1820), Bergh 15: 288
The Real Thomas Jefferson (American Classic Series)
George Washington's Sacred Fire
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Words From a Former Slave
"[T]he Constitution is a glorious liberty document. Read its preamble; consider its purposes. Is slavery amoung them? Is it a gateway? Or is it in the temple? It is neither.... [I]f the Constitution were intended to be, by its framers and adopters, a slaveholding instrument, why neither slavery, slaveholder, nor slave can anywhere be found in it? ... Now, take the Constitution according to its plain reading and I defy the presentation of a single pro-slavery clause in it. On the other hand, it will be found to contain principles and purposes entirely hostile to the existence of slavery." -Rev. Frederick Douglass, Setting the Record Straight: American History in Black & WhiteWere are the people like this today? The typical accusation that a conservitive hates President Obama because he is black doesn't apply to this conservative. I submit that I would vote for any man, black, white, red, green, indigo (actually I wouldn't vote for smurfs), who has the same views as Rev. Fredrick Douglas. To bad all we have left of many great men are there words and wisdom.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
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