我們家的故事
看著我們慢慢長大
最佩服奧巴馬總統的風度和演說才華。奧巴馬總統在西弗吉尼亞死難礦工追悼會上的講話。背景音樂是由礦工的兒子譜寫的關於友誼的歌：依靠我
President Obama Delivers Eulogy At West Virginia Miners’ Memorial
所有的遇難礦工曾深愛著的家屬，曾和礦工並肩工作過的他們朋友們， 他們在西弗吉尼亞，煤河穀的Montcoal，Naoma 或 Whitesville的鄰居們：請讓我以此做為開始，在這幾個艱難的日子裏，我們和你們一起悲傷， 我們的心和你們的一起疼痛。我們同樣地關心著正在醫院和家裏恢複健康的幸存者。我們感謝救援隊。我們的心與您同痛。
我們在此悼念29位美國人：
Carl Acord. Jason Atkins. Christopher Bell. Gregory Steven Brock. Kenneth Allan Chapman. Robert Clark. Charles Timothy Davis. Cory Davis. Michael Lee Elswick. William I. Griffith. Steven Harrah. Edward Dean Jones. Richard K. Lane. William Roosevelt Lynch. Nicholas Darrell McCroskey. Joe Marcum. Ronald Lee Maynor. James E. Mooney. Adam Keith Morgan. Rex L. Mullins. Joshua S. Napper. Howard D. Payne. Dillard Earl Persinger. Joel R. Price. Deward Scott. Gary Quarles. Grover Dale Skeens. Benny Willingham. Ricky Workman.
今天不論是我，副總統，還是州長，任何在此的發言人所說的話都無法填補死難礦工在你們心裏留下的空洞，及因他們的離去在你們生活中留下的空白。或許，隻有在上帝麵前才能找到安慰。上帝安撫我們困饒的思想，修複我們破碎的心，撫平我們痛苦的靈魂。
正如我們悼念 29條失去的生命，我們也懷念這29條曾經活著得生命。他們曾每天早上四點半，五點就在黑暗中開始了一天的工作。他們曾穿著工裝服，硬頭靴，頭戴硬的安全帽，安靜地坐上五英裏，一個小時的路程進山，僅有的光是從他們帽子上的燈，或坐著的車燈發出來的。
一天又一天，我們常常理所當然地享受著他們的勞動果實，他們挖出的煤：那些電照亮了會展中心，照亮了我們的教堂，我們的家，我們的學校，辦公室，能源驅動了我們國家，驅動了世界。
每天，他們從黑煤礦中出來，眯眼看著光。每天，他們流著汗，帶著煤塵出來。每天他們都回家。但就在那一天沒有。
這些人，這些丈夫，父親，祖父，兄弟，兒子，叔叔，侄子，並不是沒有意識到他們工作的危險性。他們中的一些人曾經受過傷，一些人看到過朋友受傷。
盡管他們和他們的家人了解其中的危險。他們知道，他們的孩子每天晚上都為他們禱告。他們知道，他們的妻子都會等他們下班時報平安的電話。他們知道每次重大新聞警報亮起或收音機插播時，他們的父母都會感到一陣恐懼。
但他們還是選擇了煤礦，有些人一輩子，盼著能踏著父輩，祖父輩的足跡當上礦工。他們這樣的選擇，都不知是為了自己。
所有在地下的時間，所有努力的工作，所有的艱苦，都是為了他們的家庭。都是為了你們。為了停在門口的車，為了頭頂上以房屋脊。為了有機會給他們的孩子全新未來。為了能和妻子享受退休生活。都是為了生活更好的希望。這些礦工追逐美國夢，雖死猶生。
在礦井裏，為家庭工作著礦工們也親如一家。分享生日的快樂，一起放鬆休息，看足球或籃球比賽，休假的時候一起打獵或釣魚。他們為能一起，像家人一樣，像社區一樣，而更熱愛分享這些樂趣
這種精神反應在一首在美國盡人皆知的歌上。但我想，多數人會吃驚的發現這首歌是一個礦工的兒子為西弗吉尼亞小城：Beckley寫的。這就是：“依靠我”這首歌。（依靠我，是Bill Wither為John G. Avildsen在1989年執導的電影“依靠我”寫的歌，也是我這裏用的背景音樂）-一首友誼的頌歌，也是集體的頌歌。
這個集體的力量在災難發生後的分分秒秒顯現出來。他們自己冒著危險，鑽進狹小的充滿一氧化碳毒氣的隧道，希望能發現幸存者。朋友們在黑夜裏開著門燈，豎起自製的標語：“為我們的礦工和他們的家人祈禱。”鄰居們互相安慰，支持，-互相依靠。
我看到了這個集體的力量。災難發生後數天裏，來自各地的電郵，信函湧進白宮。通常新是這樣開頭的：“我為我為是礦工的家屬而驕傲," "我是礦工的兒子，”“我為是礦工的女兒而驕傲。”他們都很自豪。他們要我們想著我們的礦工，為他們祈禱。他們說，永遠別忘了，使礦工讓美國得燈亮著。在這些信裏，他們有一個簡單的要求：不要讓悲劇重演。不要讓悲劇重演。
我們怎能辜負他們？怎能不讓一個依靠礦工的國家不遺餘力的保護他們？我們怎能讓任何人冒著生命危險僅僅是去上班，僅僅是為了追求美國夢？
我們不能讓29條市區的生命再生。他們和上帝在一起了。我們的任務時，在地球上，是防止有另外一次類似的災難奪取更多的生命。我們必須萬眾一心，保證的下安全的環境。對待礦工像對待家人一樣。因為我們是一個大家庭，我們都是美國人。我們隻能互相依靠，互相關照，互相愛護，互相為對方祁福。
今天想起了，有一段聖詩，-一段當我們心痛時常想起來的聖詩。
“我雖行過死蔭的幽穀，但心無所懼，因你與我同在。你的杖，你的竿，都在安慰我。”
願上帝保佑我們的礦工，願上帝保佑他們的家人，願上帝保佑西弗吉尼，願上帝保佑美國。
英文原文如下：
[Barack Hussein Obama II]
To all the families who loved so deeply the miners we’ve lost; to all who called them friends, worked alongside them in the mines, or knew them as neighbors, in Montcoal and Naoma or Whitesville, in the Coal River Valley and across West Virginia – let me begin by saying that we have been mourning with you throughout these difficult days. Our hearts have been aching with you. We keep our thoughts with the survivors who are recovering and resting in a hospital and at home. We are thankful for the rescuer teams. But our hearts ache alongside you.
We are here to memorialize 29 Americans:
Carl Acord. Jason Atkins. Christopher Bell. Gregory Steven Brock. Kenneth Allan Chapman. Robert Clark. Charles Timothy Davis. Cory Davis. Michael Lee Elswick. William I. Griffith. Steven Harrah. Edward Dean Jones. Richard K. Lane. William Roosevelt Lynch. Nicholas Darrell McCroskey. Joe Marcum. Ronald Lee Maynor. James E. Mooney. Adam Keith Morgan. Rex L. Mullins. Joshua S. Napper. Howard D. Payne. Dillard Earl Persinger. Joel R. Price. Deward Scott. Gary Quarles. Grover Dale Skeens. Benny Willingham. Ricky Workman.
Nothing I or the Vice President or the Governor, none of the speakers here today, nothing we say can fill the hole they leave in your hearts, the absence they leave in your lives. If any comfort can be found, it can, perhaps, be found by seeking the face of God, who quiets our troubled minds, a God who mends our broken hearts, a God who eases our mourning souls.
Even as we mourn 29 lives lost, we also remember 29 lives lived. Up at 4:30, 5 o’clock in the morning at the latest, they began their day, as they worked, in darkness. In coveralls and hard-toe boots, a hardhat over their heads, they would sit quietly for their hour-long journey, 5 miles into a mountain, the only light the lamp on their caps, or the glow from the man-trip they rode in.
Day after day, they would burrow into the coal, the fruits of their labor, what so often we take for granted: the electricity that lights up a convention center; that lights up our church, our homes, our school and office; the energy that powers our country and powers the world.
Most days, they would emerge from the dark mine, squinting at the light. Most days, they would emerge, sweaty and dirty and dusted with coal. Most days, they’d come home. But not that day.
These men – these husbands, fathers, grandfathers, brothers, sons, uncles, nephews – they did not take on their jobs unaware of the perils. Some of them had already been injured some of them had seen a friend get hurt.
So they understood there were risks, their families did too. They knew their kids would say a prayer at night before they left. They knew their wives would wait for a call when their shift ended saying everything was OK. They knew their parents felt a pang of fear every time a breaking news alert came on, or the radio cut in.
But they left for the mines anyway – some, having waited all their lives to be miners; having longed to follow in the footsteps of their fathers and their grandfathers. And yet, none of them did it for themselves alone.
All that hard work; all that hardship; all the time spent underground; it was all for their families. It was all for you. For a car in the driveway. A roof overhead. For a chance to give their kids opportunities that they would never knew; and enjoy retirement with their spouses. It was all in the hopes of something better. So these miners lived – as they died – in pursuit of the American dream.
There, in the mines, for their families, they became a family themselves – sharing birthdays, relaxing together, watching Mountaineers football or basketball together, spending days off together hunting or fishing. They may not have loved what they did, said a sister, but they loved doing it together. They loved doing it as a family. They loved doing it as a community.
That spirit is reflected in a song almost every American knows. But it’s a song most people, I think, would be surprised to learn was actually written by a coal miner’s son about this town, Beckley, about the people of West Virginia. It’s the song, “Lean on Me”["Lean on Me" (song), a song by Bill Withers; Lean on Me (film), a 1989 movie directed by John G. Avildsen; "Lean On Me"] – an anthem of friendship, and also an anthem of community, of coming together.
That community was revealed for all to see in the minutes, and hours, and days after the tragedy. Rescuers, risking their own safety, scouring narrow tunnels saturated with methane and carbon monoxide, hoping against hope they might find a survivor. Friends keeping porch-lights on in a nightly vigil; hanging up homemade signs that read, “Pray for our miners, and their families.” Neighbors consoling each other, supporting each other – leaning on one another.
I’ve seen it, the strength of that community. In the days that followed the disaster, e-mails and letters poured into the White House. Postmarked from different places, they often began the same way: “I am proud to be from a family of miners,” “I am the son of a coal miner,” “I am proud to be a coal miner’s daughter.” They were always proud. They asked me to keep our miners in my thoughts, and my prayers. Never forget, they say, miners keep America’s lights on. And then in these letters they make a simple plea: Don’t let this happen again. Don’t let this happen again.
How can we fail them? How can a nation that relies on its miners not do everything in its power to protect them? How can we let anyone in this country put their lives at risk by simply showing up to work; by simply pursuing the American dream?
We cannot bring back the 29 men we lost. They are with the Lord now. Our task, here on Earth, is to save lives from being lost in another such tragedy. To do what we must do, individually and collectively, to assure safe conditions underground. To treat our miners like they treat each other – like a family. Because we are all family, and we are all Americans. And we have to lean on one another and look out for one another and love one another and pray for one another.
There’s a psalm that comes to mind today – a psalm we often turn to in times of heartache.
“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”
May God bless our miners. God bless their families. God bless West Virginia. And God bless the United States of America.
