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看着我们慢慢长大
最佩服奥巴马总统的风度和演说才华。奥巴马总统在西弗吉尼亚死难矿工追悼会上的讲话。背景音乐是由矿工的儿子谱写的关于友谊的歌：依靠我
President Obama Delivers Eulogy At West Virginia Miners’ Memorial
所有的遇难矿工曾深爱着的家属，曾和矿工并肩工作过的他们朋友们， 他们在西弗吉尼亚，煤河谷的Montcoal，Naoma 或 Whitesville的邻居们：请让我以此做为开始，在这几个艰难的日子里，我们和你们一起悲伤， 我们的心和你们的一起疼痛。我们同样地关心着正在医院和家里恢复健康的幸存者。我们感谢救援队。我们的心与您同痛。
我们在此悼念29位美国人：
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.
今天不论是我，副总统，还是州长，任何在此的发言人所说的话都无法填补死难矿工在你们心里留下的空洞，及因他们的离去在你们生活中留下的空白。或许，只有在上帝面前才能找到安慰。上帝安抚我们困饶的思想，修复我们破碎的心，抚平我们痛苦的灵魂。
正如我们悼念 29条失去的生命，我们也怀念这29条曾经活着得生命。他们曾每天早上四点半，五点就在黑暗中开始了一天的工作。他们曾穿着工装服，硬头靴，头戴硬的安全帽，安静地坐上五英里，一个小时的路程进山，仅有的光是从他们帽子上的灯，或坐着的车灯发出来的。
一天又一天，我们常常理所当然地享受着他们的劳动果实，他们挖出的煤：那些电照亮了会展中心，照亮了我们的教堂，我们的家，我们的学校，办公室，能源驱动了我们国家，驱动了世界。
每天，他们从黑煤矿中出来，眯眼看着光。每天，他们流着汗，带着煤尘出来。每天他们都回家。但就在那一天没有。
这些人，这些丈夫，父亲，祖父，兄弟，儿子，叔叔，侄子，并不是没有意识到他们工作的危险性。他们中的一些人曾经受过伤，一些人看到过朋友受伤。
尽管他们和他们的家人了解其中的危险。他们知道，他们的孩子每天晚上都为他们祷告。他们知道，他们的妻子都会等他们下班时报平安的电话。他们知道每次重大新闻警报亮起或收音机插播时，他们的父母都会感到一阵恐惧。
但他们还是选择了煤矿，有些人一辈子，盼着能踏着父辈，祖父辈的足迹当上矿工。他们这样的选择，都不知是为了自己。
所有在地下的时间，所有努力的工作，所有的艰苦，都是为了他们的家庭。都是为了你们。为了停在门口的车，为了头顶上以房屋脊。为了有机会给他们的孩子全新未来。为了能和妻子享受退休生活。都是为了生活更好的希望。这些矿工追逐美国梦，虽死犹生。
在矿井里，为家庭工作着矿工们也亲如一家。分享生日的快乐，一起放松休息，看足球或篮球比赛，休假的时候一起打猎或钓鱼。他们为能一起，像家人一样，像社区一样，而更热爱分享这些乐趣
这种精神反应在一首在美国尽人皆知的歌上。但我想，多数人会吃惊的发现这首歌是一个矿工的儿子为西弗吉尼亚小城：Beckley写的。这就是：“依靠我”这首歌。（依靠我，是Bill Wither为John G. Avildsen在1989年执导的电影“依靠我”写的歌，也是我这里用的背景音乐）-一首友谊的颂歌，也是集体的颂歌。
这个集体的力量在灾难发生后的分分秒秒显现出来。他们自己冒着危险，钻进狭小的充满一氧化碳毒气的隧道，希望能发现幸存者。朋友们在黑夜里开着门灯，竖起自制的标语：“为我们的矿工和他们的家人祈祷。”邻居们互相安慰，支持，-互相依靠。
我看到了这个集体的力量。灾难发生后数天里，来自各地的电邮，信函涌进白宫。通常新是这样开头的：“我为我为是矿工的家属而骄傲," "我是矿工的儿子，”“我为是矿工的女儿而骄傲。”他们都很自豪。他们要我们想着我们的矿工，为他们祈祷。他们说，永远别忘了，使矿工让美国得灯亮着。在这些信里，他们有一个简单的要求：不要让悲剧重演。不要让悲剧重演。
我们怎能辜负他们？怎能不让一个依靠矿工的国家不遗余力的保护他们？我们怎能让任何人冒着生命危险仅仅是去上班，仅仅是为了追求美国梦？
我们不能让29条市区的生命再生。他们和上帝在一起了。我们的任务时，在地球上，是防止有另外一次类似的灾难夺取更多的生命。我们必须万众一心，保证的下安全的环境。对待矿工像对待家人一样。因为我们是一个大家庭，我们都是美国人。我们只能互相依靠，互相关照，互相爱护，互相为对方祁福。
今天想起了，有一段圣诗，-一段当我们心痛时常想起来的圣诗。
“我虽行过死荫的幽谷，但心无所惧，因你与我同在。你的杖，你的竿，都在安慰我。”
愿上帝保佑我们的矿工，愿上帝保佑他们的家人，愿上帝保佑西弗吉尼，愿上帝保佑美国。
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.
