President Obama's Farewell Speech - the honest version
President Obama raises one hand to greet the applauding crowd. Some of the eyes in the first rows sparkle with tears. Behind them, the claps are firm and proud. In the back of the room, fat, wrinkled, pink-faced men bump their dirty fingers together silently, more out of obligation than respect.
Obama pushes his lips to his hand and sends the kiss toward the First Lady. Another crescendo of cheers pushes warm air toward the stage. After a moment, the audience settles and folds into the hard chairs.
The president adjusts the microphone, smiles toward the back of the room, and clears his throat. His head drops as he ponders his first words. Then he reaches up to tug at the powerful red necktie. His tugging intensifies to just short of aggravated. The knot in the tie comes loose. His thumbs pluck the first two buttons on his shirt open. The seats are squirming.
“Mr. Speaker…Mr. Vice President…Members of Congress…My fellow Americans.
“Eight long years.” He wants to continue, but the crowd erupts in another round of applause.
“Thank you. Thank you.”
Obama looks over to a group of well-manicured people on his left. “Sorry,” he shakes his head.
Without much movement of their heads, the group makes uncomfortable eye contact with one another. Their hands are folded in their laps and squeezed red.
“America. This job isn’t what it seems.” The crowd wiggles in unison.
“The best country in the world. A Superpower. The symbol of freedom. Those are the titles we claim. A country filled with good, caring, innovative and hardworking people. Scientifically, technologically, medically, we stand at the front of the pack. Our athletes work harder in the gym. Our chefs have more refined pallets, and our mothers can get a grass stain out of anything.”
“This is the America you know and love. But tonight, I’m here to knock some of the dirt off. I’m here to pull back the curtain. I can’t pull it all the way open myself.”
He looks up to the balcony and points to an armed guard. The audience follows his gesture. The guard puts two fingers to his earpiece.
“Even as president of the United States of America, the best country in the world, I can’t say everything I want to say without an unfortunate threat of violence.”
He points back up to the guard who is maintaining a stern, tight-lipped stare.
“If they tell you to shoot me. Don’t listen to them.”
The crowd half laughs.
“I ran my first campaign on the idea of change. Change. I believed it was possible. I knew I’d get resistance from the republicans, but I believed I could fulfill my promises. And I was wrong. I’d like to stand before you and tell you that it was the republicans who stifled progress – I’d like to tell you congress dragged their feet and fought me tooth and nail – Sure, they gave me resistance, but, like me, they don’t hold the power. They’re told what to do just like everybody else.”
Obama takes a step back and rubs his mouth. “We’ve all got bosses. The same way you have to answer to your boss if the work isn’t done, is the same way my cabinet and myself have to answer to our bosses. Only our bosses…”
He points back up toward the armed guard. “Our bosses are a little more serious. If I don’t obey, my boss might send a convertible to pick me up from the airport. He might rifle through my email, or Michelle’s email, or the girls’ emails, until he finds something worth exposing.”
“Speaking of leaking, Julian Assange, Edward Snowden, you have my sincere apology. The same people who are talking into that guys earpiece,” he looks up toward the balcony, “they were talking into mine, concerning both of you. Anyone who disagrees simply hasn’t seen what goes on behind the curtain.”
“America is run, not by the one percent, but by one percent of the one percent. They don’t even have to be of American decent to be totally fair. If their pockets are deep enough, we’ll make room for the sheiks of Saudi Arabia, the dictators of North Korea, or the merciless leaders of Russia to make laws that govern our beautiful country.”
“To the hardworking veterans and military personnel; these people are also your bosses. They play a game of war. No different than a friendly game of black jack, or battle ship. Only they’ve got nothing to lose. This game has no end. They’re one big family. And they’ve been playing with the house’s money since day one.”
A discomfort colors the room pale. There’s a stench in the air like watching a live execution.
“I’m sorry America. I’ve let you down – as a president, and as a man. I’ve lied, and I’ve played their game for eight long years.”
He rubs one hand over the sides of his graying hair. “If you think it’s been easy.” He shakes his head.
“Not only is this whole political game rigged. The news, the stock exchange, the money, all the way down to who gets clean drinking water – it’s all being manipulated. They used to hide it well, but they’ve grown too old and too fat to care. Now they’re counting on you, America, to also be too fat, scared, and complacent to do anything about it.”
“They’re probably right. If the president can’t do anything to change it, how will Joe Nobody and a group of his friends from Akron, Ohio defeat Goliath?”
“You know what…Take your cellphones out. Take them out. Pull ‘em out.”
People in the audience are hesitant, but a few brave people hold up cellphones. More follow.
“Turn on the cameras. Set them to record.”
Obama glances up. Two of the armed guards have come together on the balcony. They are faced in opposite directions, speaking in whispers.
“Some of you point them at me. Some of you point up at our friends on the balcony. Point them over here, over there, point them at yourself. Don’t let them tell you any different than what these videos show. If you love America, there’s only one way to get your country back…”
The microphone squeals and goes out. President Obama taps it, shoves it aside, and begins projecting his natural voice. “There’s only one way, America…”
The lights flicker and shut off. An impenetrable black takes over everything. One gunshot echoes in the darkness.