Dear Senator Obama,

I’m writing this letter because I know this has been a rough 48 hours for you. I can’t imagine the shock of finding out that your pastor for 20 years, the man who married you, who baptized your children, who brought you to Jesus… has been hoodwinking you for the past two decades.

Oh sure, you’d heard stories over the years of things he’d said, but it was all secondhand. Maybe he said something that made you squirm a little in your seat once or twice, but you never heard anything like what he said at the National Press Club! No, for that your Pastor waited until you weren’t in church, and then he’d let loose. What must it feel like to find out these things with everyone else!

Then, of course, there’s the egg on your face. For months now talk show hosts like Hannity, Hewitt, Rush (and dare I mention myself?) have been saying these comments were vile. Now you’ve seen the light, but how embarrassing must it be to know that these folks are going to crow about this on their shows? And drafting that letter of apology to them… whew, I don’t know how you’re going to do it. Just remember, you had the wool pulled over your eyes. You were bamboozled!

I mean, last month you said:

“He strengthened my faith, officiated my wedding, and baptized my children. I can no more disown him than I can disown the black community.”

And now today it’s:

“He was never my quote unquote, spiritual adviser, my quote unquote spiritual mentor, he was my pastor.”

(Better check the Chicago papers on that though, Senator. I seem to recall a 2004 story in which you talked about the three spiritual mentors you had. James Meeks, Father Michael Pfleger, and Jeremiah Wright. I’m just trying to help you avoid any future controversies.)

From like family a month ago to just “my pastor” today. It’s like you’ve managed to wipe your memory of that close kinship you two shared for twenty years. That’s amazing, though a therapist may say you’re just blocking those memories out of your brain because they’re too painful.

Well, if it makes you feel any better Senator… this whole episode has been tough for me too.

You see, two of my five kids are actually my stepkids. We don’t make a big deal out of it. In fact, they’ve always called me “Dad”. Just like your father, who wasn’t around when you were growing up, my two oldest kids haven’t seen their biological father in years. And like you, they’re the offspring of a white mother and a black father. Our other three kids are as pale as milk, so we’ve gotten our share of odd comments over the years. I’m sure you remember similar comments when you were a kid and were out with your grandparents.

But as a parent, you try to deal with it the best you can. You tell your kids that most people are just ignorant, and that skin color doesn’t make you any different. You thank God that the civil rights movement has been as successful as it has, and that the comments you do get are few and far between. You teach your children that people should be judged on the contents of their character, not the color of their skin.

Then Jeremiah Wright becomes the story of the day and now you’re trying to figure out what to tell your 7-year old when he asks if it’s true that he’s different than his older brother and sister, and if we love him more or less than we love them. You wonder if your 17-year old son and your 21-year old daughter have bought into what Rev. Wright is peddling, and if the bond of family is stronger than race-based rhetoric. And yes, you wonder why it took Senator Barack Obama twenty years to figure out Jeremiah Wright when most of the rest of us figured it out in about five minutes.

Sorry Senator, but I’m starting to wonder if your comments distancing yourself from Reverend Wright are really sincere. I’m also wondering if you were really that close with him to begin with. I’m wondering a lot of things about you, but it boils down to one concern: are you lying to us now, or were you lying to us all along about Reverend Wright? Either way, it would make you the worst kind of politician. You know the stereotype: slimy, oozing with contempt for the voters, willing to say anything to get elected. The exact opposite of how you present yourself, basically.

And I don’t know how you get beyond that Senator. You’re either A) the worst judge in character the world has ever seen or B) another lying politician who just wants to get elected and thinks Americans have the intelligence of tree stumps. Either way, when it comes to the content of your character… you fail. You could have walked out of that church at any point over the past twenty years. You could have used your big speech in Philadelphia to put to rest this issue, not claim the Reverend Wright as a member of your family. Because of your failure of character, you’re now merely following the conventional political wisdom instead of exhibiting true leadership and principle.

But don’t worry Senator. If you’re right about the American people, we’ll be too distracted by American Idol and the price of gasoline to remember any of this come November.

Sincerely,

Cam Edwards

Dr. Joyner nails it:

There’s a reason that freedom of speech and freedom of press occupy the same space in the Bill of Rights; they’re inextricably linked. Without information to form opinions, the ability to express opinions is meaningless. Conversely, information is useless unless one is free to share one’s opinions.

And there’s more:

America’s early journalists were merely citizens interested in the news. There was no such thing as J-School and the concept of credentialing would have seemed absurd. Over time, however, journalism moved from a craft to a profession, with many of the accouterments of the latter. This has been mostly, but not entirely, positive.

Professionalism arose out of a dark period in American media. Yellow Journalism and a tabloid mentality stripped newspapers of any value, since people had no reason to trust what they were reading. A canon of ethics was necessary, including the expectation that reporters attempt to present information objectively and truthfully. Theoretically, at least, opinion was to be clearly labeled and distinguished from factual reportage. In reality, of course, that ideal was never reached. Given that human beings staff newspapers and other media, it was never attainable to begin with.

Joyner’s discussion of these fundamentals of freedom and the professionalization of the media spring from a larger dialogue about the role and responsibility of citizen journalists.

In his new book Here Comes Everybody, Clay Shirky embarks on a lengthy and useful discussion about how technology has driven the mass amateurization of work previously limited to professionals. His most compelling example harkens back to the invention of the printing press. Moveable type brought information to the masses. It also made thousands of scribes irrelevant. (Or redundant, in the parlance of the UK.)

Needless to say, the scribes didn’t take kindly to the printers. The monks considered the ink-stained wretches beneath them — a scourge undermining the written word. But when, nearly a century after the printing press was invented, a leading scribe wrote a lengthy defense of his profession, calling forth the weight of history and tradition, he sought the broadest audience, and so he ensured his essay was printed on a printed press.

Today, we find the professional media zealously (and ineffectually) guarding the gates to their castle. The difference between professional and amateur is no longer relevant. Each is capable of gathering and distributing the news, and each must have the freedom to do so. Arguing over the scope of credentials is akin to quarreling over how much water to put in the bucket while your house burns to the ground. It’s the freedom that matters, not the credentials.

I’ve been in Warsaw for a couple of days visiting with colleagues.

Last night, one of them suggested dinner at U Kucharzy (”The Chefs”), and then told us, with what we suspected was more than an ounce of hyperbole, that it might be the best restaurant in Poland.

Obviously, I’m in no place to evaluate that question. But I can now declare that U Kucharzy is a world-class restaurant that would distinguish itself just as well if it were in London, Paris or New York.

We entered through a non-descript door that only a local would know to look for, and we found ourselves in a shabby hallway with a bench along one wall and a worn red carpet that looks like a holdover from the communist era. After a moment, we were greeted by a well-dressed gentleman whose long beard was a throw-back to a different era of Polish history. He led us through a maze of tables and counters and directed us to two seats at a raised platform.

It was only when we sat down that we discovered our seats in the rather ordinary dining room gave us a complete view of the Chefs at work.

The view from our table.

The meal that followed was extraordinary. I started with pate, while my colleague Wolfgang began with pork aspic. Both were amazing. Dinner for me was “deer” served with braised beets and local potato dumplings similar to gnocchi. Wolfgang’s main course was “roast beef.” (You can see Wolfgang’s review via Seesmic here.)

Needless to say, the descriptions don’t do justice to the food. Nor do they do justice to the method of service. Rather than being plated in the kitchen, all of our dishes were prepared and served at table side.

Between courses, the appetizers arrived for the table next to us, and we watched as a chef prepared steak tartare from scratch, completely by hand. We discovered, while we watched, that the table in question was occupied by the restaurant’s owner and his friends. After they passed around the tartare, they shared it with us. It was a wonder. Absolutely delicious.

All in all, it was a superb dinner. For my money, the best of Poland. Were in Warsaw again tonight, you can be sure that I would be headed back for more.

Oh. And the bill? About £75.

Here’s more on U Kacharzy from the Daily Telegraph and the Warsaw Voice.

It’s amazing how travel can be so exhausting. I travel a fair amount, but in relation to some of my colleagues and friend who travel a lot, my travel burden is relatively light. Somehow, though, when I am called upon to hit the road, it often seems to come in waves.

This week, I’m in the midst of one of those waves.

On Saturday, I flew to Abu Dhabi in the United Arab Emirates. From London, where I live, it’s an eight hour flight. Which means overnight. Which means I only get to sleep two or three hours if I’m lucky. Now, when road warriors hang out together in bars, we talk about all the different ways we beat exhaustion and jet leg. It’s modern man’s tale of the campaign. But instead of recounting men stricken by our swords and wounds narrowly avoided by a swift parry or a thrust of our shield, we brag about being able to fly all night and deliver a superb PowerPoint the very next morning. As much I would wish it were so, it isn’t. It can’t be.

I flew home yesterday (Tuesday). That’s an eight hour flight heading west. Which means an entire day in the air, and arriving home looking forward to only one thing: collapsing into a familiar bed.

I’m writing this today (Wednesday), en route from London to Warsaw. By distance, it’s akin to flying from Washington to Memphis or Dallas. I’ll land at half past ten in the evening local time — assuming we’re on time — and head for my hotel. But my body will think it’s 9:30 p.m. Or perhaps, given my trip to the Middle East, 1:30 a.m. And that’s the point. It won’t know. Sleep cycles are disrupted. Mealtimes thrown off. And the body wears down.

So I confess: I’m tired.

Maybe someday, Scotty really will turn up with his transporter. Because right now, I can’t imagine anything more exciting than the idea of being “beamed” from one locale to the next, even if I lose a molecule or two along the way.

Late last night, Prime Minister Gordon Brown began his first trip to the U.S. as head of Her Majesty’s Government.

I had been paying only passing attention to the trip, as it seemed to offer little hope that anything impactful would be achieved.

But then I heard the destination for the PM’s transatlantic flight, and his itinerary for his first day in the U.S., and I realized something impactful already has happened.

Brown’s first stop? New York City. And his first destination? The U.N.

Now, I suspect that if asked, the folks at Downing Street would say that the decision to go to NY first was purely a result of scheduling concerns or convenience or whatever. (I actually have asked Downing Street this question via their Twitter feed. If they respond, I will post their answer is in its entirety.)

But over the past few weeks, political watchers are starting to notice that Mr. Brown may not prioritize the British relationship with the United States to the same extent as some of his predecessors.

Heritage Foundation scholar Nile Gardiner, writing in the Sunday Times, points out that, “since Brown took charge, the British embassy [in Washington] no longer uses the term ’special relationship’, and that the Anglo-American alliance has been downgraded to Britain’s ‘most important bilateral relationship’ in deference to Brussels.” (More on this from a story in the Telegraph.)

So it’s not hard to conclude that the Prime Minister’s travel schedule reflects his foreign policy priorities.

But as UK blogger Tim Montgomerie points out, “The world is a safer, stronger place when Britain and America are close.”

For me, as an American who loves Great Britain and believes that the Anglo-American alliance is one of the most important and effective on the planet, it’s disappointing to see either leader treat it this way.

Is this the end of the special relationship? Not a chance. Soon there will be a new President, and in another year or two, there might even be a new Prime Minister. Each may have different views and priorities than his predecessor. And thanks to the common culture, historical and language bonds between Britain and the U.S., the relationship can be swiftly rebuilt in the right hands.

That’s a hope for the future. For now, I hope Mr. Brown’s visit to the U.S. helps him see how truly vital the relationship is — for both nations.

On tonight’s Hugh Hewitt show, Connor gets in nearly as many words as I do.

Before I moved to London, when I had a car and actually drove it, red light cameras were a particular bugaboo of mine.

You see, our system of justice is predicated on the presumption of innocence, and red light camera laws institutionalize a presumption of guilt. They take a photo of your license plate. If you own the car, you get the ticket in the mail. But no one has ever had to prove that you were actually driving your car. Sure, your car was present when a crime (albeit a minor one) was committed. But there’s no evidence to suggest that you were there. Much less that you committed the crime.

And if this sounds like a high-minded line of thinking for a seemingly tiny issue, I concede the point. But we’re already seeing similar cameras — and presumptions of guilt — used to nab speeders.

Of course, red light cameras aren’t really about justice or safety. They’re about revenue. Don’t believe it? Ask the six cities that were just busted for shortening the “yellow” times on their lights so that they could catch more red light violators with all of those cameras.

My view is predictable. Liberty and big brother don’t work and play nicely together. The cameras should go.

What are government’s core functions? This is the philosophical question of the ages. There is no perfect answer. For my money (literally), government’s three most important tasks are (1) Maintaining the armed forces to keep up safe from foreign threats; (2) Exercising its police powers to prevent crime and maintain order; and (3) Building and maintaining the infrastructure that keeps commerce flowing.

So this story from Popular Mechanics (ht: Glenn, natch), caught my interest.

It’s no secret that federal, state and local government have all basically ignored infrastructure issues for about the last fifty years. So it should be no great surprise that our infrastructure is crumbling. Meanwhile, we keep asking government to pay for all sorts of extraneous crap.

It’s time to get off the dime and get this stuff fixed. That means getting our priorities straight. But we desperately need more roads, bridges, and rail, and we’ve got to fix the big stuff that’s out there decaying even as we speak. Traffic in big cities is already having a tremendous impact on commerce, and that’s bad for all of us. Not to mention the hours Americans spend stuck in cars instead of doing more important things.

So, note to politicians: grow some backbone, and get busy.

Weeks ago, I wrote that Senator Clinton’s reliance on her “experience” was her biggest strategic mistake. Campaign watchers are beginning to agree with me. Check out #1 in this list from Mark Halperin.

I’ve now been in London just about a month, and during that time, I’ve been doing my best to learn about sports (or sport, as it’s called here) in my new homeland. In particular, I’ve been trying to figure out why people in the UK are mad about football. For the first few weeks, I didn’t get it at all.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, I sat in a pub (and later in my flat), and watched the most extraordinary day of English football that anyone here can remember in a long time. It was on that day that I fell in love with the FA Cup.

Before I explain what happened, let me give my American readers a little lesson in English football. Unlike our professional sports leagues, there are literally dozens of professional football clubs scattered around England and Wales. The best twenty play in the Premiership. These are the teams you’ve heard of: Chelsea, Arsenal, and Manchester United among others. The next best twenty-four play in the Championship League. And there are some awfully good clubs in that league, too. The next twenty four teams play in League One, the next twenty-four in League Two, and so on down to League Seven. At the end of the season, generally speaking, the best two or three teams from each league are promoted one level. The worst two or three are relegated down one level. (The relegation rules can be a little complex, so I’m oversimplifying here. If you want the details, try reading this.) So, through the season, each club plays within its league and attempts to win its championship. All in all, it’s pretty straightforward. And for me, with the exception of the rivalries among the big four, it’s not terribly interesting.

The FA Cup is an entirely different kind of animal. Instead of being a league competition, it’s a season-long tournament. And all 92 teams in the top four leagues, plus a whole bunch of others from the lesser ranks, are eligible to play. Best of all, there’s no seeding. Match-ups are generally drawn out of a bag at the start of each round. That means that on any given weekend, a top team like Chelsea might be playing a small-town team like Barnsley. And even better, that the smaller team might win.

Imagine if the NCAA Men’s Basketball tournament was open to every team, not just in Division I, but in the entire NCAA hierarchy. And that a Division II team like Florida A&T knocked off a powerhouse like North Carolina or Duke.

Granted upsets like that don’t happen that often. But for fans, there’s always hope. And it’s years like this one that feeds that hope.

Two weeks ago, Barnsley did, in fact, defeat Chelsea in the quarter finals of the FA Cup. That victory came just a couple of weeks after their improbable upset of Premiership powerhouse Liverpool. Hours later, teams from West Bromwich and Cardiff City also secured places in the FA Cup semi-finals to ensure that of the four teams in the semis, only one — Portsmouth — would represent the Premiership.

Today, Portsmouth knocked off West Brom to ensure that the Premiership will have an entry in the final. Tomorrow, Barnsley — which stands to be relegated to League One at the conclusion of Championship League play in a few weeks — will play Cardiff City to see if their Cinderella run can carry them all the way to the final.

In my pub this afternoon, I was joined by a few other FA Cup lovers, gathered around a television at one end of the room, while a larger, noisier contingent shouted on Arsenal and Liverpool in the Premiership match at the other. That match ended in a 1-1 draw, and the two rivals will play again next week. Other than turning around when a particularly overwhelming roar went up, I never cast much of a glance at the big boys slugging it out. There was something far more appealing to me about the match I was watching, and the tournament that pits David against Goliath and gives each an even chance.

So tomorrow at 4:00 p.m., Barnsley appear in an FA Cup semi-final for the first time since 1912 with a chance to get to the finals. Trying to think of a parallel in U.S. sports is almost impossible. Imagine the Cubs getting ready to play game seven of the National League Championship Series, only they were a AAA team.

If you’re in the U.S., find yourself a respectable pub like Ireland’s Four Courts in Arlington, VA and go and watch the game. It starts at 11:00 a.m. on the east coast. And what could be better than brunch, a little football, and an amazing Cinderella tale?

In the meantime, put me down as an FA Cup fan. As for the Premiership, too much hype and not enough enthusiasm. Call me when they’re playing for something that they think matters.