“我们在这里，怀念29位美国人：
卡尔.阿克德、杰森.阿金斯、克里斯多佛.贝尔、格利高里.史蒂夫.布洛克、肯尼斯.艾伦.查普曼、罗伯特.克拉克、查尔斯.蒂莫西.戴维斯、克里.戴维
斯、迈克尔.李.埃尔斯维克、威廉.I.格里菲斯、史蒂芬.哈拉、爱德华.迪恩.琼斯、理查德.K.雷恩、威廉姆.罗斯威尔特.林奇、尼古拉斯.达利尔.
麦考斯基、乔.马克姆、罗纳德.李.梅尔、詹姆斯.E.姆尼、亚当.基斯.摩根、雷克斯.L.姆林斯、乔什.S.纳皮尔、霍华德.D.佩恩、迪拉德.厄
尔.波辛格、乔尔.R.普莱斯、迪华德.斯科特、加里.考拉斯、格罗佛.戴尔.斯金斯、本尼.威灵汉姆以及里奇.沃克曼。”
无论我、副总统、州长，或是今天致悼词的任何一个人，都不能说出任何话语，可以填补你们因痛失亲人心中的创伤。如果有任何可以找得到的安慰，也许只能从上
帝那里寻找得到，上帝安慰我们痛苦的头脑，修复破碎的心灵，减轻我们哀痛的内心。
尽
管我们在哀悼这29条逝去的生命，我们同样也要纪念这29条曾活在世间的生命。凌晨4点半起床，最迟5点，他们就开始一天的生活，他们在黑暗中工作。穿着
工作服和硬头靴，头戴安全帽，静坐着开始一小时的征程，去到五英里远的矿井，唯一的灯光是从他们头戴的安全帽上发出的，或是进入时矿山沿途的光线。
日复一日，他们挖掘煤炭，这也是他们劳动的果实，我们常常以为理所当然：这照亮一个会议中心的电能；那点亮我们教堂或家园、学校、办公室的灯光；让我们国家运转的能源；让世界维持的能源。
大多时候，他们从黑暗的矿里探出头，眯眼盯着光亮。大多时候，他们从矿里探出身，满是汗水和尘垢和煤灰。大多时候，他们会回家，但那天没有。
这
些人，这些丈夫、父亲、祖父、弟兄、儿子、叔父、侄子，他们从事这份工作时，并没有忽视其中的风险。他们中的一些已经负伤，一些人眼见朋友受伤。所以，他
们知道有风险。他们的家人也知道。他们知道，在自己去矿上之前，孩子会在夜晚祈祷。他们知道妻子在焦急等待自己的电话，通报轮班结束，一切安好。他们知
道，每有紧急新闻播出，或是广播被突然切断，他们的父母会感到莫大的恐惧。
但他们还是离开家园，来到矿里。一些人毕生期盼成为矿工；他们期待步入父辈走过的道路。然而，他们并不是为自己做出的选择。
这艰险的工作，其中巨大的艰辛，在地下度过的时光，都为了家人。都是为了你们；也为了在路上行进中的汽车，为了头顶上天花板的灯光；为了能给孩子的未来一个机会，日后享受与伴侣的退休生活。这都是期冀能有更好的生活。所以，这些矿工的生活就是追寻美国梦，他们也因此丧命。
在矿里，为了他们的家人，他们自己组成了家庭：庆祝彼此的生日，一同休憩，一同看橄榄球或篮球，一同消磨时间，打猎或是钓鱼。他们可能不总是喜欢这些事情，但他们喜欢一起去完成。他们喜欢像一个家庭那样去做这些事。他们喜欢像一个社区一样去做这些事。
这也是美国人熟知的一首歌里表达的精神。我想，让大多数人惊讶的是这首歌实际是一名矿工的儿子所写，关于贝克利这个小镇的，关于西弗吉尼亚人民的。这首歌曲，“靠着我”（Lean
on Me）是关于友谊的赞歌，但也是关于社区关于一同相聚的赞歌。
灾难发生的几分钟，几小时，几日之后，这个社区终被外界关注。搜救者，冒着风险在充满沼气和一氧化碳的狭窄地道里搜寻，抱着一线希望去发现一位幸存者。朋友们打开门廊的灯守夜；悬挂自制的标语上写着，“为我们的矿工和他们的家人祈祷。”邻居们彼此安慰，相扶相依。
我看到了，这就是社区的力量。
在
灾难随后的几天，电子邮件和信件涌入白宫。邮戳来自全国各地，人们通常都是同一开头：“我很骄傲来自一个矿工的家庭。”“我是一名矿工的儿子。”“我很自
豪能成为一名矿工的女人。”……他们都感到自豪，他们让我关护我们的矿工，为他们祈祷。他们说，不要忘了，矿工维持着美国的光亮。在这些信件里，他们提出
一个很小的要求：不要让这样的事再发生。不要让这事情再发生。
我们怎忍让他们失望？一个依赖矿工的国家怎能不尽全力履行职责保护他们？我们的国家怎能容忍人们仅因工作就付出生命；难道仅仅是因为他们追求美国梦吗？
我
们不能让29条逝去的生命回来。他们此刻与主同在。我们在这里的任务，就是防止有生命再在这样的悲剧中逝去。去做我们必须做的，无论个人或是集体，去确保
矿下的安全，向他们对待彼此那样对待我们的矿工，如同一家人。因为我们是一家人，我们都是美国人。我们必须要彼此依靠，守望彼此，爱护彼此，为彼此祈福祈
祷。
今天，我想起一首圣歌，在我们心痛时会想起这首歌。“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。”
上帝保佑我们的矿工！上帝保佑他们的家人！上帝保佑西弗吉尼亚！上帝保佑美国！
奥巴马原文：
Today the President and the
Vice President were in West Virginia attending
a memorial service for the miners lost in the tragedy at Upper Big
Branch mine. President Obama delivered a eulogy honoring the lives
of those who perished and offering his deepest condolences to the
loved ones they left behind.
President Barack Obama walks with Linda Davis, the grandmother
of deceased miner Cory Davis, during a memorial for the victims of
the Upper Big Branch Mine explosion in Beckley, W.Va., April 25,
2010. (Official White House Photo by Pete Souza)
The Vice President offered his sympathies first:
To every member of every family that has been touched by this
tragedy, I can say that I know what it’s like to lose a spouse and
a child. And I also know when the tributes are done and the flags
are once again flying at full-staff, once the miners you see today
go back to work, that’s when it will be the hardest for you all.
When life has moved on around us, but is yet to stir within you,
that’s when you’re most going to need one another.
He concluded his remarks saying, “I can tell you from my own
personal experience that eventually the painful heartache you feel
will be replaced by the joyful memory of the ones you love so
dearly. My prayer for you is that that day will come sooner than
later.”
President Barack Obama and Vice President Joe Biden attend the
memorial service in Beckley W.Va., for the 29 victims of the Upper
Big Branch Mine explosion, April 25, 2010. (Official White House
Photo by Pete Souza)
The President’s remarks in full:
We’re 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. And 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, or the absence that they leave in your lives. If any
comfort can be found, it can, perhaps, be found by seeking the face
of God — (applause) — 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 a.m., 5:00 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, five miles into a mountain, the only light the
lamp on their caps, or the glow from the mantrip 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 or
our home, our school, our office; the energy that powers our
country; the energy that powers the world. (Applause.)And most days they’d emerge from the dark mine, squinting at the
light. Most days, they’d emerge, sweaty and dirty and dusted from
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 job 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. And
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 okay. 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 the 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 know, and enjoy retirement
with their spouses. It was all in the hopes of something better.
And 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 always 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’s a spirit that’s reflected in a song that almost every
American knows. But it’s a song most people, I think, would be
surprised 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 -– an anthem of friendship, but 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, and supporting each other and
leaning on one another.I’ve seen it, the strength of that community. In the days that
followed the disaster, emails and letters poured into the White
House. Postmarked from different places across the country, 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.” (Applause.) They were always proud, and they
asked me to keep our miners in my thoughts, in my prayers. Never
forget, they say, miners keep America’s lights on. (Applause.) And
then in these letters, they make a simple plea: Don’t let this
happen again. (Applause.) 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 must do, individually and
collectively, to assure safe conditions underground — (applause)
— to treat our miners like they treat each other — like a family.
(Applause.) Because we are all family and we are all Americans.
(Applause.) 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 that comes
to mind, 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.”God bless our miners. (Applause.) God bless their families. God
bless West Virginia. (Applause.) And God bless the United States of
America. (Applause.)
President Barack Obama comforts family members of the 29 victims
of the Upper Big Branch Mine explosion during a memorial service in
Beckley, W.Va., April 25, 2010. (Official White House Photo by Pete
Souza)
“要翻墙，用赛风”.
