Read Barack Obama's eulogy for Rev. Jesse Jackson

Barack Obama: It’s good to be home.

Audience: We love you!

Obama: I love you back.

The book…the book of Isaiah…

Obama: Where he at?

(Audience crosstalk) Four more years!

Obama: No, see I believe in the Constitution.

The book of Isaiah, God is looking for a messenger to guide a hardened and resistant people. The Lord asks, “Whom shall I send, and who will go with us?” To which Isaiah replies, “Here I am, Lord! Send me.”

To Mother Jackson and the Jackson family, to President and Mrs. Biden, President and Secretary Clinton, Vice President Harris, Pastor Dates — my old friend — though he’s looking good, Reverend Meeks, Reverend Jenkins.

It is an honor to join you today to celebrate the Reverend Jesse Louis Jackson, a man who, when the poor and the dispossessed needed a champion and the country needed healing, stepped forward again and again and again and said, “Send me.”

Reverend Jackson’s immense gifts were apparent at an early age, even if his circumstances conspired to try to hold him back. Born out of wedlock to a teenage mom, growing up under the oppressive cloud of segregation, confined to schools, sports facilities, movie theatres that were separate and unequal. There was a world where, on Thanksgiving, he’d have to wait for his mother to come home on the bus, carrying leftovers from the dinner she had to cook for somebody else; a world designed to tell a child that he or she could only go so far, that to think otherwise would be foolish or dangerous, and that wisdom required you to accept your lot in life.

Young Jesse refused to accept that verdict.

He was a born leader, an athlete, a talker — knew how to talk. Star quarterback, student body president. He could have succeeded within the confines that were determined for him and had a successful life. But like so many of his generation — so many extraordinary civil rights leaders in the late Fifties and Sixties — that Joshua generation — he instinctively understood that individual success meant nothing unless everybody was free. So he became inspired by the bus boycotts in Montgomery. Led seven Black students into the whites-only library, sitting down and getting arrested for reading. Think about that. The library closed, but then it reopened–and when it did, it was open to everyone.

Send me, Jesse said, even as a young man — and the world got a little bit better.

By the time Reverend Jackson graduated from college, he had attended the Chicago Theological Seminary, he knew the nature of his calling. And he became, as everybody knows, the youngest member of the S.C.L.C., assigned to lead Operation Breadbasket here in Chicago. Right around the time that Isaiah Thomas is talking about. And it was during this period, and especially after Dr. King’s death, when the optimism of the early movement had begun to fade and leadership had begun to fracture, and when the country seemed to have grown bored, gotten weary of the idea of justice and equality, and moved on to other concerns. That Reverend Jackson rose above despair and kept that righteous flame alive.

Through Operation PUSH, he led boycotts and challenged corporate policies around hiring and contracting, recognizing that civil rights without economic justice was an empty promise. He backed unions in their organizing efforts and activists in fair wage campaigns, understanding that if the have-nots and the have-little bits ever learned to make common cause across racial lines instead of fighting each other over bread crumbs, everybody would benefit. He helped register millions of voters, he fought against biases in the criminal justice system. He drew attention to local abuses of power, and called folks at the national level to account. And by the early Eighties, he was delivering that message of change and hope across the globe, freeing hostages from captivity, fighting to end apartheid in South Africa.

And then, in 1984, as the powers that be in Washington were rolling back hard-won progress and slashing the social safety net, when more and more folks were getting left behind, and greed was being trumpeted as a virtue. See we’ve been there before…He stepped forward, once again — and said, send me. He ran for the presidency of the United States of America.

I had just graduated from college during that first campaign. And I was living in New York at the time, I was working to pay off my student loans. Eating a lot of tuna fish and Campbell’s soup. And if I went to a diner, I’d grab some extra crackers and put them in my pocket.

And I was inspired by the civil rights movement, and I had in my mind to work for social justice. But even though I was full of good intentions, I was uncertain of how to serve and fighting off self-doubt.

And I remember how, at the time, plenty of people — including — I’m sorry — plenty of Black folks — were dismissing Jesse’s chances. Suggesting, oh, he just wants attention. He could only get Black votes. But then I remember one night, sitting in my janky apartment, and I got an old black and white TV with the rabbit ears, and I’m kind of jiggering them around. It’s about this big. I know young people can’t imagine, but the TV was about this big. And I’m watching a Democratic primary debate between him, and Walter Mondale, and Gary Hart. And I remember how, when that debate was over, I turned off that TV and I thought the same thing that I know a lot of people thought that night — even if they didn’t want to admit it. That in his ideas, in his platform, in his analysis, in his intelligence, in his insights, Jesse hadn’t just held his own — he had owned that stage. He wasn’t an intruder, he wasn’t a pretender — he belonged on that stage. And the message he sent to a 22-year-old child of a single mother, with a funny name — an outsider — was that maybe there wasn’t any place, any room, where we didn’t belong.

And that message, of fairness and dignity, of justice and hope, that’s what the Rainbow Coalition was all about. In 1984 and then again in 1988, Jesse didn’t just speak to Black folks, he spoke to to white folks and Latinos, Asian Americans and the first Americans, he spoke to family farmers and environmentalists, he spoke to gay rights activists — when nobody was talking to gay rights activists — and blue-collar workers — and he gave them the same message that they mattered. That their voices and their votes counted, he invited them to believe — he invited us to believe in our own power to change America for the better.

By the delegate count, Jesse’s two candidacies ultimately came up short. But he paved the road for so many others to follow. Doug Wilder became the first elected Black governor. Carol Moseley Braun went to the U.S. Senate. Because of Jesse, the Democratic party changed its rules, ending the winner-take-all distribution of delegates during presidential primaries, which meant underdogs and outsiders like Bill Clinton or Bernie Sanders could stay competitive and build momentum instead of getting knocked out early.

And it was because of that path that he had laid, because of his courage, his audacity, that two decades later, a young Black senator from Chicago’s South Side would even be taken seriously as a candidate for the presidential nomination.

I still credit that first run of Jesse’s, and Harold Washington’s campaign, for drawing me to Chicago. I didn’t know anybody when I first arrived, and I was working as a community organizer — as it so happens, in neighborhoods right around here — Roseland, Woodlawn, Altgeld. West Pullman. I meeting these young preachers like Meeks and some crazy priest named Pflager, and I guess Jenkins was running around, but he’s kinda young — he came a little bit later. So, I’m going to churches, and I’m listening to these amazing preachers. And it was hard work and half the time I didn’t know what I was doing, and progress was slow, and I definitely didn’t know how I was going to survive these Chicago winters because I grew up in Hawaii.

But I do remember heading to the PUSH headquarters on some Saturday mornings to listen and learn from Reverend Jackson.

And y’all remember how, on some mornings if there was a major issue going on, the room would be packed to the rafters. And sometimes, some celebrity just wanders in. And then some mornings, it was kind of lowkey. Either way though, the announcements would be made, and Reverend Barrow would say a prayer, and then Jesse would sit there, and he’d stand, and he’d start kind of slow. And he’d talk kinda low so everybody would kind of lean in — and over time it was with that same boundless energy, that would emerge, and that same passion and insight. And he’d offer you a master class in economics on a Saturday morning. He’d give you a seminar on American history and American politics. He’d make complicated things plain, and he’d tell stories that made you laugh one minute and cry the next.

And whether you were a bus driver, or a teacher, or a business leader, or a young organizer — you came away from those meetings with a better understanding of how the world worked. How power worked. And more importantly, he made you believe that if we came together, we could make the world work better.

Now we’ve been talking about how Jesse telling us “we are somebody”… “I am somebody,” and he wasn’t just talking to young Black boys like Isaiah — though he loved them fiercely — and he wasn’t just talking to young Black girls, to help them believe, though he believed in them. He was talking about everyone who was left out, everyone who was forgotten, everyone who was unseen, everyone who was unheard. And in that sense, he was expressing the very essence of what our democracy should be, the ideals at the very heart of the American experiment — the belief that regardless of what we look like or how we worship, regardless of where our ancestors came from or how much money we’ve got, we’re all part of the American family. We’re all endowed with the same inalienable rights to life and liberty and the pursuit of happiness. And we’re all obligated to answer the call, and step forward and take responsibility for making wrongs right and for caring for our neighbors and bringing the reality of America a step closer to its glorious ideals.

Answering that call isn’t always easy. And Reverend Jackson and his family knew that better than most. To do what he did, he would endure all kinds of hatred and setbacks, and betrayals, and doubters and death threats. He would sacrifice, as Jim Reynolds pointed out, the leisure and comfort of what was available to him as a more financially secure life, and those sacrifices were not his alone — they were shared by his wife and his children, and they bore that burden with grace and strength.

I got to know the Reverend and his family over the years, and as I watched his children follow his example of service, I came to appreciate the conviction that drove him, that he had passed on — the faith that guided him that he had passed on. It was a faith that did not waver; a flame that burned bright, even as his body began to fail.

The last time he and I had a chance to visit in person, he was already ailing, it was getting difficult for him to stand and difficult for him to speak. We were in Hyde Park in a hotel room and I embraced him…and figured we’d just have a low key visit, maybe he’d need some rest. And he starts coming up with this project, and this initiative, and issues I needed to look into, and here’s some commentary that he would suggest I and here’s some phrasing that he thought might work, and maybe we might co-write an article, and listening to him, I couldn’t help smiling, because it took me back. And I started reminiscing about those Saturday mornings at PUSH and the breakfast he’d host away from full meeting. I didn’t get to go to that until I was a State Senator and probably Meeks invited me… so I was tagging along with Meeks. And he’d pull out a piece a paper from his jacket pocket and start passing out assignments, and pull together working groups, and ask for updates on the latest campaign. And I’ll admit though those sessions could run a little long and did not always follow Roberts Rules of Order, but when Jesse called your name and acknowledged you in that room, especially if you were young, especially if you were just coming up, especially if you weren’t sure you could pull off what you thought you might be able to do, especially when you needed help… you stood up a little straighter, you knew that you’d been seen by this giant, he’d laid hands on you and let you know that you had a contribution to make. And so that day I told him how much that meant to me, and how much it had meant to so many whose lives that he impacted, and I told him thank you, that I would always be grateful for that legacy of hope.

I know I’ve gone long. It was going to be much shorter until Isaiah spoke. I figure if a Detroit Piston could take up this much time…it was beautiful. And I mean that. Love me some Isaiah.

We are living in a time when it can be hard to hope. Each day we wake up to some new assault on our democratic institutions, another setback to the idea of the rule of law. An offense to common decency. Every day you wake up to it, to things you just didn’t think were possible. Each day, we’re told by those in high office to fear each other and to turn on each other — and that some Americans count more than others, and that some don’t even count at all. Everywhere we see greed and bigotry being celebrated, and bullying and mockery masquerading as strength; we see science and expertise denigrated while ignorance and dishonesty, and cruelty and corruption, are reaping untold rewards. Every single day we see that. And it’s hard to hope in those moments.

So it may be tempting to get discouraged, to give in to cynicism. It may be tempting for some to compromise with power and grab what you can, or even for good people, to maybe just put your head down and wait for the storm to pass.

But this man — Reverend Jesse Louis Jackson — inspires us to take the harder path. His voice calls on each of us to be heralds of change, to be messengers of hope; to step forward and say “Send me” wherever we have a chance to make an impact — whether it’s in our schools, in our workplaces, in our neighborhoods and our cities. Not for fame, not for glory, or because success is guaranteed, but because it gives our life purpose, because it aligns with what our faith tells us God demands, and because if we don’t step up, no one else will.

How fortunate we were that Jesse Jackson answered that call. What a great debt we owe to him.

May God bless Reverend Jackson, and may he rest in eternal peace. God bless you."