I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

Nothing on earth can match the experience of reading a new book. That signature smell of a paperback wafts through the air and fills the room as the pages are thumbed through for the first time. The feel of the spine cracking ever-so-slightly as the book is opened wide enough to read sends shivers down the spine. The fibrous beige paper accentuates embossed letters that flow from cover to cover. Best of all, devouring books brings journeys from around the globe and throughout time to a living room sofa or the desk in a study.

My latest adventure in reading has brought me to a book that I never would have read had it not been for one of my classes. Maya Angelou's autobiography I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings has been excursion for me back to when the prejudiced South was filled with misconceptions and demoralizing actions. Angelou's book has brought me a new perspective on a topic that I knew only a little about. She writes with such astonishing detail that I can hear the creaking in the rickety church benches, taste the salty home-cured ham, and feel the angst Maya herself felt as a young girl. She brings such great insight to the prejudice from which our nation once suffered and, in some areas, still suffers from today.

Tomorrow, a historic event is in store for the United States of America. In just over nine hours, the nation's first black President will recite the Oath of Office, ushering in a new era. The bigotry of the past has been all but eradicated thanks to great men and women who lost their lives in pursuit of basic civil rights. Our nation has seen its share of people being martyred for what they believe. The puritans sacrificed what was left of their lives to practice freedom of religion in the "New World, and our nation's fathers sacrificed everything during the revolutionary civil wars, so we can experience the freedoms we appreciate today. Noble people like Martin Luther King, Jr. spoke out when injustice was rampant in the mid Twentieth Century. Tomorrow shows a culmination of these events, and, hopefully, a new beginning of events to come.

Now, I don't pretend to believe in everything that Barrack Obama stands for—in fact, much that he believes in I see as utterly wrong—but I wish him all the strength in the world. Obama is about to undertake one of the most difficult jobs in the world, and I wouldn't wish that on anyone I love. I do hope, however, that as the nation sees that we're over the period of hatred to those with a different skin color, they will begin to realize the importance of why the nation was founded in the first place: freedom of religion. The First Amendment to the United States Constitution states, "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof." Recently, however, lawmakers have seen it necessary to neglect this sentence in the constitution by ignoring the constitutional rights of religious institutions. A church in New Jersey has been forced into a lawsuit because they refused to allow a homosexual wedding on their property. The Ocean Grove Camp Meeting Association, a Methodist organization, has lost part of its tax-exempt status because of the lawsuit. Apparently, the New Jersey Supreme Court doesn't find itself in need of following the laws set forth in the US Constitution. Churches far and wide, especially the LDS Church, are being persecuted because of their stance on same-sex marriage, and it's time that is stopped. Churches have the right to believe what they want and support those beliefs in legal manners that they deem necessary. It says so in the very constitution that allows you and I to live the free life that we do. Future President Obama, I sincerely urge you to make it a point to defend our religious rights. Our forefathers gave their lives to support these rights, and the forefathers of black people around America gave their lives so that you can now be President. Please respect these martyrs and protect our constitutionally promised right to exercise our religious beliefs.