I noticed this because of the contrast with Obama's Indonesian stepfather Lolo, whom Obama describes in his memoir. Lolo, like Obama's father, had met Obama's mother at the University of Hawaii. And like Obama's father, he'd wanted to play a role in his country's post-colonialism independence. But he was forced to return to Indonesia after the 1965 coup by Suharto, and was lucky to survive.
And so
unlike Obama's father, he eventually decided he couldn't fight the power: he got a job with an American oil company and deflected any attempts by Obama's mother to discuss the coup. (Interestingly, Obama honestly describes what happened, including the CIA's involvement and the post-coup massacre of "a few hundred thousand, maybe...half a million.")
Here's how Obama puts it in his book:
"Men take advantage of weakness in other men," [Lolo told Obama]. "They’re just like countries in that way. The strong man takes the weak man’s land. He makes the weak man work in his fields. If the weak man’s woman is pretty, the strong man will take her.” He paused to take another sip of water, then asked, “Which would you rather be?” I didn’t answer, and Lolo squinted up at the sky. “Better to be strong,” he said finally, rising to his feet. “If you can’t be strong, be clever and make peace with someone who’s strong. But always better to be strong yourself. Always.” ...
Power. The word fixed in my mother’s mind like a curse. In America, it had generally remained hidden from view until you dug beneath the surface of things; until you visited an Indian reservation or spoke to a black person whose trust you had earned. But here power was undisguised, indiscriminate, naked, always fresh in the memory. Power had taken Lolo and yanked him back into line just when he thought he’d escaped, making him feel its weight, letting him know that his life wasn’t his own. That’s how things were; you couldn’t change it, you could just live by the rules, so simple once you learned them. And so Lolo had made his peace with power, learned the wisdom of forgetting...
She remembered what Lolo had told her once when her constant questioning had finally touched a nerve. “Guilt is a luxury only foreigners can afford,” he had said. “Like saying whatever pops into your head.” She didn’t know what it was like to lose everything, to wake up and feel her belly eating itself. She didn’t know how crowded and treacherous the path to security could be. Without absolute concentration, one could easily slip, tumble backward...
She looked out the window now and saw that Lolo and I had moved on, the grass flattened where the two of us had been. The sight made her shudder slightly, and she rose to her feet, filled with a sudden panic.
Power was taking her son.