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Let
Us Reach for the World That Ought to Be
Nobel
Peace Prize Speech
by
President Barack Obama
Your Majesties, Your Royal Highnesses,
distinguished members of the Norwegian Nobel Committee,
citizens of America, and citizens of the world:
I receive this honor with deep gratitude and great
humility. It is an award that speaks to our highest
aspirations—that for all the cruelty and hardship of
our world, we are not mere prisoners of fate. Our
actions matter, and can bend history in the direction of
justice.
And yet I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge
the considerable controversy that your generous decision
has generated. (Laughter.) In part, this is because I am
at the beginning, and not the end, of my labors on the
world stage. Compared to some of the giants of history
who've received this prize—Schweitzer and King;
Marshall and Mandela—my accomplishments are slight.
And then there are the men and women around the world
who have been jailed and beaten in the pursuit of
justice; those who toil in humanitarian organizations to
relieve suffering; the unrecognized millions whose quiet
acts of courage and compassion inspire even the most
hardened cynics. I cannot argue with those who find
these men and women—some known, some obscure to all
but those they help—to be far more deserving of this
honor than I.
But perhaps the most profound issue surrounding my
receipt of this prize is the fact that I am the
Commander-in-Chief of the military of a nation in the
midst of two wars. One of these wars is winding down.
The other is a conflict that America did not seek; one
in which we are joined by 42 other countries—including Norway—in an effort to defend ourselves and
all nations from further attacks.
Still, we are at war, and I'm responsible for the
deployment of thousands of young Americans to battle in
a distant land. Some will kill, and some will be killed.
And so I come here with an acute sense of the costs of
armed conflict—filled with difficult questions about
the relationship between war and peace, and our effort
to replace one with the other.
Now these questions are not new. War, in one form or
another, appeared with the first man. At the dawn of
history, its morality was not questioned; it was simply
a fact, like drought or disease—the manner in which
tribes and then civilizations sought power and settled
their differences.
And over time, as codes of law sought to control
violence within groups, so did philosophers and clerics
and statesmen seek to regulate the destructive power of
war. The concept of a "just war" emerged, suggesting
that war is justified only when certain conditions were
met: if it is waged as a last resort or in self-defense;
if the force used is proportional; and if, whenever
possible, civilians are spared from violence.
Of course, we know that for most of history, this
concept of "just war" was rarely observed. The capacity
of human beings to think up new ways to kill one another
proved inexhaustible, as did our capacity to exempt from
mercy those who look different or pray to a different
God. Wars between armies gave way to wars between
nations—total wars in which the distinction between
combatant and civilian became blurred. In the span of 30
years, such carnage would twice engulf this continent.
And while it's hard to conceive of a cause more just
than the defeat of the Third Reich and the Axis powers,
World War II was a conflict in which the total number of
civilians who died exceeded the number of soldiers who
perished.
In the wake of such destruction, and with the advent
of the nuclear age, it became clear to victor and
vanquished alike that the world needed institutions to
prevent another world war. And so, a quarter century
after the United States Senate rejected the League of
Nations—an idea for which Woodrow Wilson received
this prize—America led the world in constructing an
architecture to keep the peace: a Marshall Plan and a
United Nations, mechanisms to govern the waging of war,
treaties to protect human rights, prevent genocide,
restrict the most dangerous weapons.
In many ways, these efforts succeeded. Yes, terrible
wars have been fought, and atrocities committed. But
there has been no Third World War. The Cold War ended
with jubilant crowds dismantling a wall. Commerce has
stitched much of the world together. Billions have been
lifted from poverty. The ideals of liberty and
self-determination, equality and the rule of law have
haltingly advanced. We are the heirs of the fortitude
and foresight of generations past, and it is a legacy
for which my own country is rightfully proud.
And yet, a decade into a new century, this old
architecture is buckling under the weight of new
threats. The world may no longer shudder at the prospect
of war between two nuclear superpowers, but
proliferation may increase the risk of catastrophe.
Terrorism has long been a tactic, but modern technology
allows a few small men with outsized rage to murder
innocents on a horrific scale.
Moreover, wars between nations have increasingly
given way to wars within nations. The resurgence of
ethnic or sectarian conflicts; the growth of
secessionist movements, insurgencies, and failed states—all these things have increasingly trapped civilians
in unending chaos. In today's wars, many more civilians
are killed than soldiers; the seeds of future conflict
are sown, economies are wrecked, civil societies torn
asunder, refugees amassed, children scarred.
I do not bring with me today a definitive solution to
the problems of war. What I do know is that meeting
these challenges will require the same vision, hard
work, and persistence of those men and women who acted
so boldly decades ago. And it will require us to think
in new ways about the notions of just war and the
imperatives of a just peace.
We must begin by acknowledging the hard truth: We
will not eradicate violent conflict in our lifetimes.
There will be times when nations -- acting individually
or in concert -- will find the use of force not only
necessary but morally justified.
I make this statement mindful of what Martin Luther
King Jr. said in this same ceremony years ago: "Violence
never brings permanent peace. It solves no social
problem: it merely creates new and more complicated
ones." As someone who stands here as a direct
consequence of Dr. King's life work, I am living
testimony to the moral force of non-violence. I know
there's nothing weak—nothing passive—nothing naïve—in the creed and lives of Gandhi and King.
But as a head of state sworn to protect and defend my
nation, I cannot be guided by their examples alone. I
face the world as it is, and cannot stand idle in the
face of threats to the American people. For make no
mistake: Evil does exist in the world. A non-violent
movement could not have halted Hitler's armies.
Negotiations cannot convince al Qaeda's leaders to lay
down their arms. To say that force may sometimes be
necessary is not a call to cynicism—it is a
recognition of history; the imperfections of man and the
limits of reason.
I raise this point, I begin with this point because
in many countries there is a deep ambivalence about
military action today, no matter what the cause. And at
times, this is joined by a reflexive suspicion of
America, the world's sole military superpower.
But the world must remember that it was not simply
international institutions—not just treaties and
declarations—that brought stability to a post-World
War II world. Whatever mistakes we have made, the plain
fact is this: The United States of America has helped
underwrite global security for more than six decades
with the blood of our citizens and the strength of our
arms. The service and sacrifice of our men and women in
uniform has promoted peace and prosperity from Germany
to Korea, and enabled democracy to take hold in places
like the Balkans. We have borne this burden not because
we seek to impose our will. We have done so out of
enlightened self-interest—because we seek a better
future for our children and grandchildren, and we
believe that their lives will be better if others'
children and grandchildren can live in freedom and
prosperity.
So yes, the instruments of war do have a role to play
in preserving the peace. And yet this truth must coexist
with another—that no matter how justified, war
promises human tragedy. The soldier's courage and
sacrifice is full of glory, expressing devotion to
country, to cause, to comrades in arms. But war itself
is never glorious, and we must never trumpet it as such.
So part of our challenge is reconciling these two
seemingly inreconcilable truths—that war is sometimes
necessary, and war at some level is an expression of
human folly. Concretely, we must direct our effort to
the task that President Kennedy called for long ago.
"Let us focus," he said, "on a more practical, more
attainable peace, based not on a sudden revolution in
human nature but on a gradual evolution in human
institutions." A gradual evolution of human
institutions.
What might this evolution look like? What might these
practical steps be?
To begin with, I believe that all nations—strong
and weak alike—must adhere to standards that govern
the use of force. I—like any head of state -- reserve
the right to act unilaterally if necessary to defend my
nation. Nevertheless, I am convinced that adhering to
standards, international standards, strengthens those
who do, and isolates and weakens those who don't.
The world rallied around America after the 9/11
attacks, and continues to support our efforts in
Afghanistan, because of the horror of those senseless
attacks and the recognized principle of self-defense.
Likewise, the world recognized the need to confront
Saddam Hussein when he invaded Kuwait—a consensus
that sent a clear message to all about the cost of
aggression.
Furthermore, America—in fact, no nation—can
insist that others follow the rules of the road if we
refuse to follow them ourselves. For when we don't, our
actions appear arbitrary and undercut the legitimacy of
future interventions, no matter how justified.
And this becomes particularly important when the
purpose of military action extends beyond self-defense
or the defense of one nation against an aggressor. More
and more, we all confront difficult questions about how
to prevent the slaughter of civilians by their own
government, or to stop a civil war whose violence and
suffering can engulf an entire region.
I believe that force can be justified on humanitarian
grounds, as it was in the Balkans, or in other places
that have been scarred by war. Inaction tears at our
conscience and can lead to more costly intervention
later. That's why all responsible nations must embrace
the role that militaries with a clear mandate can play
to keep the peace.
America's commitment to global security will never
waver. But in a world in which threats are more diffuse,
and missions more complex, America cannot act alone.
America alone cannot secure the peace. This is true in
Afghanistan. This is true in failed states like Somalia,
where terrorism and piracy is joined by famine and human
suffering. And sadly, it will continue to be true in
unstable regions for years to come.
The leaders and soldiers of NATO countries, and other
friends and allies, demonstrate this truth through the
capacity and courage they've shown in Afghanistan. But
in many countries, there is a disconnect between the
efforts of those who serve and the ambivalence of the
broader public. I understand why war is not popular, but
I also know this: The belief that peace is desirable is
rarely enough to achieve it. Peace requires
responsibility. Peace entails sacrifice. That's why NATO
continues to be indispensable. That's why we must
strengthen U.N. and regional peacekeeping, and not leave
the task to a few countries. That's why we honor those
who return home from peacekeeping and training abroad to
Oslo and Rome; to Ottawa and Sydney; to Dhaka and Kigali
-- we honor them not as makers of war, but of wagers—
but as wagers of peace.
Let me make one final point about the use of force.
Even as we make difficult decisions about going to war,
we must also think clearly about how we fight it. The
Nobel Committee recognized this truth in awarding its
first prize for peace to Henry Dunant—the founder of
the Red Cross, and a driving force behind the Geneva
Conventions.
Where force is necessary, we have a moral and
strategic interest in binding ourselves to certain rules
of conduct. And even as we confront a vicious adversary
that abides by no rules, I believe the United States of
America must remain a standard bearer in the conduct of
war. That is what makes us different from those whom we
fight. That is a source of our strength. That is why I
prohibited torture. That is why I ordered the prison at
Guantanamo Bay closed. And that is why I have reaffirmed
America's commitment to abide by the Geneva Conventions.
We lose ourselves when we compromise the very ideals
that we fight to defend. (Applause.) And we honor—we
honor those ideals by upholding them not when it's easy,
but when it is hard.
I have spoken at some length to the question that
must weigh on our minds and our hearts as we choose to
wage war. But let me now turn to our effort to avoid
such tragic choices, and speak of three ways that we can
build a just and lasting peace.
First, in dealing with those nations that break rules
and laws, I believe that we must develop alternatives to
violence that are tough enough to actually change
behavior—for if we want a lasting peace, then the
words of the international community must mean
something. Those regimes that break the rules must be
held accountable. Sanctions must exact a real price.
Intransigence must be met with increased pressure -- and
such pressure exists only when the world stands together
as one.
One urgent example is the effort to prevent the
spread of nuclear weapons, and to seek a world without
them. In the middle of the last century, nations agreed
to be bound by a treaty whose bargain is clear: All will
have access to peaceful nuclear power; those without
nuclear weapons will forsake them; and those with
nuclear weapons will work towards disarmament. I am
committed to upholding this treaty. It is a centerpiece
of my foreign policy. And I'm working with President
Medvedev to reduce America and Russia's nuclear
stockpiles.
But it is also incumbent upon all of us to insist
that nations like Iran and North Korea do not game the
system. Those who claim to respect international law
cannot avert their eyes when those laws are flouted.
Those who care for their own security cannot ignore the
danger of an arms race in the Middle East or East Asia.
Those who seek peace cannot stand idly by as nations arm
themselves for nuclear war.
The same principle applies to those who violate
international laws by brutalizing their own people. When
there is genocide in Darfur, systematic rape in Congo,
repression in Burma -- there must be consequences. Yes,
there will be engagement; yes, there will be diplomacy—but there must be consequences when those things
fail. And the closer we stand together, the less likely
we will be faced with the choice between armed
intervention and complicity in oppression.
This brings me to a second point—the nature of the
peace that we seek. For peace is not merely the absence
of visible conflict. Only a just peace based on the
inherent rights and dignity of every individual can
truly be lasting.
It was this insight that drove drafters of the
Universal Declaration of Human Rights after the Second
World War. In the wake of devastation, they recognized
that if human rights are not protected, peace is a
hollow promise.
And yet too often, these words are ignored. For some
countries, the failure to uphold human rights is excused
by the false suggestion that these are somehow Western
principles, foreign to local cultures or stages of a
nation's development. And within America, there has long
been a tension between those who describe themselves as
realists or idealists—a tension that suggests a stark
choice between the narrow pursuit of interests or an
endless campaign to impose our values around the world.
I reject these choices. I believe that peace is
unstable where citizens are denied the right to speak
freely or worship as they please; choose their own
leaders or assemble without fear. Pent-up grievances
fester, and the suppression of tribal and religious
identity can lead to violence. We also know that the
opposite is true. Only when Europe became free did it
finally find peace. America has never fought a war
against a democracy, and our closest friends are
governments that protect the rights of their citizens.
No matter how callously defined, neither America's
interests—nor the world's—are served by the denial
of human aspirations.
So even as we respect the unique culture and
traditions of different countries, America will always
be a voice for those aspirations that are universal. We
will bear witness to the quiet dignity of reformers like
Aung Sang Suu Kyi; to the bravery of Zimbabweans who
cast their ballots in the face of beatings; to the
hundreds of thousands who have marched silently through
the streets of Iran. It is telling that the leaders of
these governments fear the aspirations of their own
people more than the power of any other nation. And it
is the responsibility of all free people and free
nations to make clear that these movements -- these
movements of hope and history -- they have us on their
side.
Let me also say this: The promotion of human rights
cannot be about exhortation alone. At times, it must be
coupled with painstaking diplomacy. I know that
engagement with repressive regimes lacks the satisfying
purity of indignation. But I also know that sanctions
without outreach -- condemnation without discussion—can carry forward only a crippling status quo. No
repressive regime can move down a new path unless it has
the choice of an open door.
In light of the Cultural Revolution's horrors,
Nixon's meeting with Mao appeared inexcusable—and yet
it surely helped set China on a path where millions of
its citizens have been lifted from poverty and connected
to open societies. Pope John Paul's engagement with
Poland created space not just for the Catholic Church,
but for labor leaders like Lech Walesa. Ronald Reagan's
efforts on arms control and embrace of perestroika not
only improved relations with the Soviet Union, but
empowered dissidents throughout Eastern Europe. There's
no simple formula here. But we must try as best we can
to balance isolation and engagement, pressure and
incentives, so that human rights and dignity are
advanced over time.
Third, a just peace includes not only civil and
political rights—it must encompass economic security
and opportunity. For true peace is not just freedom from
fear, but freedom from want.
It is undoubtedly true that development rarely takes
root without security; it is also true that security
does not exist where human beings do not have access to
enough food, or clean water, or the medicine and shelter
they need to survive. It does not exist where children
can't aspire to a decent education or a job that
supports a family. The absence of hope can rot a society
from within.
And that's why helping farmers feed their own people
-- or nations educate their children and care for the
sick—is not mere charity. It's also why the world
must come together to confront climate change. There is
little scientific dispute that if we do nothing, we will
face more drought, more famine, more mass displacement—all of which will fuel more conflict for decades. For
this reason, it is not merely scientists and
environmental activists who call for swift and forceful
action—it's military leaders in my own country and
others who understand our common security hangs in the
balance.
Agreements among nations. Strong institutions.
Support for human rights. Investments in development.
All these are vital ingredients in bringing about the
evolution that President Kennedy spoke about. And yet, I
do not believe that we will have the will, the
determination, the staying power, to complete this work
without something more—and that's the continued
expansion of our moral imagination; an insistence that
there's something irreducible that we all share.
As the world grows smaller, you might think it would
be easier for human beings to recognize how similar we
are; to understand that we're all basically seeking the
same things; that we all hope for the chance to live out
our lives with some measure of happiness and fulfillment
for ourselves and our families.
And yet somehow, given the dizzying pace of
globalization, the cultural leveling of modernity, it
perhaps comes as no surprise that people fear the loss
of what they cherish in their particular identities—their race, their tribe, and perhaps most powerfully
their religion. In some places, this fear has led to
conflict. At times, it even feels like we're moving
backwards. We see it in the Middle East, as the conflict
between Arabs and Jews seems to harden. We see it in
nations that are torn asunder by tribal lines.
And most dangerously, we see it in the way that
religion is used to justify the murder of innocents by
those who have distorted and defiled the great religion
of Islam, and who attacked my country from Afghanistan.
These extremists are not the first to kill in the name
of God; the cruelties of the Crusades are amply
recorded. But they remind us that no Holy War can ever
be a just war. For if you truly believe that you are
carrying out divine will, then there is no need for
restraint—no need to spare the pregnant mother, or
the medic, or the Red Cross worker, or even a person of
one's own faith. Such a warped view of religion is not
just incompatible with the concept of peace, but I
believe it's incompatible with the very purpose of faith—for the one rule that lies at the heart of every
major religion is that we do unto others as we would
have them do unto us.
Adhering to this law of love has always been the core
struggle of human nature. For we are fallible. We make
mistakes, and fall victim to the temptations of pride,
and power, and sometimes evil. Even those of us with the
best of intentions will at times fail to right the
wrongs before us.
But we do not have to think that human nature is
perfect for us to still believe that the human condition
can be perfected. We do not have to live in an idealized
world to still reach for those ideals that will make it
a better place. The non-violence practiced by men like
Gandhi and King may not have been practical or possible
in every circumstance, but the love that they preached—their fundamental faith in human progress—that
must always be the North Star that guides us on our
journey.
For if we lose that faith—if we dismiss it as
silly or naïve; if we divorce it from the decisions that
we make on issues of war and peace -- then we lose
what's best about humanity. We lose our sense of
possibility. We lose our moral compass.
Like generations have before us, we must reject that
future. As Dr. King said at this occasion so many years
ago, "I refuse to accept despair as the final response
to the ambiguities of history. I refuse to accept the
idea that the 'isness' of man's present condition makes
him morally incapable of reaching up for the eternal 'oughtness'
that forever confronts him."
Let us reach for the world that ought to be—that
spark of the divine that still stirs within each of our
souls. (Applause.)
Somewhere today, in the here and now, in the world as
it is, a soldier sees he's outgunned, but stands firm to
keep the peace. Somewhere today, in this world, a young
protestor awaits the brutality of her government, but
has the courage to march on. Somewhere today, a mother
facing punishing poverty still takes the time to teach
her child, scrapes together what few coins she has to
send that child to school— because she believes that a
cruel world still has a place for that child's dreams.
Let us live by their example. We can acknowledge that
oppression will always be with us, and still strive for
justice. We can admit the intractability of depravation,
and still strive for dignity. Clear-eyed, we can
understand that there will be war, and still strive for
peace. We can do that -- for that is the story of human
progress; that's the hope of all the world; and at this
moment of challenge, that must be our work here on
Earth.
Thank you very much.
Source:
Courtesy of the
White House /
Thursday, December 10, 2009 8:39 AM
posted 13 December 2009
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1493: Uncovering the New World Columbus
Created
By Charles C. Mann
I’m
a big fan of Charles Mann’s previous
book
1491:
New Revelations of the Americas Before
Columbus, in which he
provides a sweeping and provocative
examination of North and South America
prior to the arrival of Christopher
Columbus. It’s exhaustively researched
but so wonderfully written that it’s
anything but exhausting to read. With
his follow-up,
1493, Mann has taken it to a
new, truly global level. Building on the
groundbreaking work of Alfred Crosby
(author of
The Columbian Exchange and, I’m
proud to say, a fellow Nantucketer),
Mann has written nothing less than the
story of our world: how a planet of what
were once several autonomous continents
is quickly becoming a single,
“globalized” entity.
Mann not only talked to countless
scientists and researchers; he visited
the places he writes about, and as a
consequence, the book has a marvelously
wide-ranging yet personal feel as we
follow Mann from one far-flung corner of
the world to the next. And always, the
prose is masterful. In telling the
improbable story of how Spanish and
Chinese cultures collided in the
Philippines in the sixteenth century, he
takes us to the island of Mindoro whose
“southern coast consists of a number of
small bays, one next to another like
tooth marks in an apple.” We learn how
the spread of malaria, the potato,
tobacco, guano, rubber plants, and sugar
cane have disrupted and convulsed the
planet and will continue to do so until
we are finally living on one integrated
or at least close-to-integrated Earth.
Whether or not the human instigators of
all this remarkable change will survive
the process they helped to initiate more
than five hundred years ago remains,
Mann suggests in this monumental and
revelatory book, an open question. |
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The Persistence of the Color Line
Racial Politics and the Obama Presidency
By Randall Kennedy
Among the best things about
The Persistence of the Color Line
is watching Mr. Kennedy hash through the
positions about Mr. Obama staked out by
black commentators on the left and
right, from Stanley Crouch and Cornel
West to Juan Williams and Tavis Smiley.
He can be pointed. Noting the way Mr.
Smiley consistently “voiced skepticism
regarding whether blacks should back
Obama” . . .
The
finest chapter in
The Persistence of the Color Line
is so resonant, and so personal, it
could nearly be the basis for a book of
its own. That chapter is titled
“Reverend Wright and My Father:
Reflections on Blacks and Patriotism.”
Recalling some of the criticisms of
America’s past made by Mr. Obama’s
former pastor, Mr. Kennedy writes with
feeling about his own father, who put
each of his three of his children
through Princeton but who “never forgave
American society for its racist
mistreatment of him and those whom he
most loved.” His father distrusted
the police, who had frequently called
him “boy,” and rejected patriotism. Mr.
Kennedy’s father “relished Muhammad
Ali’s quip that the Vietcong had never
called him ‘nigger.’ ” The author places
his father, and Mr. Wright, in
sympathetic historical light. |
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* * * * *
The White Masters
of the World
From
The World and Africa, 1965
By W. E. B. Du Bois
W. E. B. Du Bois’
Arraignment and Indictment of White Civilization
(Fletcher)
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Ancient African Nations
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If you like this page consider making a donation
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Negro Digest / Black World
Browse all issues
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Enjoy!
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The
Death of Emmett Till by Bob Dylan
/
The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll
/
Only a Pawn in Their Game
Rev. Jesse Lee Peterson Thanks America for Slavery /
George Jackson /
Hurricane Carter
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The Journal of Negro History issues at Project Gutenberg
The
Haitian Declaration of Independence 1804
/
January 1, 1804 -- The Founding
of Haiti
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update 11 April 2012
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