Other Speeches
Remarks By The President At The Acceptance Of The Nobel Peace Prize
Oslo City Hall | Oslo, Norway 1:44 P.M. CET
The President: 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. (Applause.)