December 10, 2009
Remarks by the President at the Acceptance of the Nobel
Peace Prize
Oslo City Hall
Oslo, Norway
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 naive -- 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 naive; 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.)