Article #55
Subject: Text of President Obama's Nobel Prize Lecture
Author: Andrew W. Harrell
Posted: 6/11/2010 03:16:30 PM

Article #155
Subject: Text of President Obama's Nobel Prize Lecture
Author: Andrew W. Harrell
Posted: 12/10/2009 10:00:10 AM

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. 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 have 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 of 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 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 43 other countries — including
Norway — in an effort to defend ourselves and all nations from further
attacks.

Still, we are at war, and I am responsible for the deployment of thousands of
young Americans to battle in a distant land. Some will kill. Some will be
killed. And so I come here with an acute sense of the cost of armed conflict —
filled with difficult questions about the relationship between war and
peace, and our effort to replace one with the other.

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.

Over time, as codes of law sought to control violence within groups, so did
philosophers, 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 it meets certain preconditions: if it is waged as a last resort or
in self-defense; if the forced used is proportional; and if, whenever
possible, civilians are spared from violence.

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 is 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 and 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, 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.

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 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 and 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 that 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 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's work, I am
living testimony to the moral force of non-violence. I know there is 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 nonviolent movement could not have halted Hitler's
armies. Negotiations cannot convince al-Qaidas leaders to lay down their
arms. To say that force is sometimes 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 because in many countries there is a deep ambivalence
about military action today, no matter the cause. At times, this is joined by
a reflexive suspicion of America, the worlds sole military superpower.

Yet 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 other people's 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 soldiers courage and sacrifice is
full of glory, expressing devotion to country, to cause and 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 irreconcilable
truths — that war is sometimes necessary, and war is at some level 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."

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 strengthens those who
do, and isolates — and weakens — those who dont.

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 cannot insist that others follow the rules of the road
if we refuse to follow them ourselves. For when we don't, our action can
appear arbitrary, and undercut the legitimacy of future intervention — no
matter how justified.

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 is 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. 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 have 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 is why NATO continues to be indispensable. That
is why we must strengthen U.N. and regional peacekeeping, and not leave the
task to a few countries. That is 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 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 that 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. And we honor those ideals
by upholding them not just when it is easy, but when it is hard.

I have spoken to the questions that must weigh on our minds and our hearts as
we choose to wage war. But let me turn now 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 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 toward disarmament. I am committed
to upholding this treaty. It is a centerpiece of my foreign policy. And I am
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 law by
brutalizing their own people. When there is genocide in Darfur, systematic
rape in Congo or repression in Burma — there must be consequences. 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
upon 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 all too often, these words are ignored. In some countries, the
failure to uphold human rights is excused by the false suggestion that these
are 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.

I reject this choice. 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 worlds —
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 to these movements that hope and history are 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 — and
condemnation without discussion — can carry forward 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 is 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 they need to survive.
It does not exist where children cannot aspire to a decent education or a job
that supports a family. The absence of hope can rot a society from within.

And that is why helping farmers feed their own people — or nations educate
their children and care for the sick — is not mere charity. It is 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, famine
and mass displacement that will fuel more conflict for decades. For this
reason, it is not merely scientists and activists who call for swift and
forceful action — it is military leaders in my country and others who
understand that our common security hangs in the balance.

Agreements among nations. Strong institutions. Support for human rights.
Investments in development. All of 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, or the staying power, to complete this
work without something more — and that is the continued expansion of our
moral imagination, an insistence that there is 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 all basically
want 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, given the dizzying pace of globalization, and the cultural leveling
of modernity, it should come as no surprise that people fear the loss of what
they cherish about 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 are 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.

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 even a person of one's own faith. Such a warped view of
religion is not just incompatible with the concept of peace, but the 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. 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
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 nonviolence practiced by men like Gandhi and King may not have
been practical or possible in every circumstance, but the love that they
preached — their faith in human progress — 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 is 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 nature makes him morally incapable of reaching
up for the eternal 'oughtness' that forever confronts him."

So let us reach for the world that ought to be — that spark of the divine
that still stirs within each of our souls. Somewhere today, in the here and
now, 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, who believes that
a cruel world still has a place for his 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
deprivation, and still strive for dignity. 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 is the hope of all the world; and at this moment of
challenge, that must be our work here on Earth.

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