[Congressional Record Volume 171, Number 207 (Tuesday, December 9, 2025)]
[Senate]
[Pages S8552-S8554]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]



                             Maiden Speech

  Mr. KIM. Mr. President, a year ago, my two little boys sat right up 
there, in the Gallery above, as I raised my right hand here on the 
floor. It was a moment unlike any other moment I have ever had in my 
life.
  My dear colleagues, I hope it is never lost upon us that we get to 
work a job whose job description is written in the Constitution of the 
United States; what a deeply humbling experience, one we should 
treasure every chance we get.
  Never in my life have I felt the call to serve so strongly and 
viscerally as I do right now. I believe we are in a moment of 
extraordinary consequence and magnitude and that the next 5 years will 
shape the next five decades. There is nowhere else I would rather be 
than to be able to have a voice in this room and a vote in this Chamber 
on the monumental decisions that will shape our Nation's future through 
tumultuous times.
  But there is a bittersweet taste now, a year later, as I look back 
upon the day that I was sworn in. By my children's side, as they 
watched me a year ago, were my parents, both born during the Korean 
war, born into poverty, and they struggled to survive. Both saw America 
as a place where they could achieve the closest thing that they could 
get to a guarantee that the family they had raised would have a better 
life than they did.
  It was actually predecessors in this room who passed the immigration 
reform that allowed my parents to come here. Had it not been for those 
decisions made here, our family's story would have no choice and no 
chance in America, and the decisions we are making now are shaping 
families for generations to come. I am in awe of what this Nation has 
afforded my family in just one generation.
  But now I think of an episode that happened a few weeks ago. I was 
with my father at the doctor's office, and the doctor asked my father, 
``Tell me

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about your son; tell me what he does for a living,'' as I was seated 
right next to him.
  My father fell silent. He turned to me and looked with embarrassed 
eyes and said: I don't know.
  My father no longer remembers being in this Chamber a year ago. He no 
longer remembers that momentous day I had hoped that our family would 
never forget. He no longer remembers that his hard journey from the 
Korean war to immigrating to America led to his son's being sworn in as 
the very first Korean-American Senator ever.
  And it got worse.
  The next question the doctor asked him was, What job did you have? 
What was your life's work?
  And my father stared at the ground and paused and said the same three 
words: ``I don't know''--three words that I am sure I will hear a lot 
more of from him because that was the day that my father was diagnosed 
with Alzheimer's.
  Now, what made this all the more painful is the answer to the 
doctor's question, ``What did my father do for his career?'' The answer 
is that my father was a geneticist, a medical researcher, who spent his 
life trying to cure cancer and Alzheimer's. And now, as I was there 
witnessing Alzheimer's erase from my father's memory any recollection 
of his efforts to try to erase Alzheimer's from our world, I couldn't 
help but feel that Alzheimer's had won.
  I remember dropping him off after the appointment and sitting in the 
car, alone, left to grapple with our new future, realizing, for the 
first time, that, to my list of core identities as a son, as a brother, 
a husband, a father, an American, a public servant, I now add 
caregiver. But with all of these other identities that I have assumed, 
I have embraced them. They have brought me joy and opportunity. They 
have brought me my partner for life. They have brought me the most 
precious boys I could ever imagine. But this new identity as a 
caregiver felt like it brought my family certain pain.
  The doctor warned me that the next year or 2 of my life would be 
hell. I remember having to rush back to the Capitol for votes after 
that doctor's appointment. I was actually standing in this very spot 
when one of you came to me and started telling me about a bill that you 
wanted me to look at, and I remember politely saying: I am sorry, but I 
am barely keeping it together right now. My father is not well. Can we 
please talk about this tomorrow?
  Instead of walking away, my colleague stayed with me, showed me 
comfort, and opened up about their own struggles and challenges in 
their family. And I responded by sharing my growing fears about the 
uncertainty that lay ahead, in that I would be forced to seek not the 
best care that my father could get but, instead, the best care for my 
father that my family could afford.
  Suddenly, I felt inadequate as a son, and I panicked. I couldn't help 
but play back the last few years, and I beat myself up that I didn't 
see this coming.
  Was there something I could have done to better prepare for this 
moment? I should have seen the warning signs and taken the precautions 
to provide better care for my father and my family.

  And I fixated on a singular question: Why is it so hard to provide 
care in this country? And from that question comes others. Why is 
providing care so insanely complicated? Why does it feel like we are so 
alone when we try to provide care to the people we love?
  For many, the disease or injury is only part of the problem. We are 
the richest, most powerful country in the world. Why does it cost so 
much to provide care? The answers explain my anxiety. The median cost 
for a private room in a senior care facility in New Jersey is $14,788 
per month. That is over $177,000 per year. That is outrageous. It 
should be unacceptable. Who can afford that? I will tell you, I can't. 
I look at the costs, and I look at our finances, and the costs of 
caregiving have been catastrophic for my family this year.
  But this is the reality for millions of Americans, and so many 
countless families are in much more dire circumstances than mine. They 
tell me how they are basically having to bankrupt themselves. A 
neighbor told me how she had to sell her forever home that they had 
hoped to grow old in just to pay her husband's bills for his dementia 
care. This is the storm after the storm--a storm of our own making--and 
out of this strain and stress, we feel alone. It shouldn't have to be 
this hard.
  On top of this, I feel overwhelmed by a nagging feeling that my new 
identity as a caregiver is in direct competition with my other 
identities, in that it diminishes and drains what I can provide to my 
kids as their father and to others whom I love. I can't save for their 
education like I had planned to. I think of all the costs that we have 
endured over the years--daycare, healthcare--and of all the other 
experiences that I want to provide my kids that I might no longer be 
able to.
  Even if you can afford this, what an anxiety-filled time it is to be 
raising kids. You can try to keep them off the phones or social media, 
but it dominates the conversations they have with their friends. You 
can try to give them the best education, but you look at the future 
where AI dominates, and you worry if they will be able to find a job 
that provides them the stability and security you want for them. And I 
see the world around us--the wars and the divisiveness. It is so much 
at times that it feels hard to breathe.
  And I ask myself a question: What kind of America are my two boys, 
your kids, and your grandkids going to grow up in?
  Regardless of the political parties to which we belong, I think we 
can all agree that a nation this powerful and this extraordinary should 
not be mired in this level of division.
  My boys are now 8 and 10. That gives me about 15 years before they 
are off on their own. I know, actually, many of you have told me that 
it will be much longer than that because they will probably move back 
into my basement after college, but that is my timeline. I have got 
about 15 years to try and fix this.
  So that is why I am here. That is why I take a seat in the U.S. 
Senate. I am a father willing to do everything I humanly can to try to 
fix this country for my kids and my family, but I am worried. I am 
worried because we stand here in this Chamber, under this ubiquitous 
frame of ``E pluribus unum''--``Out of many, one''--centered in the 
most prominent position in this room. It is the same motto that perches 
over the Capitol Rotunda, the House Chamber, the Oval Office.
  But I ask you: Does it ring true, especially in this divided moment?
  It often feels that it is more like ``Out of many, many''--``E 
pluribus multis.'' But I still believe in that phrase. I still believe 
in ``E pluribus unum.'' It is a beautiful and telling phrase.
  But, as I have been thinking about it, I realize that there is 
something missing. How does many turn into one? The phrase is missing 
the verb. How do we actually get from many to one? It doesn't just 
happen on its own. Now, being the nerd that I am, I dug around, and I 
tracked down the origin of the phrase back to Cicero, at the dawn of 
republics, and I found the missing verb.
  He says:

       When each person loves the other as much as himself, it 
     makes one out of many.

  The missing verb is to love, but how do we express that to each 
other, not just here in this Chamber but across this great land?
  Another way to think about it is when we care for one another as we 
would care for ourselves. Care is how we manifest love of nation, love 
of each other, and it is this realization that I have come to: ``E 
pluribus unum'' requires love and care.

  How we become one out of many is to become caregivers to one another, 
that we here in this Chamber are to be caregivers to this Nation--a 
nation that right now needs healing, a nation whose future is uncertain 
and unsteady.
  My role as a caregiver has taken on new meaning. The care with which 
I transfer my father to his wheelchair and wash his disabled body is 
but an example of the care with which we must handle a nation in 
fragile times. And in my new role, I have learned that care must flow 
in all directions, not just toward those we feel affinity to.
  I have not shared this publicly before, but my father and I have had 
a difficult relationship over our lives. We have gone through tough 
times of division and separation, and I would be

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lying to you if I told you that being a caregiver to him is easy and 
flows naturally from a boundless love. It is hard to provide care if it 
doesn't always feel reciprocal, and there are times that I feel guilty 
when I feel trapped. But for all the faults that he and I embody, it 
doesn't diminish responsibility, and I will give him a good and decent 
life as best as I can provide.
  I will bring that same sense of responsibility right here into this 
Chamber with a nation divided. I believe that one can and should care 
for one another even in the face of division and disagreement. Just as 
caregivers have a responsibility to those in their care, we, as 
Senators and as Americans, have a responsibility to one another, as 
community members, as people. Here in the Senate, it is where we should 
exemplify this action of care.
  I have seen glimpses of what the Senate can be. This sacred ground 
that we get the honor to embody--it is not just a place of heated 
debate and consequential votes; it can be a place of care. It must be a 
place of care, not just for those of us in this Chamber but for the 
Nation.
  The care you have shown me, from the ear with which you have listened 
to my telling of my troubles, let us pour that out of these doors and 
give it toward the 7 million Americans afflicted with Alzheimer's, the 
tens of millions more who are families struggling with the struggles of 
their loved ones. Let our care pour out to the tens of millions of 
parents who struggle to give their kids the kind of life they want. Let 
us build a caregiver movement to care for our family and also our 
Nation.
  Today, in this maiden speech, I make a promise to the people of New 
Jersey and the people of this country that for as long as I have the 
chance to serve here, I will do everything I can to give you the care 
you deserve. I will care for your parents and grandparents as hard as I 
will for mine. I will care for your kids and grandkids as much as I 
care for mine. I will not be perfect, and I will stumble at times. But 
I have learned as a caregiver, I have no other choice but to endure. 
Whether it is the emergency calls in the middle of the night or the 
drop-everything moments where I have to rush to the hospital, there is 
no alternative. As a caregiver, we are the backstop.
  We here in this Chamber need to be that for the ailing Nation. We are 
the backstop. There are times where it will be--to again quote my 
father's doctor--hell, not just for my family but for our country, but 
there is no greater cause than care. No bigger responsibility exists 
than the one we have to the people we love, and that extends to the 
Nation that we love. There is no larger obligation that we have as 
Senators and as Americans to make it easier to look after each other.
  This is my maiden speech, and one day, I will stand here again to 
give my farewell speech. The duration between these two speeches will, 
I hope, not be measured in years but, instead, by the problems I sought 
to tackle and solve. In between these speeches, I hope we meet the 
urgency and lead our Nation forward with strategy and purpose.
  I have often said that we work in what is arguably the most 
reactionary building in America--reacting to the headlines, the social 
posts--but it doesn't have to be this way. Instead, we can be a Senate 
that sets out real goals and builds the strategy to meet them.
  Where do we want our Nation to be in 10, 20, 30 years from now? I 
want to be a part of that Senate--a Senate unafraid to pursue big 
ideas.
  I hope in my future farewell speech, I can say that I was part of the 
Senate that finally delivered universal healthcare for our Nation; a 
Senate that found a way to provide childcare to every family and long-
term care for every senior in need; a Senate that catalyzed innovation 
that led to prevent and cure Alzheimer's and other wretched diseases; a 
Senate that finally gave care to our caregivers, who for so long have 
felt invisible and taken for granted; a Senate that stood up against 
corruption and restored trust of the American people back into our 
democracy and governance; a Senate that helped restore American global 
leadership which shaped a world where peace and prosperity fosters 
freedom and innovation for everyone; and a Senate that created the kind 
of America where I can ease my anxiety as a parent as I watch my boys 
become men.
  Colleagues, I ask for your help here because I cannot do this alone. 
None of us have this power alone. And the Nation is looking to us right 
now to right this ship and give a vision that we can be proud of.
  To my staff, I promise you that this will be a noble journey you will 
be proud to be a part of. I know this will be hard and could very well 
fall short of our lofty goals, but I want no regret in my time here in 
this sacred Chamber; that I can say I did everything I could; that I 
have no regrets about the time I spent here, being a caregiver to our 
great Nation, to make one out of many.
  I am ready. Let's get to work.
  With that, I yield the floor.
  (Applause.)
  The PRESIDING OFFICER. The Senator from New Jersey.