[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 155 (2009), Part 11]
[Senate]
[Pages 14187-14189]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




             COMMENCEMENT ADDRESS OF PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA

  Mr. BAYH. Madam President, on May 17, 2009, the President of the 
United States, the Honorable Barack Obama, delivered the commencement 
address at the University of Notre Dame, in South Bend, IN, the State I 
have the honor of representing in the U.S. Senate where I for a time 
served with then-Senator Obama.
  Although I was not able myself to be present at this ceremony, my 
friend and former colleague, Dr. John Brademas, who for 22 years served 
as the U.S. Representative from the district centered in South Bend, 
was at Notre Dame for this occasion and has told me what a brilliant 
address President Obama offered.
  Here I note that since 1981, John Brademas has been president or 
president emeritus of New York University where, as he did while a 
Member of Congress, he continues to give outstanding leadership to the 
field of education in our country.
  President Obama was awarded the honorary degree of doctor of laws on 
this occasion by the Reverend John I. Jenkins, C.S.C., president of the 
University of Notre Dame, and was greeted as well by the Reverend 
Theodore M. Hesburgh, C.S.C., president emeritus of Notre Dame.
  Because I believe my colleagues in Congress--and others--will be 
interested in reading President Obama's remarks at Notre Dame, I ask 
unanimous consent to have the address printed in the Record.
  There being no objection, the material was ordered to be printed in 
the Record, as follows:

       The PRESIDENT: Well, first of all, congratulations, Class 
     of 2009. Congratulations to all the parents, the cousins, the 
     aunts, the uncles--all the people who helped to bring you to 
     the point that you are here today.

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     Thank you so much to Father Jenkins for that extraordinary 
     introduction, even though you said what I want to say much 
     more elegantly. You are doing an extraordinary job as 
     president of this extraordinary institution. Your continued 
     and courageous--and contagious--commitment to honest, 
     thoughtful dialogue is an inspiration to us all.
       Good afternoon. To Father Hesburgh, to Notre Dame trustees, 
     to faculty, to family: I am honored to be here today. And I 
     am grateful to all of you for allowing me to be a part of 
     your graduation.
       And I also want to thank you for the honorary degree that I 
     received. I know it has not been without controversy. I don't 
     know if you're aware of this, but these honorary degrees are 
     apparently pretty hard to come by. So far I'm only 1 for 2 as 
     President. Father Hesburgh is 150 for 150. I guess that's 
     better. So, Father Ted, after the ceremony, maybe you can 
     give me some pointers to boost my average.
       I also want to congratulate the Class of 2009 for all your 
     accomplishments. And since this is Notre Dame--we're 
     following Brennan's adage that we don't do things easily. 
     We're not going to shy away from things that are 
     uncomfortable sometimes.
       Now, since this is Notre Dame I think we should talk not 
     only about your accomplishments in the classroom, but also in 
     the competitive arena. No, don't worry, I'm not going to talk 
     about that. We all know about this university's proud and 
     storied football team, but I also hear that Notre Dame holds 
     the largest outdoor 5-on-5 basketball tournament in the 
     world--Bookstore Basketball.
       Now this excites me. I want to congratulate the winners of 
     this year's tournament, a team by the name of ``Hallelujah 
     Holla Back.'' Congratulations. Well done. Though I have to 
     say, I am personally disappointed that the ``Barack 
     O'Ballers'' did not pull it out this year. So next year, if 
     you need a 6'2'' forward with a decent jumper, you know where 
     I live.
       Every one of you should be proud of what you have achieved 
     at this institution. One hundred and sixty-three classes of 
     Notre Dame graduates have sat where you sit today. Some were 
     here during years that simply rolled into the next without 
     much notice or fanfare--periods of relative peace and 
     prosperity that required little by way of sacrifice or 
     struggle.
       You, however, are not getting off that easy. You have a 
     different deal. Your class has come of age at a moment of 
     great consequence for our nation and for the world--a rare 
     inflection point in history where the size and scope of the 
     challenges before us require that we remake our world to 
     renew its promise; that we align our deepest values and 
     commitments to the demands of a new age. It's a privilege and 
     a responsibility afforded to few generations--and a task that 
     you're now called to fulfill.
       This generation, your generation is the one that must find 
     a path back to prosperity and decide how we respond to a 
     global economy that left millions behind even before the most 
     recent crisis hit--an economy where greed and short-term 
     thinking were too often rewarded at the expense of fairness, 
     and diligence, and an honest day's work.
       Your generation must decide how to save God's creation from 
     a changing climate that threatens to destroy it. Your 
     generation must seek peace at a time when there are those who 
     will stop at nothing to do us harm, and when weapons in the 
     hands of a few can destroy the many. And we must find a way 
     to reconcile our ever-shrinking world with its ever-growing 
     diversity--diversity of thought, diversity of culture, and 
     diversity of belief.
       In short, we must find a way to live together as one human 
     family.
       And it's this last challenge that I'd like to talk about 
     today, despite the fact that Father John stole all my best 
     lines. For the major threats we face in the 21st century--
     whether it's global recession or violent extremism; the 
     spread of nuclear weapons or pandemic disease--these things 
     do not discriminate. They do not recognize borders. They do 
     not see color. They do not target specific ethnic groups.
       Moreover, no one person, or religion, or nation can meet 
     these challenges alone. Our very survival has never required 
     greater cooperation and greater understanding among all 
     people from all places than at this moment in history.
       Unfortunately, finding that common ground--recognizing that 
     our fates are tied up, as Dr. King said, in a ``single 
     garment of destiny''--is not easy. And part of the problem, 
     of course, lies in the imperfections of man--our selfishness, 
     our pride, our stubbornness, our acquisitiveness, our 
     insecurities, our egos; all the cruelties large and small 
     that those of us in the Christian tradition understand to be 
     rooted in original sin. We too often seek advantage over 
     others. We cling to outworn prejudice and fear those who are 
     unfamiliar. Too many of us view life only through the lens of 
     immediate self-interest and crass materialism; in which the 
     world is necessarily a zero-sum game. The strong too often 
     dominate the weak, and too many of those with wealth and with 
     power find all manner of justification for their own 
     privilege in the face of poverty and injustice. And so, for 
     all our technology and scientific advances, we see here in 
     this country and around the globe violence and want and 
     strife that would seem sadly familiar to those in ancient 
     times.
       We know these things; and hopefully one of the benefits of 
     the wonderful education that you've received here at Notre 
     Dame is that you've had time to consider these wrongs in the 
     world; perhaps recognized impulses in yourself that you want 
     to leave behind. You've grown determined, each in your own 
     way, to right them. And yet, one of the vexing things for 
     those of us interested in promoting greater understanding and 
     cooperation among people is the discovery that even bringing 
     together persons of good will, bringing together men and 
     women of principle and purpose--even accomplishing that can 
     be difficult.
       The soldier and the lawyer may both love this country with 
     equal passion, and yet reach very different conclusions on 
     the specific steps needed to protect us from harm. The gay 
     activist and the evangelical pastor may both deplore the 
     ravages of HIV/AIDS, but find themselves unable to bridge the 
     cultural divide that might unite their efforts. Those who 
     speak out against stem cell research may be rooted in an 
     admirable conviction about the sacredness of life, but so are 
     the parents of a child with juvenile diabetes who are 
     convinced that their son's or daughter's hardships can be 
     relieved.
       The question, then--the question then is how do we work 
     through these conflicts? Is it possible for us to join hands 
     in common effort? As citizens of a vibrant and varied 
     democracy, how do we engage in vigorous debate? How does each 
     of us remain firm in our principles, and fight for what we 
     consider right, without, as Father John said, demonetizing 
     those with just as strongly held convictions on the other 
     side?
       And of course, nowhere do these questions come up more 
     powerfully than on the issue of abortion.
       As I considered the controversy surrounding my visit here, 
     I was reminded of an encounter I had during my Senate 
     campaign, one that I describe in a book I wrote called ``The 
     Audacity of Hope.'' A few days after I won the Democratic 
     nomination, I received an e-mail from a doctor who told me 
     that while he voted for me in the Illinois primary, he had a 
     serious concern that might prevent him from voting for me in 
     the general election. He described himself as a Christian who 
     was strongly pro-life--but that was not what was preventing 
     him potentially from voting for me.
       What bothered the doctor was an entry that my campaign 
     staff had posted on my website--an entry that said I would 
     fight ``right-wing ideologues who want to take away a woman's 
     right to choose.'' The doctor said he had assumed I was a 
     reasonable person, he supported my policy initiatives to help 
     the poor and to lift up our educational system, but that if I 
     truly believed that every pro-life individual was simply an 
     ideologue who wanted to inflict suffering on women, then I 
     was not very reasonable. He wrote, ``I do not ask at this 
     point that you oppose abortion, only that you speak about 
     this issue in fair-minded words.'' Fair-minded words.
       After I read the doctor's letter, I wrote back to him and I 
     thanked him. And I didn't change my underlying position, but 
     I did tell my staff to change the words on my website. And I 
     said a prayer that night that I might extend the same 
     presumption of good faith to others that the doctor had 
     extended to me. Because when we do that--when we open up our 
     hearts and our minds to those who may not think precisely 
     like we do or believe precisely what we believe--that's when 
     we discover at least the possibility of common ground.
       That's when we begin to say, ``Maybe we won't agree on 
     abortion, but we can still agree that this heart-wrenching 
     decision for any woman is not made casually, it has both 
     moral and spiritual dimensions.''
       So let us work together to reduce the number of women 
     seeking abortions, let's reduce unintended pregnancies. Let's 
     make adoption more available. Let's provide care and support 
     for women who do carry their children to term. Let's honor 
     the conscience of those who disagree with abortion, and draft 
     a sensible conscience clause, and make sure that all of our 
     health care policies are grounded not only in sound science, 
     but also in clear ethics, as well as respect for the equality 
     of women. Those are things we can do.
       Now, understand--understand, Class of 2009, I do not 
     suggest that the debate surrounding abortion can or should go 
     away. Because no matter how much we may want to fudge it--
     indeed, while we know that the views of most Americans on the 
     subject are complex and even contradictory--the fact is that 
     at some level, the views of the two camps are irreconcilable. 
     Each side will continue to make its case to the public with 
     passion and conviction. But surely we can do so without 
     reducing those with differing views to caricature.
       Open hearts. Open minds. Fair-minded words. It's a way of 
     life that has always been the Notre Dame tradition. Father 
     Hesburgh has long spoken of this institution as both a 
     lighthouse and a crossroads. A lighthouse

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     that stands apart, shining with the wisdom of the Catholic 
     tradition, while the crossroads is where ``differences of 
     culture and religion and conviction can co-exist with 
     friendship, civility, hospitality, and especially love.'' And 
     I want to join him and Father John in saying how inspired I 
     am by the maturity and responsibility with which this class 
     has approached the debate surrounding today's ceremony. You 
     are an example of what Notre Dame is about.
       This tradition of cooperation and understanding is one that 
     I learned in my own life many years ago--also with the help 
     of the Catholic Church.
       You see, I was not raised in a particularly religious 
     household, but my mother instilled in me a sense of service 
     and empathy that eventually led me to become a community 
     organizer after I graduated college. And a group of Catholic 
     churches in Chicago helped fund an organization known as the 
     Developing Communities Project, and we worked to lift up 
     South Side neighborhoods that had been devastated when the 
     local steel plant closed.
       And it was quite an eclectic crew--Catholic and Protestant 
     churches, Jewish and African American organizers, working-
     class black, white, and Hispanic residents--all of us with 
     different experiences, all of us with different beliefs. But 
     all of us learned to work side by side because all of us saw 
     in these neighborhoods other human beings who needed our 
     help--to find jobs and improve schools. We were bound 
     together in the service of others.
       And something else happened during the time I spent in 
     these neighborhoods--perhaps because the church folks I 
     worked with were so welcoming and understanding; perhaps 
     because they invited me to their services and sang with me 
     from their hymnals; perhaps because I was really broke and 
     they fed me. Perhaps because I witnessed all of the good 
     works their faith inspired them to perform, I found myself 
     drawn not just to the work with the church; I was drawn to be 
     in the church. It was through this service that I was brought 
     to Christ.
       And at the time, Cardinal Joseph Bernardin was the 
     Archbishop of Chicago. For those of you too young to have 
     known him or known of him, he was a kind and good and wise 
     man. A saintly man. I can still remember him speaking at one 
     of the first organizing meetings I attended on the South 
     Side. He stood as both a lighthouse and a crossroads--
     unafraid to speak his mind on moral issues ranging from 
     poverty and AIDS and abortion to the death penalty and 
     nuclear war. And yet, he was congenial and gentle in his 
     persuasion, always trying to bring people together, always 
     trying to find common ground. Just before he died, a reporter 
     asked Cardinal Bernardin about this approach to his ministry. 
     And he said, ``You can't really get on with preaching the 
     Gospel until you've touched hearts and minds.''
       My heart and mind were touched by him. They were touched by 
     the words and deeds of the men and women I worked alongside 
     in parishes across Chicago. And I'd like to think that we 
     touched the hearts and minds of the neighborhood families 
     whose lives we helped change. For this, I believe, is our 
     highest calling.
       Now, you, Class of 2009, are about to enter the next phase 
     of your life at a time of great uncertainty. You'll be called 
     to help restore a free market that's also fair to all who are 
     willing to work. You'll be called to seek new sources of 
     energy that can save our planet; to give future generations 
     the same chance that you had to receive an extraordinary 
     education. And whether as a person drawn to public service, 
     or simply someone who insists on being an active citizen, you 
     will be exposed to more opinions and ideas broadcast through 
     more means of communication than ever existed before. You'll 
     hear talking heads scream on cable, and you'll read blogs 
     that claim definitive knowledge, and you will watch 
     politicians pretend they know what they're talking about. 
     Occasionally, you may have the great fortune of actually 
     seeing important issues debated by people who do know what 
     they're talking about--by well-intentioned people with 
     brilliant minds and mastery of the facts. In fact, I suspect 
     that some of you will be among those brightest stars.
       And in this world of competing claims about what is right 
     and what is true, have confidence in the values with which 
     you've been raised and educated. Be unafraid to speak your 
     mind when those values are at stake. Hold firm to your faith 
     and allow it to guide you on your journey. In other words, 
     stand as a lighthouse.
       But remember, too, that you can be a crossroads. Remember, 
     too, that the ultimate irony of faith is that it necessarily 
     admits doubt. It's the belief in things not seen. It's beyond 
     our capacity as human beings to know with certainty what God 
     has planned for us or what He asks of us. And those of us who 
     believe must trust that His wisdom is greater than our own.
       And this doubt should not push us away our faith. But it 
     should humble us. It should temper our passions, cause us to 
     be wary of too much self-righteousness. It should compel us 
     to remain open and curious and eager to continue the 
     spiritual and moral debate that began for so many of you 
     within the walls of Notre Dame. And within our vast 
     democracy, this doubt should remind us even as we cling to 
     our faith to persuade through reason, through an appeal 
     whenever we can to universal rather than parochial 
     principles, and most of all through an abiding example of 
     good works and charity and kindness and service that moves 
     hearts and minds.
       For if there is one law that we can be most certain of, it 
     is the law that binds people of all faiths and no faith 
     together. It's no coincidence that it exists in Christianity 
     and Judaism; in Islam and Hinduism; in Buddhism and humanism. 
     It is, of course, the Golden Rule--the call to treat one 
     another as we wish to be treated. The call to love. The call 
     to serve. To do what we can to make a difference in the lives 
     of those with whom we share the same brief moment on this 
     Earth.
       So many of you at Notre Dame--by the last count, upwards of 
     80 percent--have lived this law of love through the service 
     you've performed at schools and hospitals; international 
     relief agencies and local charities. Brennan is just one 
     example of what your class has accomplished. That's 
     incredibly impressive, a powerful testament to this 
     institution.
       Now you must carry the tradition forward. Make it a way of 
     life. Because when you serve, it doesn't just improve your 
     community, it makes you a part of your community. It breaks 
     down walls. It fosters cooperation. And when that happens--
     when people set aside their differences, even for a moment, 
     to work in common effort toward a common goal; when they 
     struggle together, and sacrifice together, and learn from one 
     another--then all things are possible.
       After all, I stand here today, as President and as an 
     African American, on the 55th anniversary of the day that the 
     Supreme Court handed down the decision in Brown v. Board of 
     Education. Now, Brown was of course the first major step in 
     dismantling the ``separate but equal'' doctrine, but it would 
     take a number of years and a nationwide movement to fully 
     realize the dream of civil rights for all of God's children. 
     There were freedom rides and lunch counters and Billy clubs, 
     and there was also a Civil Rights Commission appointed by 
     President Eisenhower. It was the 12 resolutions recommended 
     by this commission that would ultimately become law in the 
     Civil Rights Act of 1964.
       There were six members of this commission. It included five 
     whites and one African American; Democrats and Republicans; 
     two Southern governors, the dean of a Southern law school, a 
     Midwestern university president, and your own Father Ted 
     Hesburgh, President of Notre Dame. So they worked for two 
     years, and at times, President Eisenhower had to intervene 
     personally since no hotel or restaurant in the South would 
     serve the black and white members of the commission together. 
     And finally, when they reached an impasse in Louisiana, 
     Father Ted flew them all to Notre Dame's retreat in Land 
     O'Lakes, Wisconsin--where they eventually overcame their 
     differences and hammered out a final deal.
       And years later, President Eisenhower asked Father Ted how 
     on Earth he was able to broker an agreement between men of 
     such different backgrounds and beliefs. And Father Ted simply 
     said that during their first dinner in Wisconsin, they 
     discovered they were all fishermen. And so he quickly readied 
     a boat for a twilight trip out on the lake. They fished, and 
     they talked, and they changed the course of history.
       I will not pretend that the challenges we face will be 
     easy, or that the answers will come quickly, or that all our 
     differences and divisions will fade happily away--because 
     life is not that simple. It never has been.
       But as you leave here today, remember the lessons of 
     Cardinal Bernardin, of Father Hesburgh, of movements for 
     change both large and small. Remember that each of us, 
     endowed with the dignity possessed by all children of God, 
     has the grace to recognize ourselves in one another; to 
     understand that we all seek the same love of family, the same 
     fulfillment of a life well lived. Remember that in the end, 
     in some way we are all fishermen.
       If nothing else, that knowledge should give us faith that 
     through our collective labor, and God's providence, and our 
     willingness to shoulder each other's burdens, America will 
     continue on its precious journey towards that more perfect 
     union. Congratulations, Class of 2009. May God bless you, and 
     may God bless the United States of America.

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