Transcription
I grew it all across this nation. They speak to a nation where, too often, just the color of your skin put your life at risk. They speak to a nation where more than 100,000 people have lost their lives to the virus, and 40 million filed for unemployment, with a disproportionate number of those deaths and job losses concentrated in Black and brown communities. They speak to a nation where every day millions of people—and millions not at the moment of losing their life, but in the course of living their life—are saying to themselves, "I can't breathe."
It's a wake-up call to our nation, in my view. It's for all of us, and I mean all of us. It's not the first time we've heard those words; they're the same words we heard from Eric Garner when his life was taken away six years ago. But it's time to listen to those words, to try to understand them, to respond to them—respond with action. The country is crying out for leadership; leadership, the genuine leadership that brings us together; leadership that can recognize the pain and deep grief of communities that have had a knee on their neck for a long time.
There's no place for violence, no place for looting or destroying property, or burning churches, or destroying businesses—many of them built by the very people of color who, for the first time in their lives, are beginning to realize their dreams and build wealth for their families. Nor is it acceptable for our police, sworn to protect and serve all people, to escalate tension or resort to excessive violence. We need to distinguish between legitimate peaceful protests and opportunistic violent destruction. We have to be vigilant about the violence that's being done by this incumbent president to our economy and to the pursuit of justice.
When peaceful protesters were dispersed in order for a president—a president—from the doorstep of the people's house, the White House, using tear gas and flash grenades in order to stage a photo op—a photo op—at one of the most historic churches in the country, or at least in Washington, D.C., we can be forgiven for believing the president's more interested in power than in principle; more interested in serving the passions of his base than the needs of the people in his care. For that's what the presidency is—the duty to care; to care for all of us, not just those who vote for us, but all of us; not just our donors, but all of us.
The president held up the Bible at Saint John's Church yesterday. I just wish he opened it once in a while instead of brandishing it. If he opened it, he could have learned something. They're all called to love one another as we love ourselves. It's really hard work, but it's the work of America. Donald Trump is interested in doing that work? Instead, he's preening and sweeping away all the guardrails that the law protected our democracy—guardrails that have helped make possible this nation's path to a more perfect union; a union that constantly requires reform and rededication, and yes, the protest from voices that are mistreated, ignored, left out, and left behind. But it is a union worth fighting for, and that's why I'm running for president.
In editions of the Bible, the president might also want to open the U.S. Constitution once in a while. If he did, he'd find a thing called the First Amendment, and what it says. And it begins, "The right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition their government for a redress of grievances." That's kind of an essential notion in this country, Mr. President. That's America. That's America. No horses rising up on their hind legs to push back peaceful protest; not using the American military to move against the American people. This is a nation of values. Our freedom to speak is a cherished knowledge that lives inside every American almost from the time you're a kid. We're not going to allow any president to quiet our voice. We're not going to let those who see this as an opportunity to sow chaos throw up a smoke screen to distract us from some very real, legitimate grievances at the heart of these protests. We can't—we can't leave this moment; I can't leave this moment thinking that we can once again turn away and do nothing. I can't do that this time. I just can't.
The moment has come for our nation to deal with systemic racism, to deal with the growing economic inequity that exists in our nation, to deal with the denial of the promise of this nation made to so many. You know, I've said from the outset of this election that we're in the battle for the soul of this nation, and we are in the battle for the soul of this nation. Well, we believe that—maybe most importantly—who we want to be is all at stake. That's truer today than it has ever been, at least in my lifetime. And it's this urgency—it's in this urgency—we can find a path forward now. The history of this nation teaches us that in some of our darkest moments of despair, we've made some of our greatest progress. Some of our darkest moments: the 13th, 14th, and 15th Amendments followed the Civil War; the greatest economic growth in world history grew out of the Great Depression; the Civil Rights Act of 1964, and the Voting Rights Act of '65 came in the tracks of Bull Connor's vicious dogs. To paraphrase Reverend Barber, it's in the morning we find hope. It's in the morning where we find hope. Only more—but it's going to take more than talk. We've had talk before; we've had protests before; we've gotten our vow to make this at least an area of action and reverse the systemic racism with long-overdue concrete changes.
The action will not be completed, but in the first hundred days of my presidency, if I'm fortunate enough to be elected, or even in my entire term, it's going to take the work of a generation. But if this agenda will take time to complete, it should not wait for the first hundred days of my presidency to get started. A down payment on what is long overdue should come now; should come immediately. I called the Congress to act this month on measures that will be the first step in this direction, starting with real police reform. Congressman Jeffries has a bill to outlaw chokeholds. Congress should put it on the President's desk in the next few days. There are other measures to stop transferring weapons of war to police forces, improve oversight and accountability, to create a model use-of-force standard that also should be made law this month. No more excuses; no delays. If Mitch McConnell can bring the United States Senate to confirm Trump's unqualified judicial nominees who will run roughshod over our Constitution, now it's time to pass legislation that will give true meaning to our constitutional promise of equal protection under the law.
Looking ahead, in the first hundred days of my presidency, I've committed to creating a national police oversight commission. I've long believed we need real community policing in each and every police department of the country—to understand a comprehensive review of the—undertake a comprehensive review of their hiring, their training, for de-escalation. Some have already done it; some are in the process of doing it. The federal government should give—give the cities and states the tools and the resources they need to implement reforms. More police officers meet the higher standards of their profession—most of them do—all the more reason why bad cops should be dealt with severely and swiftly. We all need to take a hard look at the culture that allows for the senseless tragedies that keep happening, and we need to learn from the cities and the precincts that are getting it right.
We know, though, that in order to have true American justice, we need economic justice as well. Here, too, there's much to be done. As a media step, Congress should act—should act now—to rectify racial inequities that allow COVID-19 recovery funds to be diverted from where they live. I'll be setting forth my general economic justice and opportunity plan in the weeks and months ahead, but it begins with health care. Health care should be a right, not a privilege. The quickest route to universal coverage in this country is to expand on Obamacare. We could do it; we should do it. But this president, even now in the midst of a public health crisis with massive unemployment as well, wants to destroy it. He doesn't care how many millions of Americans will be hurt because he's consumed with his blinding—his ongoing—comes to Barack Obama—President Obama. The president should withdraw his lawsuit to strike down Obamacare, and the Congress should prepare to pass the act I proposed to expand Obamacare to millions more, so everyone's covered.
These last few months, we've seen America's true heroes: health care workers, doctors, nurses, delivery truck drivers, grocery store workers. You know, we've come up with a new phrase for that: essential workers. Essential workers. But we—we need to do more than praise them; we need to pay them. We need to pay them. Because they weren't clear before; it's clear now. This country wasn't built by Wall Street bankers and CEOs; it was built by the great American middle class, which is built by unions and our essential workers. You know, I know there's enormous fear and uncertainty and anger in the country. I understand. I know so many Americans are suffering—suffering loss of a loved one, suffering economic hardship, wondering, "Can I feed my family tomorrow? What's going to happen?" Suffering under the weight of a generation after generation after generation I've heard inflicted on people of color, in Black, brown, and Native communities in particular. Like many of you, I know what it means to grieve. My losses are not the same as losses felt by so many, but I know what it feels like when you think you can't go on. I know what it means to have that black hole in your chest where your grief is being sucked into it.
Just a few days ago marked the fifth anniversary of my son Beau's passing from cancer. There are still moments when the pain is so great it feels no different than the day I sat in that bed as he passed away. But I also know that the best way to bear loss and pain is to turn it—that anger and anguish—into purpose. And Americans know what our purpose is as a nation. That's to be guided—that's to be guided—guided us from the very beginning. Notice we reported the day that President John F. Kennedy was assassinated, little Yolanda King came home from school to Lenin, jumped in her daddy's arms, and said, "Oh, Daddy," she said, "Now we're never gonna get our freedom." Through Dad, he was reassuring, strong, and brave. He said, "No, don't worry, baby; it's gonna be okay; it's gonna be all right." Amid the violence and fear, Dr. King, he persevered. He was driven by his dream of a nation where justice runs down like water and righteousness like a mighty stream. Then, in 1968, hate cut him down in Memphis. Two days before Dr. King was murdered, he gave a final Sunday sermon in Washington. Don't worry, he told us that though the arc of the moral universe is long, he said, "It bends towards justice." And we know we can bend it because we have—we have to believe that still. That's our purpose. It's been our purpose from the very beginning: to become a nation where all men and women are not only created equal, but they're treated equally; not just created equal, but treated equally; to become a nation defined, in Dr. King's words, not only by the absence of tension, but by the presence of justice. It's not enough just a not tension, but justice.
Today, in America, it's hard to keep faith that justice is at hand. I know that; you know that. The pain is raw; the pain is real. The president of the United States must be part of the solution, not the problem. But this president, today, is part of the problem, and accelerates it when he tweeted the words, "When the looting starts, the shooting starts." They weren't the words of a president; they're the words of a racist Miami police chief in the '60s. When he tweeted the protesters, quote, "would have been greeted with the most vicious dogs, when people would have been really hurt," end quote, they weren't the words of a president; they were the kind of words Bull Connor would have used unleashing his dogs on innocent women and children. You know, the American story is a story about action and reaction. That's how history works. We can't be naive about it. I wish I could say that hate began with Donald Trump, and with him it ended. It didn't, and it won't. American history isn't a fairy tale with a guaranteed happy ending. The battle for the soul of this nation has been a constant push and pull for more than 240 years—a tug of war between the American ideal that we're all created equal, and the harsh reality that racism has long torn us apart. The honest truth is that both elements are part of the American character. Both elements. At our best, the American ideal wins out, but it's never a rout; it's always a fight, and the battle is never fully won. But we can't ignore the truth that we're at our best when we open our hearts rather than clinch our fists.
Donald Trump has turned this country into a battlefield, riven by old resentments and fresh fears. He thinks division helps him. His narcissism has become more important than the nation's well-being that he leads. I ask every American—I mean this from the bottom—I ask every American, look at where we are now and think anew: Is this who we are? Is this what we want to be? Is this what we want to pass on to our children and our grandchildren? Fear, anger, finger-pointing, rather than the pursuit of happiness; incompetence and anxiety; self-absorption; selfishness? Or do we want to be the America we know we can be? The America we know in our hearts we could be; should be? Look, I look at the presidency as a very big job, and nobody will get it right every time, and I won't either. But I promise you this: I won't traffic in fear and division; I won't fan the flames of hate; I'll seek to heal the racial wounds that have long plagued our country, not use them for political gain; I'll do my job, and I will take responsibility; I won't blame others. I will never forget—I will never forget—I promise you this: This job is not about me; it's about you; it's about us, and the work not only to rebuild the nation, but build it better than it was. We're the only nation in the world that goes through crisis and comes out better—to build a better future. That's what America does—to build a better future. We build the future. It may, in fact, be the most American thing to do—build the future. We hunger for liberty the way Harriet Tubman and Frederick Douglass did; we thirst for the vote like Susan B. Anthony and Ella Baker and John Lewis did; we strive to explore the stars, cure disease, make an imperfect union more perfect than it's been; we make it up short, but at our best, we try.
My fellow Americans, we're facing formidable enemies. They include not only the coronavirus and the terrible impact on our lives and livelihoods, but also the selfishness and fear that have loomed over our national life for the last three years. I choose those words advisedly: selfishness and fear. Defeating those enemies requires us to do our duty, and that duty includes remembering who we should be—who we should be. We should be the America of FDR and Eisenhower, of Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King Jr., of Jonas Salk and Neil Armstrong. We should be the America that cherishes life, liberty, and courage, and above all, we should be an America that chooses each other—each and every one of us. You know, we're a nation in pain. We must not let our pain destroy us. We're a nation enraged. We can't let our rage consume us. We're a nation that's exhausted, but we will not allow our exhaustion to defeat us. As president, it's my commitment to all of you to lead on these issues and to listen, because I truly believe, in my heart of hearts, we can overcome. We stand together. Finally, as one America, we will rise stronger than we were before. We'll move that arc closer to justice. We'll reach out to one another, speak out for one another, and please, please, do what's recently been happening—take care of one another. This is the United States of America. There's never been anything we've been unable to do—mine to do it—and we've done it together. Together, united, that's where we are at our best. May God bless you all, and may God protect our troops.