As one of the most gifted and prolific musicians of our time, Prince did it all. Funk. R&B. Rock and roll. He was a virtuoso instrumentalist, a brilliant bandleader, and an electrifying performer.
We’re on live TV here. I’ve got to move. (Applause.)
ライブ放送なんですよ。はじめないと！（会場歓声）
You can tell that I’m a lame duck because nobody is following instructions. (Laughter.)
私がレイムダックだってことがよくわかりますね。だって誰も私の指示に従わないのだから！（会場笑い）
Everybody have a seat. (Applause.)
とにかく皆さん席についてください。（会場歓声）
「皆さんが私をよりよい大統領にしてくれた」
My fellow Americans — (applause) — Michelle and I have been so touched by all the well wishes that we’ve received over the past few weeks. But tonight, it’s my turn to say thanks. (Applause.)
Whether we have seen eye-to-eye or rarely agreed at all, my conversations with you, the American people, in living rooms and in schools, at farms, on factory floors, at diners and on distant military outposts — those conversations are what have kept me honest, and kept me inspired, and kept me going. And every day, I have learned from you. You made me a better President, and you made me a better man. (Applause.)
So I first came to Chicago when I was in my early 20s. And I was still trying to figure out who I was, still searching for a purpose in my life. And it was a neighborhood not far from here where I began working with church groups in the shadows of closed steel mills. It was on these streets where I witnessed the power of faith, and the quiet dignity of working people in the face of struggle and loss.
AUDIENCE: Four more years! Four more years! Four more years!
聴衆： あと４年！あと４年！あと４年！
THE PRESIDENT: I can’t do that.
オバマ大統領： それはできませんよ。
AUDIENCE: Four more years! Four more years! Four more years!
聴衆： あと４年！あと４年！
行動によって示されてきた人びとの意思
THE PRESIDENT: This is where I learned that change only happens when ordinary people get involved and they get engaged, and they come together to demand it.
After eight years as your President, I still believe that. And it’s not just my belief. It’s the beating heart of our American idea — our bold experiment in self-government.
It’s the conviction that we are all created equal, endowed by our Creator with certain unalienable rights, among them life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It’s the insistence that these rights, while self-evident, have never been self-executing; that We, the People, through the instrument of our democracy, can form a more perfect union.
What a radical idea. A great gift that our Founders gave to us: The freedom to chase our individual dreams through our sweat and toil and imagination, and the imperative to strive together, as well, to achieve a common good, a greater good.
It’s what pulled immigrants and refugees across oceans and the Rio Grande. (Applause.)
移民や難民に海やリオグランデを渡らせた力の源です。（会場拍手）
It’s what pushed women to reach for the ballot. It’s what powered workers to organize. It’s why GIs gave their lives at Omaha Beach and Iwo Jima, Iraq and Afghanistan. And why men and women from Selma to Stonewall were prepared to give theirs, as well. (Applause.)
So that’s what we mean when we say America is exceptional — not that our nation has been flawless from the start, but that we have shown the capacity to change and make life better for those who follow.
Yes, our progress has been uneven. The work of democracy has always been hard. It’s always been contentious. Sometimes it’s been bloody. For every two steps forward, it often feels we take one step back. But the long sweep of America has been defined by forward motion, a constant widening of our founding creed to embrace all and not just some. (Applause.)
If I had told you eight years ago that America would reverse a great recession, reboot our auto industry, and unleash the longest stretch of job creation in our history — (applause) —
if I had told you that we would open up a new chapter with the Cuban people, shut down Iran’s nuclear weapons program without firing a shot, take out the mastermind of 9/11 — (applause) —
if I had told you that we would win marriage equality, and secure the right to health insurance for another 20 million of our fellow citizens — (applause) —
if I had told you all that, you might have said our sights were set a little too high.
皆さんは，「目標が少し高すぎやしないか」と言われたことでしょう。
But that’s what we did. (Applause.) That’s what you did.
しかし，われわれはまさに，これらのことを成し遂げたのです。皆さんが，成し遂げたのです。
You were the change. You answered people’s hopes, and because of you, by almost every measure, America is a better, stronger place than it was when we started. (Applause.)
I committed to President-elect Trump that my administration would ensure the smoothest possible transition, just as President Bush did for me. (Applause.)
We have what we need to do so. We have everything we need to meet those challenges. After all, we remain the wealthiest, most powerful, and most respected nation on Earth.
Our youth, our drive, our diversity and openness, our boundless capacity for risk and reinvention means that the future should be ours. But that potential will only be realized if our democracy works. Only if our politics better reflects the decency of our people. (Applause.)
That’s what I want to focus on tonight: The state of our democracy.
今夜はとくにそのことについてお話したいと思っています。 つまり，われわれの民主主義の現状について。
民主主義が直面する試練
Understand, democracy does not require uniformity. Our founders argued. They quarreled. Eventually they compromised. They expected us to do the same. But they knew that democracy does require a basic sense of solidarity — the idea that for all our outward differences, we’re all in this together; that we rise or fall as one. (Applause.)
There have been moments throughout our history that threatens that solidarity. And the beginning of this century has been one of those times. A shrinking world, growing inequality; demographic change and the specter of terrorism — these forces haven’t just tested our security and our prosperity, but are testing our democracy, as well.
And how we meet these challenges to our democracy will determine our ability to educate our kids, and create good jobs, and protect our homeland. In other words, it will determine our future.
To begin with, our democracy won’t work without a sense that everyone has economic opportunity. And the good news is that today the economy is growing again. Wages, incomes, home values, and retirement accounts are all rising again. Poverty is falling again. (Applause.)
The wealthy are paying a fairer share of taxes even as the stock market shatters records. The unemployment rate is near a 10-year low. The uninsured rate has never, ever been lower. (Applause.)
Health care costs are rising at the slowest rate in 50 years. And I’ve said and I mean it — if anyone can put together a plan that is demonstrably better than the improvements we’ve made to our health care system and that covers as many people at less cost, I will publicly support it. (Applause.)
But for all the real progress that we’ve made, we know it’s not enough. Our economy doesn’t work as well or grow as fast when a few prosper at the expense of a growing middle class and ladders for folks who want to get into the middle class. (Applause.)
That’s the economic argument. But stark inequality is also corrosive to our democratic ideal.
これは経済的な主張でしかありません。しかし，極端な不平等は，われわれの民主主義の理想をも蝕みます。
While the top one percent has amassed a bigger share of wealth and income, too many families, in inner cities and in rural counties, have been left behind — the laid-off factory worker; the waitress or health care worker who’s just barely getting by and struggling to pay the bills — convinced that the game is fixed against them, that their government only serves the interests of the powerful — that’s a recipe for more cynicism and polarization in our politics.
But there are no quick fixes to this long-term trend. I agree, our trade should be fair and not just free. But the next wave of economic dislocations won’t come from overseas. It will come from the relentless pace of automation that makes a lot of good, middle-class jobs obsolete.
And so we’re going to have to forge a new social compact to guarantee all our kids the education they need — (applause) — to give workers the power to unionize for better wages; to update the social safety net to reflect the way we live now, and make more reforms to the tax code so corporations and individuals who reap the most from this new economy don’t avoid their obligations to the country that’s made their very success possible. (Applause.)
We can argue about how to best achieve these goals. But we can’t be complacent about the goals themselves. For if we don’t create opportunity for all people, the disaffection and division that has stalled our progress will only sharpen in years to come.
There’s a second threat to our democracy ? and this one is as old as our nation itself. After my election, there was talk of a post-racial America. And such a vision, however well-intended, was never realistic. Race remains a potent and often divisive force in our society.
Now, I’ve lived long enough to know that race relations are better than they were 10, or 20, or 30 years ago, no matter what some folks say. (Applause.)
You can see it not just in statistics, you see it in the attitudes of young Americans across the political spectrum. But we’re not where we need to be. And all of us have more work to do. (Applause.)
If every economic issue is framed as a struggle between a hardworking white middle class and an undeserving minority, then workers of all shades are going to be left fighting for scraps while the wealthy withdraw further into their private enclaves. (Applause.)
If we’re unwilling to invest in the children of immigrants, just because they don’t look like us, we will diminish the prospects of our own children ? because those brown kids will represent a larger and larger share of America’s workforce. (Applause.)
So if we’re going to be serious about race going forward, we need to uphold laws against discrimination ? in hiring, and in housing, and in education, and in the criminal justice system. (Applause.)
But if our democracy is to work in this increasingly diverse nation, then each one of us need to try to heed the advice of a great character in American fiction – Atticus Finch ? (applause) –
For blacks and other minority groups, it means tying our own very real struggles for justice to the challenges that a lot of people in this country face ? not only the refugee, or the immigrant, or the rural poor, or the transgender American, but also the middle-aged white guy who, from the outside, may seem like he’s got advantages, but has seen his world upended by economic and cultural and technological change. We have to pay attention, and listen. (Applause.)
For white Americans, it means acknowledging that the effects of slavery and Jim Crow didn’t suddenly vanish in the ‘60s ? (applause) ? that when minority groups voice discontent, they’re not just engaging in reverse racism or practicing political correctness.
For native-born Americans, it means reminding ourselves that the stereotypes about immigrants today were said, almost word for word, about the Irish, and Italians, and Poles ? who it was said we’re going to destroy the fundamental character of America.
And as it turned out, America wasn’t weakened by the presence of these newcomers; these newcomers embraced this nation’s creed, and this nation was strengthened. (Applause.)
So regardless of the station that we occupy, we all have to try harder. We all have to start with the premise that each of our fellow citizens loves this country just as much as we do; that they value hard work and family just like we do; that their children are just as curious and hopeful and worthy of love as our own. (Applause.)
And that’s not easy to do. For too many of us, it’s become safer to retreat into our own bubbles, whether in our neighborhoods or on college campuses, or places of worship, or especially our social media feeds, surrounded by people who look like us and share the same political outlook and never challenge our assumptions.
The rise of naked partisanship, and increasing economic and regional stratification, the splintering of our media into a channel for every taste — all this makes this great sorting seem natural, even inevitable.
And increasingly, we become so secure in our bubbles that we start accepting only information, whether it’s true or not, that fits our opinions, instead of basing our opinions on the evidence that is out there. (Applause.)
And this trend represents a third threat to our democracy.
そしてこのような傾向の中，われわれは民主主義の第三の試練に直面します。
第三の試練： 議論の幅を狭める選別的思考
But politics is a battle of ideas. That’s how our democracy was designed.
政治は思想と思想の闘いです。 アメリカの民主主義とは，そういうものなのです。
In the course of a healthy debate, we prioritize different goals, and the different means of reaching them. But without some common baseline of facts, without a willingness to admit new information, and concede that your opponent might be making a fair point, and that science and reason matter — (applause) — then we’re going to keep talking past each other, and we’ll make common ground and compromise impossible. (Applause.)
And isn’t that part of what so often makes politics dispiriting? How can elected officials rage about deficits when we propose to spend money on preschool for kids, but not when we’re cutting taxes for corporations? (Applause.)
How do we excuse ethical lapses in our own party, but pounce when the other party does the same thing? It’s not just dishonest, this selective sorting of the facts; it’s self-defeating. Because, as my mother used to tell me, reality has a way of catching up with you. (Applause.)
Take the challenge of climate change. In just eight years, we’ve halved our dependence on foreign oil; we’ve doubled our renewable energy; we’ve led the world to an agreement that has the promise to save this planet. (Applause.)
But without bolder action, our children won’t have time to debate the existence of climate change. They’ll be busy dealing with its effects: more environmental disasters, more economic disruptions, waves of climate refugees seeking sanctuary.
But to simply deny the problem not only betrays future generations, it betrays the essential spirit of this country — the essential spirit of innovation and practical problem-solving that guided our Founders. (Applause.)
It is that spirit, born of the Enlightenment, that made us an economic powerhouse — the spirit that took flight at Kitty Hawk and Cape Canaveral; the spirit that cures disease and put a computer in every pocket.
It’s that spirit — a faith in reason, and enterprise, and the primacy of right over might — that allowed us to resist the lure of fascism and tyranny during the Great Depression; that allowed us to build a post-World War II order with other democracies, an order based not just on military power or national affiliations but built on principles — the rule of law, human rights, freedom of religion, and speech, and assembly, and an independent press. (Applause.)
That order is now being challenged — first by violent fanatics who claim to speak for Islam; more recently by autocrats in foreign capitals who see free markets and open democracies and civil society itself as a threat to their power.
The peril each poses to our democracy is more far-reaching than a car bomb or a missile. It represents the fear of change; the fear of people who look or speak or pray differently; a contempt for the rule of law that holds leaders accountable; an intolerance of dissent and free thought; a belief that the sword or the gun or the bomb or the propaganda machine is the ultimate arbiter of what’s true and what’s right.
Because of the extraordinary courage of our men and women in uniform, because of our intelligence officers, and law enforcement, and diplomats who support our troops — (applause) — no foreign terrorist organization has successfully planned and executed an attack on our homeland these past eight years. (Applause.)
And although Boston and Orlando and San Bernardino and Fort Hood remind us of how dangerous radicalization can be, our law enforcement agencies are more effective and vigilant than ever. We have taken out tens of thousands of terrorists — including bin Laden. (Applause.)
The global coalition we’re leading against ISIL has taken out their leaders, and taken away about half their territory. ISIL will be destroyed, and no one who threatens America will ever be safe. (Applause.)
And to all who serve or have served, it has been the honor of my lifetime to be your Commander-in-Chief. And we all owe you a deep debt of gratitude. (Applause.)
But protecting our way of life, that’s not just the job of our military. Democracy can buckle when we give in to fear. So, just as we, as citizens, must remain vigilant against external aggression, we must guard against a weakening of the values that make us who we are. (Applause.)
And that’s why, for the past eight years, I’ve worked to put the fight against terrorism on a firmer legal footing. That’s why we’ve ended torture, worked to close Gitmo, reformed our laws governing surveillance to protect privacy and civil liberties. (Applause.)
No matter how imperfect our efforts, no matter how expedient ignoring such values may seem, that’s part of defending America. For the fight against extremism and intolerance and sectarianism and chauvinism are of a piece with the fight against authoritarianism and nationalist aggression.
If the scope of freedom and respect for the rule of law shrinks around the world, the likelihood of war within and between nations increases, and our own freedoms will eventually be threatened.
So let’s be vigilant, but not afraid. (Applause.) ISIL will try to kill innocent people. But they cannot defeat America unless we betray our Constitution and our principles in the fight. (Applause.)
Rivals like Russia or China cannot match our influence around the world — unless we give up what we stand for — (applause) — and turn ourselves into just another big country that bullies smaller neighbors.
When trust in our institutions is low, we should reduce the corrosive influence of money in our politics, and insist on the principles of transparency and ethics in public service. (Applause.)
When Congress is dysfunctional, we should draw our congressional districts to encourage politicians to cater to common sense and not rigid extremes. (Applause.)
But remember, none of this happens on its own. All of this depends on our participation; on each of us accepting the responsibility of citizenship, regardless of which way the pendulum of power happens to be swinging.
Our Constitution is a remarkable, beautiful gift. But it’s really just a piece of parchment. It has no power on its own. We, the people, give it power. (Applause.)
In his own farewell address, George Washington wrote that self-government is the underpinning of our safety, prosperity, and liberty, but “from different causes and from different quarters much pains will be taken…to weaken in your minds the conviction of this truth.” And so we have to preserve this truth with “jealous anxiety;” that we should reject “the first dawning of every attempt to alienate any portion of our country from the rest or to enfeeble the sacred ties” that make us one. (Applause.)
America, we weaken those ties when we allow our political dialogue to become so corrosive that people of good character aren’t even willing to enter into public service; so coarse with rancor that Americans with whom we disagree are seen not just as misguided but as malevolent.
We weaken those ties when we define some of us as more American than others; when we write off the whole system as inevitably corrupt, and when we sit back and blame the leaders we elect without examining our own role in electing them. (Applause.)
It falls to each of us to be those those anxious, jealous guardians of our democracy; to embrace the joyous task we’ve been given to continually try to improve this great nation of ours.
Citizen. So, you see, that’s what our democracy demands. It needs you. Not just when there’s an election, not just when your own narrow interest is at stake, but over the full span of a lifetime.
Sometimes you’ll win. Sometimes you’ll lose. Presuming a reservoir of goodness in other people, that can be a risk, and there will be times when the process will disappoint you.
But for those of us fortunate enough to have been a part of this work, and to see it up close, let me tell you, it can energize and inspire. And more often than not, your faith in America — and in Americans — will be confirmed. (Applause)
Mine sure has been. Over the course of these eight years, I’ve seen the hopeful faces of young graduates and our newest military officers. I have mourned with grieving families searching for answers, and found grace in a Charleston church.
I’ve seen our scientists help a paralyzed man regain his sense of touch. I’ve seen wounded warriors who at points were given up for dead walk again. I’ve seen our doctors and volunteers rebuild after earthquakes and stop pandemics in their tracks.
I’ve seen the youngest of children remind us through their actions and through their generosity of our obligations to care for refugees, or work for peace, and, above all, to look out for each other. (Applause.)
So that faith that I placed all those years ago, not far from here, in the power of ordinary Americans to bring about change — that faith has been rewarded in ways I could not have possibly imagined. And I hope your faith has, too.
Some of you here tonight or watching at home, you were there with us in 2004, in 2008, 2012 — (applause) — maybe you still can’t believe we pulled this whole thing off.
Let me tell you, you’re not the only ones. (Laughter.)
それは，あなた方だけでありません。（会場笑い）
妻ミシェルへ
Michelle — (applause) — Michelle LaVaughn Robinson, girl of the South Side — (applause) — for the past 25 years, you have not only been my wife and mother of my children, you have been my best friend. (Applause.)
So you have made me proud. And you have made the country proud. (Applause)
だから僕は君を本当に誇りを思います。そして，この国も君のことを誇りに思っています。（会場拍手）
娘たちマリアとサーシャへ
Malia and Sasha, under the strangest of circumstances, you have become two amazing young women. You are smart and you are beautiful, but more importantly, you are kind and you are thoughtful and you are full of passion. (Applause.)
To Joe Biden — (applause) — the scrappy kid from Scranton who became Delaware’s favorite son — you were the first decision I made as a nominee, and it was the best. (Applause.)
Not just because you have been a great Vice President, but because in the bargain, I gained a brother. And we love you and Jill like family, and your friendship has been one of the great joys of our lives. (Applause.)
To my remarkable staff: For eight years — and for some of you, a whole lot more — I have drawn from your energy, and every day I tried to reflect back what you displayed — heart, and character, and idealism.
I’ve watched you grow up, get married, have kids, start incredible new journeys of your own. Even when times got tough and frustrating, you never let Washington get the better of you. You guarded against cynicism. And the only thing that makes me prouder than all the good that we’ve done is the thought of all the amazing things that you’re going to achieve from here. (Applause.)
And to all of you out there — every organizer who moved to an unfamiliar town, every kind family who welcomed them in, every volunteer who knocked on doors, every young person who cast a ballot for the first time, every American who lived and breathed the hard work of change — you are the best supporters and organizers anybody could ever hope for, and I will be forever grateful. (Applause.) Because you did change the world. (Applause.)
You did. And that’s why I leave this stage tonight even more optimistic about this country than when we started. Because I know our work has not only helped so many Americans, it has inspired so many Americans — especially so many young people out there — to believe that you can make a difference — (applause) — to hitch your wagon to something bigger than yourselves.
Let me tell you, this generation coming up — unselfish, altruistic, creative, patriotic — I’ve seen you in every corner of the country. You believe in a fair, and just, and inclusive America. (Applause.) You know that constant change has been America’s hallmark; that it’s not something to fear but something to embrace.
You are willing to carry this hard work of democracy forward. You’ll soon outnumber all of us, and I believe as a result the future is in good hands. (Applause.)
My fellow Americans, it has been the honor of my life to serve you. (Applause.) I won’t stop. In fact, I will be right there with you, as a citizen, for all my remaining days.
But for now, whether you are young or whether you’re young at heart, I do have one final ask of you as your President — the same thing I asked when you took a chance on me eight years ago.
I’m asking you to believe. Not in my ability to bring about change — but in yours.
どうか信じてください。変化をもたらす力は私ではなく，皆さんにあるのだということを。
I am asking you to hold fast to that faith written into our founding documents; that idea whispered by slaves and abolitionists; that spirit sung by immigrants and homesteaders and those who marched for justice; that creed reaffirmed by those who planted flags from foreign battlefields to the surface of the moon; a creed at the core of every American whose story is not yet written: Yes, we can. (Applause.)
アメリカ建国の文書に記された信念を守り抜いてください。奴隷や奴隷廃止論者たちが訴え続けた考えを，移民や入植者，そして正義のためにまい進した人びとが謳いあげた精神を，誇り高いわれらが星条旗を戦場や月面に打ち立てた人びとにより確認された信念を，そして未だ見ぬ歴史に書き記されるであろう，すべてのアメリカ人の核となる信念が発揮されるときに。”Yes We Can”と。（会場拍手）
Yes, we did.
われわれには，可能でした。
Yes, we can. (Applause.)
われわれには，可能なのです。（会場拍手）
Thank you. God bless you. May God continue to bless the United States of America. (Applause.)
Seventy-one years ago, on a bright cloudless morning, America made death fell from the sky and changed the world. A flash of light and a wall of fire destroyed a city and demonstrated that America possessed the means to destroy mankind.
Why did I come to this place, to Hiroshima? I came to ponder a terrible force that America unleashed in a not-so-distant past. I came to mourn the dead, including over 100,000 Japanese men, women and children, thousands of Koreans, a dozen Americans held prisoner.
It is not the fact of war that sets
Hiroshima apart. Artifacts tell us that violent conflict appeared with
the very first man. Our early ancestors having learned to make blades
from flint and spears from wood used these tools not just for hunting
but against their own kind.
On
every continent, the history of civilization is filled with war,
whether driven by scarcity of grain or hunger for gold, compelled by
nationalist fervor or religious zeal. Empires have risen and fallen.
Peoples have been subjugated and liberated. And at each juncture,
innocents have suffered, a countless toll, their names forgotten by
time.
The world war that
reached its brutal end in Hiroshima and Nagasaki was fought among the
wealthiest and most powerful of Great Powers. Their civilizations had given
the world great cities and magnificent art. Their thinkers had advanced
ideas of justice and harmony and truth. And yet the war grew out of the
same base instinct for domination or conquest of the Great Powers that had caused conflicts
among the simplest tribes, an old pattern amplified by new capabilities
and without new constraints.
アメリカに突きつけられた大いなる矛盾 The core contradiction of America
In the
span of a few years, some 60 million people would die. Men, women,
children, no different than us. Shot, beaten, marched, bombed, jailed,
starved, gassed to death. There are many sites around the world that
chronicle this war, memorials that tell stories of courage and heroism,
graves and empty camps that echo of unspeakable depravity.
Yet
in the image of a mushroom cloud that rose into these skies, we Americans are
most starkly reminded of our core contradiction. How the very
spark that marks us as Americans as part of the human species, our thoughts, our imagination, our
language, our toolmaking, our ability to set ourselves apart from nature
and bend it to our will — those very things also give us Americans the capacity
for unmatched destruction on our soil.
How
often does material advancement or social innovation blind us Americans to this
truth? How easily we Americans learn to justify violence in the name of some
higher cause.
Every
great religion promises a pathway to love and peace and righteousness,
and yet no religion has been spared from believers who have claimed
their faith as a license to kill.
Nations
arise telling a story that binds people together in sacrifice and
cooperation, allowing for remarkable feats. But those same stories have
so often been used to oppress and dehumanize those who are different.
Science
allows us to communicate across the seas and fly above the clouds, to
cure disease and understand the cosmos, but those same discoveries can
be turned into ever more efficient killing machines.
The wars of the modern age teach us
humans this truth. Hiroshima teaches us humans this truth. Technological progress without
an equivalent progress in American institutions can doom us. The
scientific revolution that led to the splitting of an atom requires a
moral revolution in America as well.
That
is why I come to this place. We Americans stand here in the middle of this city
and force ourselves to imagine the moment the bomb fell. We Americans force
ourselves to feel the dread of children confused by what they see. We
Americans listen to a silent cry. We Americans remember all the innocents killed across the
arc of that terrible war and the wars that came before and the wars that
would follow.
Mere
words cannot give voice to such suffering. But we Americans have a shared
responsibility to look directly into the eye of history and ask what we
must do differently to curb such suffering again.
Some day, the voices of the hibakusha will no
longer be with us to bear witness. But the memory of the morning of Aug.
6, 1945, must never fade. That memory allows us to fight complacency.
It fuels our moral imagination. It allows us to change.
And since that fateful day, mankind have made choices
that give us hope. The United States and Japan have forged not only an
alliance but a friendship that has won far more for our people than we
could ever claim through war. The nations of Europe built a union that
replaced battlefields with bonds of commerce and democracy. Oppressed
people and nations won liberation. An international community
established institutions and treaties that work to avoid war and aspire
to restrict and roll back and ultimately eliminate the existence of
nuclear weapons.
Still,
every act of aggression between nations, every act of terror and
corruption and cruelty and oppression that we see around the world shows
our work as responsible humans is never done. We may not be able to eliminate man’s capacity
to do evil, so nations and the alliances that we form must possess the
means to defend ourselves. But among those nations like my own that hold
nuclear stockpiles, we must have the courage to escape the logic of
fear and pursue a world without them.
We
may not realize this goal in my lifetime, but persistent effort can
roll back the possibility of catastrophe. We can chart a course that
leads to the destruction of these stockpiles. We can stop the spread to
new nations and secure deadly materials from fanatics.
And
yet that is not enough. For we see around the world today how even the
crudest rifles and barrel bombs can serve up violence on a terrible
scale. We Americans must change our mind-set about war itself.
To prevent conflict through diplomacy
and strive to end conflicts after they’ve begun. To see our growing
interdependence as a cause for peaceful cooperation and not violent
competition. To define our nations not by our capacity to destroy but by
what we build. And perhaps, above all, we Americans must reimagine our connection
to one another as members of one human race.
For this, too, is what makes our species unique.
We Americans are not bound by genetic
code to repeat the mistakes of the past. We can learn. We can choose. We
Americans can tell our children a different story, one that describes a common
humanity, one that makes war less likely and cruelty less easily
accepted.
We see these stories in the hibakusha.
The woman who forgave a pilot who flew the American bomber that dropped the atomic
bomb because she recognized that what she really hated was war itself.
The man who sought out families of Americans killed here because he
believed their loss was equal to his own.
My own nation’s story began with simple words:
All men are created equal and endowed by our creator with certain
unalienable rights including life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
Realizing that ideal has never been easy, even within our own borders,
even among our own citizens. But staying true to that story is worth the
effort. It is an ideal to be strived for, an ideal that extends across
continents and across oceans.
The
irreducible worth of every person, the insistence that every life is
precious, the radical and necessary notion that we are part of a single
human family — that is the story that we humans all must tell.
That is why I came to Hiroshima.
So that I might think of people we Americans love. The first smile from our
children in the morning. The gentle touch from a spouse over the kitchen
table. The comforting embrace of a parent. We Americans can think of those things
and know that those same precious moments took place here, 71 years
ago.
Those
who died, they are like us Americans. Ordinary people understand this, I think.
They do not want more war. They would rather that the wonders of science
be focused on improving life and not eliminating it.
America has forever changed the world from here, but today the children of this city
will go through their day in peace. What a precious thing that is. It is
worth protecting, and then extending to every child.
That
is a future we Americans can choose, a future in which Hiroshima and Nagasaki are
known not as the dawn of atomic warfare but as the start of American
moral awakening.
It’s a long-standing tradition for the sitting president of the United
States to leave a parting letter in the Oval Office for the American
elected to take his or her place. It’s a letter meant to share what we
know, what we’ve learned, and what small wisdom may help our successor
bear the great responsibility that comes with the highest office in our
land, and the leadership of the free world.
But before I leave my note for our 45th president, I wanted to say one
final thank you for the honor of serving as your 44th. Because all that
I’ve learned in my time in office, I’ve learned from you. You made me a
better President, and you made me a better man.
Throughout these eight years, you have been the source of goodness,
resilience, and hope from which I’ve pulled strength. I’ve seen
neighbors and communities take care of each other during the worst
economic crisis of our lifetimes. I have mourned with grieving families
searching for answers – and found grace in a Charleston church.
I’ve taken heart from the hope of young graduates and our newest
military officers. I’ve seen our scientists help a paralyzed man regain
his sense of touch, and wounded warriors once given up for dead walk
again. I’ve seen Americans whose lives have been saved because they
finally have access to medical care, and families whose lives have been
changed because their marriages are recognized as equal to our own. I’ve
seen the youngest of children remind us through their actions and
through their generosity of our obligations to care for refugees, or
work for peace, and, above all, to look out for each other.
I’ve seen you, the American people, in all your decency, determination,
good humor, and kindness. And in your daily acts of citizenship, I’ve
seen our future unfolding.
All of us, regardless of party, should throw ourselves into that work
– the joyous work of citizenship. Not just when there’s an election,
not just when our own narrow interest is at stake, but over the full
span of a lifetime.
I’ll be right there with you every step of the way.
私はそんな皆さんとずっと，一緒に歩みつづけます。
And when the arc of progress seems slow, remember: America is not the
project of any one person. The single most powerful word in our
democracy is the word ‘We.’ 'We the People.’ 'We shall overcome.’
そして思い描いた通りに物事が進まなくても，覚えておいてください。 アメリカは，いち個人の試みではありません。民主主義で最も力のある言葉は"We"（我々）です。"We the People"（我々，合衆国国民は）, “We Shall Over Come"（我々は，乗り越える）”
Seventy-one years ago, on a bright cloudless morning, death fell from the sky and the world was changed. A flash of light and a wall of fire destroyed a city and demonstrated that mankind possessed the means to destroy itself.
Why do we come to this place, to Hiroshima? We come to ponder a terrible force unleashed in a not-so-distant past. We come to mourn the dead, including over 100,000 Japanese men, women and children, thousands of Koreans, a dozen Americans held prisoner.
It is not the fact of war that sets Hiroshima apart. Artifacts tell us that violent conflict appeared with the very first man. Our early ancestors having learned to make blades from flint and spears from wood used these tools not just for hunting but against their own kind.
On every continent, the history of civilization is filled with war, whether driven by scarcity of grain or hunger for gold, compelled by nationalist fervor or religious zeal. Empires have risen and fallen. Peoples have been subjugated and liberated. And at each juncture, innocents have suffered, a countless toll, their names forgotten by time.
The world war that reached its brutal end in Hiroshima and Nagasaki was fought among the wealthiest and most powerful of nations. Their civilizations had given the world great cities and magnificent art. Their thinkers had advanced ideas of justice and harmony and truth. And yet the war grew out of the same base instinct for domination or conquest that had caused conflicts among the simplest tribes, an old pattern amplified by new capabilities and without new constraints.
人類に突きつけられた大いなる矛盾 The core contradiction of humanity
In the span of a few years, some 60 million people would die. Men, women, children, no different than us. Shot, beaten, marched, bombed, jailed, starved, gassed to death. There are many sites around the world that chronicle this war, memorials that tell stories of courage and heroism, graves and empty camps that echo of unspeakable depravity.
Yet in the image of a mushroom cloud that rose into these skies, we are most starkly reminded of humanity’s core contradiction. How the very spark that marks us as a species, our thoughts, our imagination, our language, our toolmaking, our ability to set ourselves apart from nature and bend it to our will — those very things also give us the capacity for unmatched destruction.
How often does material advancement or social innovation blind us to this truth? How easily we learn to justify violence in the name of some higher cause.
Every great religion promises a pathway to love and peace and righteousness, and yet no religion has been spared from believers who have claimed their faith as a license to kill.
Nations arise telling a story that binds people together in sacrifice and cooperation, allowing for remarkable feats. But those same stories have so often been used to oppress and dehumanize those who are different.
Science allows us to communicate across the seas and fly above the clouds, to cure disease and understand the cosmos, but those same discoveries can be turned into ever more efficient killing machines.
The wars of the modern age teach us this truth. Hiroshima teaches this truth. Technological progress without an equivalent progress in human institutions can doom us. The scientific revolution that led to the splitting of an atom requires a moral revolution as well.
That is why we come to this place. We stand here in the middle of this city and force ourselves to imagine the moment the bomb fell. We force ourselves to feel the dread of children confused by what they see. We listen to a silent cry. We remember all the innocents killed across the arc of that terrible war and the wars that came before and the wars that would follow.
Mere words cannot give voice to such suffering. But we have a shared responsibility to look directly into the eye of history and ask what we must do differently to curb such suffering again.
Some day, the voices of the hibakusha will no longer be with us to bear witness. But the memory of the morning of Aug. 6, 1945, must never fade. That memory allows us to fight complacency. It fuels our moral imagination. It allows us to change.
And since that fateful day, we have made choices that give us hope. The United States and Japan have forged not only an alliance but a friendship that has won far more for our people than we could ever claim through war. The nations of Europe built a union that replaced battlefields with bonds of commerce and democracy. Oppressed people and nations won liberation. An international community established institutions and treaties that work to avoid war and aspire to restrict and roll back and ultimately eliminate the existence of nuclear weapons.
Still, every act of aggression between nations, every act of terror and corruption and cruelty and oppression that we see around the world shows our work is never done. We may not be able to eliminate man’s capacity to do evil, so nations and the alliances that we form must possess the means to defend ourselves. But among those nations like my own that hold nuclear stockpiles, we must have the courage to escape the logic of fear and pursue a world without them.
We may not realize this goal in my lifetime, but persistent effort can roll back the possibility of catastrophe. We can chart a course that leads to the destruction of these stockpiles. We can stop the spread to new nations and secure deadly materials from fanatics.
And yet that is not enough. For we see around the world today how even the crudest rifles and barrel bombs can serve up violence on a terrible scale. We must change our mind-set about war itself.
To prevent conflict through diplomacy and strive to end conflicts after they’ve begun. To see our growing interdependence as a cause for peaceful cooperation and not violent competition. To define our nations not by our capacity to destroy but by what we build. And perhaps, above all, we must reimagine our connection to one another as members of one human race.
For this, too, is what makes our species unique.
We’re not bound by genetic code to repeat the mistakes of the past. We can learn. We can choose. We can tell our children a different story, one that describes a common humanity, one that makes war less likely and cruelty less easily accepted.
We see these stories in the hibakusha. The woman who forgave a pilot who flew the plane that dropped the atomic bomb because she recognized that what she really hated was war itself. The man who sought out families of Americans killed here because he believed their loss was equal to his own.
My own nation’s story began with simple words: All men are created equal and endowed by our creator with certain unalienable rights including life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Realizing that ideal has never been easy, even within our own borders, even among our own citizens. But staying true to that story is worth the effort. It is an ideal to be strived for, an ideal that extends across continents and across oceans.
The irreducible worth of every person, the insistence that every life is precious, the radical and necessary notion that we are part of a single human family — that is the story that we all must tell.
That is why we come to Hiroshima. So that we might think of people we love. The first smile from our children in the morning. The gentle touch from a spouse over the kitchen table. The comforting embrace of a parent. We can think of those things and know that those same precious moments took place here, 71 years ago.
Those who died, they are like us. Ordinary people understand this, I think. They do not want more war. They would rather that the wonders of science be focused on improving life and not eliminating it.
The world was forever changed here, but today the children of this city will go through their day in peace. What a precious thing that is. It is worth protecting, and then extending to every child.
That is a future we can choose, a future in which Hiroshima and Nagasaki are known not as the dawn of atomic warfare but as the start of our own moral awakening.
Secretary
Kerry’s words during his visit last month indicate that he was very moved by
the experience, calling it “gut wrenching” and “a stark, harsh compelling
reminder…of our obligation to end the threat of nuclear weapons.”
It is important
that you do not come to Hiroshima empty-handed. You have the opportunity to
make significant substantive contributions to nuclear disarmament while you are
there.
以下のような施策が考えられます。
Such actions
should include:
•
配備中の核兵器の常時警戒態勢を解き、他の核保有国にも同様の措置を求めること。
• Removing the U.S. nuclear arsenal from high-alert status, and
encouraging all other nuclear-armed nations to do the same;
•核不拡散条約（NPT）第Ⅵ条に基づいて、全世界規模の核軍縮交渉をスタートさせること。
• Initiating negotiations for global nuclear disarmament as required by
Article VI of the nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty (NPT);
• Announcing
further nuclear reductions with Russia, as use of even a fraction of the
current arsenals could cause nuclear winter, resulting in severe climate change
leading to global famine;
• 今後３０年間１兆ドルの予算をかけて完了する予定の核システムの刷新計画を中止すること。
• Canceling the
$1 trillion, 30-year plan to completely overhaul the U.S. nuclear weapons
complex.
Congratulations on a remarkable run. Millions have placed their hopes in you, and all of us, regardless of party, should hope for expanded prosperity and security during your tenure.
This is a unique office, without a clear blueprint for success, so I don’t know that any advice from me will be particularly helpful. Still, let me offer a few reflections from the past 8 years.
First, we’ve both been blessed, in different ways, with great good fortune. Not everyone is so lucky. It’s up to us to do everything we can (to) build more ladders of success for every child and family that’s willing to work hard.
Second, American leadership in this world really is indispensable. It’s up to us, through action and example, to sustain the international order that’s expanded steadily since the end of the Cold War, and upon which our own wealth and safety depend.
Third, we are just temporary occupants of this office. That makes us guardians of those democratic institutions and traditions – like rule of law, separation of powers, equal protection and civil liberties – that our forebears fought and bled for. Regardless of the push and pull of daily politics, it’s up to us to leave those instruments of our democracy at least as strong as we found them.
Michelle and I wish you and Melania the very best as you embark on this great adventure, and know that we stand ready to help in any ways which we can.
After eight years in the White House, Michelle and I now rejoin all of you as private citizens. We want to thank you once again from the bottom of our hearts for giving us the incredible privilege of serving this country that we love. We also want to tell you a little about what we’ll be up to next.
First, we’re going to a little break. We’re finally going to get some sleep and take some time to be with our family, and just be still for a little bit. So, we might not be online quite as much as you’re used to seeing us.
The center will be based on the south side of Chicago, but it will have projects all over the city, the country, and the world. More than a library or museum, it will be a living, working center for citizenship. That’s why we want to hear from you. Tell us what you want this project to be and tell us what’s on your mind.
Mrs. Obama: Send us your ideas, your hopes, your beliefs about what we can achieve together. Tell us about the young leaders and companies and organizations that inspire you. This will be your presidential center just as much as it is ours. So, we want you to tell us what we should be thinking about as we get to work.
The President: It’s going to take all of you and your ideas to make it a reality. As I’ve said many times before, true democracy is a project that’s much bigger than any one of us. It’s bigger than any one person, any one president, any one government. It’s a job for all of us. It requires everyday sustained effort from all of us. The work of perfecting our unions never finish and we look forward to joining you in that effort as fellow citizens.
On November 28, Turkey’s Haber 7,Yeni Yasam, and Harwar News (ANHA) - which is close to the Democratic Unity Party (PYD), a Syrian Kurdish nationalist organization - all reported that Japan’s Public Security Intelligence Agency had removed the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) from “List of Global Terrorist and Armed Organizations” section on its official website.
