The President’s speech in Normandy is a far better commentary on Memorial Day then anything I could offer, but what follows is a speech I delivered as part of the Colonial Williamsburg Veterans Day celebration. I think it works for today, as well.One of my earliest memories is that sense of great height, the rush of wind in my ears as my father held me atop his shoulders on the shores of Puerto Rico. I could see for miles across the ocean from my post, held aloft by those strong arms. “Never be afraid,” he used to say, “of standing on my shoulders.”

My father has taught me many things, but I think this was the first. It was a lesson of loyalty and trust. The American dream seemed far away across that ocean–yet my father never gave up hope of building a better life for us here. He taught me that I could rise up above the dirty streets of my youth, the urban flack and steaming cement of the inner city — that we wouldn’t always live where we could hear gunshots at night — that starting poor, and weak, and small didn’t mean it had to stay that way.

And through it all he reminded me of those who had gone before us, who had risked their lives and fortunes for the freedom we presently enjoy: people like my grandfather, an Army Colonel who served under MacArthur in Korea, and in Panama afterward. My dad was an Army brat, who’d seen all of Latin America before he was 18. I remember finding an old uniform of my grandfather’s once in a neglected closet — marveling at the feel of its sleeve, the worn buttons and proud shoulders, the flood of stories it represented to my young mind. My father taught me the true responsibilities that wearing the uniform entailed–the solemn covenant of sacrifice and patriotism: Duty, Honor, Country.

Would that more in my generation understood that ancient responsibility. Even in the wake of the tragedy of September 11, there seem to be precious few of my peers who remember the lessons of the past. Far too many of them seem to be caught up in the immature finger pointing of an apathetic age, where protest for the sake of protest seems more fashionable than the uniform of service. Even at this moment, where the country is united more than at any time in the past 50 years, my own generation’s American pride is scarce - they are more apt to point blame at our flag than salute it. It is a sad case indeed: a poll of Harvard students taken in the week after the attacks found that, if called upon by their country, barely more than 1 out of every 4 students would willingly serve in the armed forces.

To this I can only respond, with a certain degree of pride, that Harvard is no William & Mary. I am proud to be on a campus where “unity day” is not merely a euphemism for anti-American discourse.

But there are some in my generation who have forgotten the faces of their forefathers–the faces of the lone Marine on the beach, the grave General in the bunker, the Army Nurse working against harsh reality in the hospital tent. To some, the only wars left are those that take place on the movie screen, where there are no casualties, where, after the sounds of the guns and pain, we return to a quite, peaceful world outside.

For this, they should be ashamed.

Make no mistake–the war that lies ahead is not one of economy or state–it is one of ideology as well. The ideology of our enemies praises the bold manhood of the agents of terror, who destroy in an instant thousands of lives, the lives of unarmed men, innocent women, and crying children. The destruction of strangers, the murder of noncombatants, is not a cowardly act, they claim; rather, it earns them the posthumous marks of conqueror, martyr, hero.

To the eyes of those who peddle terror in our streets, the American brand of heroism must be hard to fathom. Our heroes are those who run into the flames of collapsing buildings, without a thought for their own safety, hoping beyond hope to save a single stranger. Our heroes are the faceless volunteers, the doctors, the police, the firemen who labor on through the rubble, damned if they will be stopped by flying debris or another collapse. Our heroes are those who lay down their lives for the sake of others.

In life, it is cowardly to purposefully attack those who cannot resist and thus threaten you in turn; in war, it is cowardly to purposefully attack civilians. The butchers of September 11 fail by both those standards.

Yet there is promise for us today, as well. In the Biblical book of Nehemiah, we are told the story of the ancient walls of the holy city of Jerusalem. They had been laid to waste by a foreign enemy, the city’s gates burned to the ground, the defenses left barren and desolate. The people were left without heart for work or civic pride, fearful for their families and their land, confused, hollowed out, and uninspired.

Into this scene strode Nehemiah. With a few blunt words–you might even call them folksy–this man seized the leadership of his people, and turned their hearts back toward the work at hand:

“Then said I unto them, Ye see the distress that we are in, how the walls of Jerusalem lieth in waste, and the gates thereof are burned with fire. Come, let us rebuild the wall together, and we will no longer be in disgrace.” (Nehemiah 2:17)

Today, we strive to rebuild the wall. It is slow going — placing brick upon brick, stone on stone, one day at a time. But Americans have done it before. You, you who stand here today, have done it before. And, working together, we will do it again.

“Old men forget — yet all shall be forgot, and still we will remember” the sacrifices made by those who came before, who met challenges greater than this with strength of heart and mind. Some stand with us today in person — others stand here in spirit. And years hence, when the heroes of this war join your ranks, those who forgot their solemn duty will think themselves accursed they did not stand with us today.

Today I bring you a simple pledge, offered without pretense, as one student at the alma mater of our nation. Others have forgotten — but we will never forget you who have come before us, who have sweat, and bled, and died …

All so that a man can stand up on his own two feet, hold his son atop his shoulders, and look across the ocean towards Hope and Freedom.

Thank you.

(Originally posted by Ben at May 27, 2002 02:35 PM)

Could Trent Lott have saved himself? We probably won’t ever be able to know the answer. I think it was within his ability to save himself, to give the equivalent of Nixon’s Checkers speech — which was a great one, and one few people actually remember accurately — and wrest control of this controversy away from the Democrats and the press.Lott just can’t handle this kind of pressure. Never a very philosophical man, he’s more of a vote counter than a bomb thrower, more deal maker than ideologue — and that means, in the face of angry questions and hostile interviews, he’s wilted like so much winter kudzu. He’s gone all over the map on his vote against the MLK holiday (Lott, like many others, has always said he opposes all government holidays because of their massive cost — around $300 million). He’s become Mr. Affirmative Action. And he’s talking about the South as if it’s some retromingent backlog of Third World economics and antebellum hostility. He just keeps digging a bigger hole.

Here’s a speech that Lott didn’t give. I don’t know if it would’ve saved him. He’s not a naturally eloquent man, so it’s hard to recover from mistakes like this. But I think if he had delivered a speech like this — solemnly, carefully, without any degree of lightheartedness — I think his cause might be a little better right now. He should’ve spoken on the front porch of his house. He should’ve taken no questions. He should not have smiled. He should just have been himself.

The Pascagoula Speech

Hello everyone. My name is Trent Lott, and I’m from Pascagoula, Mississippi.

I come before you tonight as a Senator, and as a man whose honesty and integrity has been questioned.

There’s a usual political thing to do when charges are made against you. You either ignore them, and pretend they didn’t happen. Or you deny them, and say that you’re blameless and innocent. There’s too much of that in politics already without me getting involved, so I’m not going to do either of those things tonight.

To me the office of United States Senator is a great office, and I feel that the people have got to have confidence in the integrity and honor of anyone they elect to hold that office. I’ve always believed that the best way to answer a charge, whether it’s a smear campaign or just an honest misunderstanding, is with the truth. And that is why I am here tonight.

I grew up here in Pascagoula. My father was a shipyard worker here, and my mother was a teacher. I went to the University of Mississippi, and my family and I worked hard so I could afford to go to law school there. I went to work for William Colmer, the Democrat Congressman from these parts, back in the late 60s — and when I first ran for office in 1972, I was glad to count William as my first supporter from the other side of the aisle.

The people of Mississippi have been good to me. It’s been an honor for me to serve them in the House and the Senate. And while I’ve been in Washington, I’ve tried to quit myself well. I’ve done my best to fight for the needs of Mississippi and of all Americans, and I’ve served the nation I love as hard as I can.

My party has seen fit to elect me as their leader in the Senate. It’s a position of great importance and history. Some of the great Americans who’ve held this position include Everett Dirksen, Henry Cabot Lodge, Charles McNary, Robert Taft, Howard Baker, and Bob Dole. And I consider it an honor to be counted among the ranks of men who have given so much in the service of their country.

I’m not an eloquent man. I haven’t succeeded in politics because I’m a skilful speaker, who can move people’s hearts with a few words. I’m a simple man, from a small town. So I’ve tried to compensate for that by working harder, putting in longer hours, and doing my best to meet the people of Mississippi where they live, as neighbors and friends, not just as another voter.

We all make mistakes sometimes when we talk. We say things that are rude or insensitive or just plain wrong. I don’t know a single person who hasn’t ever insulted or offended someone with their speech, unintentionally — either by telling an off-color joke, gossiping about others behind their backs, or making an inappropriate comment.

I’m no different as a person. The difference is, because of the position of prominence I have, when I make a mistake or speak without thinking that mistake gets carried on national TV and broadcast around the country. Instead of an apology on a personal level to the folks I offended, I must try to offer what impersonal apology I can through the lens of a TV camera.

My comment at Senator Thurmond’s birthday party was not in any way intended as an endorsement of the views Senator Thurmond espoused back in 1948. I did not misspeak; I simply did not consider the message my remarks would convey. It was a foolish statement, made in praise of an old, dying man. But that is no excuse for the offense.

When Senator Thurmond ran for President, I was all of seven years old. I would’ve had a hard time telling you what segregation meant then, or explaining why my black friends and white friends were “different.” But as I grew up and saw what turmoil the South was going through in the 50s and 60s, I saw a very clear battle going on — one that was more about the root belief in the equality and freedom than anything else.

I am a federalist, and a conservative. That means I believe in small government, in low taxes, in the rights of states and of individuals. People may disagree with my voting record — but I stand by it. I have fought hard to pursue the interests of the state of Mississippi. And there is not one vote I have cast in the Senate or the Congress that I regret.

I have had a long career in politics, and I am honored of the position in which God has seen fit to place me. I also understand the political realities of this media age. I understand that a stupid and insensitive comment like the one I made is repeated a million times, compounding the offense.

Some folks call it “gotcha” politics. But you know what, people out there that hate me wouldn’t be able to play “gotcha” if I didn’t give them something in the first place. And I will not allow the Republican party, the South, or the people of Mississippi to suffer for an offense that is nothing but my own.

And so tonight, I have called a meeting of the Republican Conference of the United States Senate. I will ask the Conference to vote again on the position of Majority Leader.

If the party supports me, I will continue on. But I believe that my fellow Senators deserve the right to make a forthright decision about their leader, and vote for the best possible candidate. If they choose to replace me with someone else, there are many worthy individuals within the Senate who would be good leaders in my stead. And I will not oppose their efforts.

I believe in America. I believe that America is a blessed nation. I believe America has, through war and conflict, protest and politics, come a long way down the road to resolving the problems of race, towards fulfilling the true meaning of our creed: that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness…

Across this country, though, you and I know that there are still pockets of hate, groups that have not learned from the past, groups that would like to live in a world without any members of other races, with signs that say “colored don’t enter here,” where the white children don’t hold hands with the black ones.

That is racist. That is evil. That is unAmerican. Anyone who stands for that view must know that they have an enemy in Trent Lott.

I am a simple man. I have always tried, throughout my career, to do the right thing. And I have made mistakes, like any flawed person. I apologize to those I have offended, and hope you will forgive me. In the end, that’s all I can hope for.

My name is Trent Lott, and I’m from Pascagoula, Mississippi.

May God bless you all, and may God bless America. Thank you, and goodnight.

(Originally posted by Ben at December 16, 2002 08:25 AM)