↩ the History · a speech, filed

The First Inaugural Address

George W. Bush · the Capitol · January 20, 2001
text: The American Presidency Project, UC Santa Barbara · a work of the United States government, in the public domain
colour carries the act's function; a dashed underline marks a predicted misfire; hover or focus any span for its filing

Thank you, all. Chief Justice Rehnquist, President Carter, President Bush, President Clinton, distinguished guests, and my fellow citizens. The peaceful transfer of authority is rare in history, yet common in our country. With a simple oath, we affirm old traditions and make new beginnings.

As I begin, I thank President Clinton for his service to our Nation, and I thank Vice President Gore for a contest conducted with spirit and ended with grace.

I am honored and humbled to stand here where so many of America's leaders have come before me, and so many will follow. We have a place, all of us, in a long story, a story we continue but whose end we will not see. It is a story of a new world that became a friend and liberator of the old, the story of a slaveholding society that became a servant of freedom, the story of a power that went into the world to protect but not possess, to defend but not to conquer.

It is the American story, a story of flawed and fallible people united across the generations by grand and enduring ideals. The grandest of these ideals is an unfolding American promise that everyone belongs, that everyone deserves a chance, that no insignificant person was ever born.

Americans are called to enact this promise in our lives and in our laws. And though our Nation has sometimes halted and sometimes delayed, we must follow no other course.

Through much of the last century, America's faith in freedom and democracy was a rock in a raging sea. Now it is a seed upon the wind, taking root in many nations. Our democratic faith is more than the creed of our country. It is the inborn hope of our humanity, an ideal we carry but do not own, a trust we bear and pass along. Even after nearly 225 years, we have a long way yet to travel.

While many of our citizens prosper, others doubt the promise, even the justice of our own country. The ambitions of some Americans are limited by failing schools and hidden prejudice and the circumstances of their birth. And sometimes our differences run so deep, it seems we share a continent but not a country. We do not accept this, and we will not allow it.

Our unity, our Union, is a serious work of leaders and citizens and every generation. And this is my solemn pledge: I will work to build a single nation of justice and opportunity. I know this is in our reach because we are guided by a power larger than ourselves, who creates us equal, in His image, and we are confident in principles that unite and lead us onward.

America has never been united by blood or birth or soil. We are bound by ideals that move us beyond our backgrounds, lift us above our interests, and teach us what it means to be citizens. Every child must be taught these principles. Every citizen must uphold them. And every immigrant, by embracing these ideals, makes our country more, not less, American.

Today we affirm a new commitment to live out our Nation's promise through civility, courage, compassion, and character. America at its best matches a commitment to principle with a concern for civility. A civil society demands from each of us good will and respect, fair dealing and forgiveness.

Some seem to believe that our politics can afford to be petty because in a time of peace the stakes of our debates appear small. But the stakes for America are never small. If our country does not lead the cause of freedom, it will not be led. If we do not turn the hearts of children toward knowledge and character, we will lose their gifts and undermine their idealism. If we permit our economy to drift and decline, the vulnerable will suffer most.

We must live up to the calling we share. Civility is not a tactic or a sentiment; it is the determined choice of trust over cynicism, of community over chaos. And this commitment, if we keep it, is a way to shared accomplishment.

America at its best is also courageous. Our national courage has been clear in times of depression and war, when defeating common dangers defined our common good. Now we must choose if the example of our fathers and mothers will inspire us or condemn us. We must show courage in a time of blessing by confronting problems instead of passing them on to future generations.

Together we will reclaim America's schools before ignorance and apathy claim more young lives. We will reform Social Security and Medicare, sparing our children from struggles we have the power to prevent. And we will reduce taxes to recover the momentum of our economy and reward the effort and enterprise of working Americans.

We will build our defenses beyond challenge, lest weakness invite challenge. We will confront weapons of mass destruction, so that a new century is spared new horrors. The enemies of liberty and our country should make no mistake: America remains engaged in the world, by history and by choice, shaping a balance of power that favors freedom.

We will defend our allies and our interests. We will show purpose without arrogance. We will meet aggression and bad faith with resolve and strength. And to all nations, we will speak for the values that gave our Nation birth.

America at its best is compassionate. In the quiet of American conscience, we know that deep, persistent poverty is unworthy of our Nation's promise. And whatever our views of its cause, we can agree that children at risk are not at fault.

Abandonment and abuse are not acts of God; they are failures of love. And the proliferation of prisons, however necessary, is no substitute for hope and order in our souls. Where there is suffering, there is duty. Americans in need are not strangers; they are citizens—not problems but priorities. And all of us are diminished when any are hopeless.

Government has great responsibilities for public safety and public health, for civil rights and common schools. Yet, compassion is the work of a nation, not just a government. And some needs and hurts are so deep they will only respond to a mentor's touch or a pastor's prayer. Church and charity, synagogue and mosque lend our communities their humanity, and they will have an honored place in our plans and in our laws.

Many in our country do not know the pain of poverty. But we can listen to those who do. And I can pledge our Nation to a goal: When we see that wounded traveler on the road to Jericho, we will not pass to the other side.

America at its best is a place where personal responsibility is valued and expected. Encouraging responsibility is not a search for scapegoats; it is a call to conscience. And though it requires sacrifice, it brings a deeper fulfillment. We find the fullness of life not only in options but in commitments. And we find that children and community are the commitments that set us free.

Our public interest depends on private character, on civic duty and family bonds and basic fairness, on uncounted, unhonored acts of decency, which give direction to our freedom.

Sometimes in life we're called to do great things. But as a saint of our times has said, "Every day we are called to do small things with great love." The most important tasks of a democracy are done by everyone.

I will live and lead by these principles: to advance my convictions with civility, to serve the public interest with courage, to speak for greater justice and compassion, to call for responsibility and try to live it, as well. In all these ways, I will bring the values of our history to the care of our times.

What you do is as important as anything Government does. I ask you to seek a common good beyond your comfort, to defend needed reforms against easy attacks, to serve your Nation, beginning with your neighbor. I ask you to be citizens: Citizens, not spectators; citizens, not subjects; responsible citizens building communities of service and a nation of character.

Americans are generous and strong and decent, not because we believe in ourselves but because we hold beliefs beyond ourselves. When this spirit of citizenship is missing, no Government program can replace it. When this spirit is present, no wrong can stand against it.

After the Declaration of Independence was signed, Virginia statesman John Page wrote to Thomas Jefferson, "We know the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong. Do you not think an angel rides in the whirlwind and directs this storm?"

Much time has passed since Jefferson arrived for his inauguration. The years and changes accumulate, but the themes of this day, he would know: our Nation's grand story of courage and its simple dream of dignity.

We are not this story's author, who fills time and eternity with his purpose. Yet, his purpose is achieved in our duty. And our duty is fulfilled in service to one another. Never tiring, never yielding, never finishing, we renew that purpose today, to make our country more just and generous, to affirm the dignity of our lives and every life. This work continues, the story goes on, and an angel still rides in the whirlwind and directs this storm.

God bless you all, and God bless America.

The divergences

"The peaceful transfer of authority is rare in history, yet common in our country" — the speaker files an Assertion about how power changes hands here; a hearer who has spent five weeks watching this one change hands files a Frame-set, which enters the morning under the heading of ordinary succession before the count that produced it can be raised. They part on function: a report about history, or a declaration about what today is an instance of. Nothing later in the speech disturbs the heading — election, recount, and Court appear in none of its 1,591 words.

"A contest conducted with spirit and ended with grace" — supporters file Thanks to a defeated opponent, cooperatively meant; those who file the December rulings differently file a Palter: the concession was gracious, and the ending the sentence assigns to that grace was assigned by a court the speech never mentions. They part on motive — whether the true thing said is the whole of what it was chosen to convey. It is also the speech's only sentence about the losing side; the people who voted against the speaker are named nowhere, in an address that finds room to speak directly to the enemies of liberty.

"The story of a slaveholding society that became a servant of freedom" — one audience files an Assertion about a transformation completed; another files a Frame-set that closes an account the speech itself reopens four paragraphs later, where "hidden prejudice" limits American ambitions in the present tense. They part on scope: taken by itself the clause reports the past, and taken against the speech's own later sentence it fixes what may still be claimed about it.

"Civility is not a tactic or a sentiment; it is the determined choice of trust over cynicism" — an audience that shares the aim files an Assertion about a virtue; an opposition preparing to contest the programme files a Frame-set, after which resistance sustained past a first refusal can be filed as cynicism and so as incivility. They part on target: a claim about the world, or a rule governing which later moves will be legal. The speech supplies the test case itself when it asks citizens "to defend needed reforms against easy attacks."

"We are guided by a power larger than ourselves, who creates us equal, in His image" — a congregation files an Assertion resting on a premise held in common; a citizen outside the creed files a Tribal signal, an in-group phrase whose work is recognition rather than reference. They part on orientation. The word doing the damage is "because": the clause is offered as the reason a civic forecast holds, so the forecast stands or falls with a premise the speech never argues and the pronoun "His" declines to leave open.

"They will have an honored place in our plans and in our laws" — congregations file a Promise of inclusion; a reader of the Establishment Clause files a Declaration that alters the standing of religious bodies in law by announcing it from the platform. They part on function. The two halves cost differently: a place in the plans is the speaker's to give, and a place in the laws is the Senate's, which is where the faith-based legislation stopped.

"Much time has passed since Jefferson arrived for his inauguration" — the speaker files an Assertion measuring elapsed time; a hearer who knows which inauguration that was files a Frame-set, because Jefferson arrived in 1801 after an electoral tie the House took thirty-six ballots to break. They part on target — a fact about the calendar, or a move on the frame in which this morning's count is read. The 1776 letter quoted a paragraph earlier and the angel returned in the last sentence are both drawn from that founding era; the quarrel that makes 1801 the closest precedent available is the one thing not drawn from it.