When Presidential Words Led to Swift Action
WASHINGTON — These days it is hard to imagine a single presidential speech changing history.
But two speeches, given back to back by President John F. Kennedy 50
years ago this week, are now viewed as critical turning points on the
transcendent issues of the last century.
The speeches, which came on consecutive days, took political risks. They
sought to shift the nation’s thinking on the “inevitability” of war
with the Soviet Union and to make urgent the “moral crisis” of civil
rights. Beyond their considerable impact on American minds, these two
speeches had something in common that oratory now often misses. They
both led quickly and directly to important changes.
On Monday, June 10, 1963, Kennedy announced new talks
to try to curb nuclear tests, signaling a decrease in tension between
the United States and the Soviet Union. Speaking at American
University’s morning commencement, he urged new approaches to the cold
war, saying, “And if we cannot end now our differences, at least we can help make the world safe for diversity.”
“In the final analysis,” he continued, “our most basic common link is
that we all inhabit this small planet. We all breathe the same air. We
all cherish our children’s future. And we are all mortal.”
The next evening, Kennedy gave an address
on national television, sketching out a strong civil rights bill he
promised to send to Congress. For the first time, a president made a
moral case against segregation. He had previously argued publicly for
obedience to court orders and had condemned violence, but not the
underlying system.
“We are confronted primarily with a moral issue. It is as old as the Scriptures and is as clear as the American Constitution,”
Kennedy said. “The heart of the question is whether all Americans are
to be afforded equal rights and equal opportunities, whether we are
going to treat our fellow Americans as we want to be treated.”
Action followed. An agreement to establish a hot line between Washington
and Moscow came in a few days, and a limited nuclear test ban treaty in
four months. In just over a year, the 1964 Civil Rights Act became the
most important American law of the 20th century. Kennedy, of course, did
not live to see the comprehensive civil rights legislation, a crowning
achievement of his successor, President Lyndon B. Johnson and Republican
leaders like Representative William M. McCulloch of Ohio and Senator Everett M. Dirksen of Illinois.
Robert Dallek, Kennedy’s leading biographer, said the two speeches were
“not just two of his best speeches, but two of the better presidential
speeches of the 20th century.”
Kathleen Hall Jamieson, the director of the Annenberg Public Policy Center
at the University of Pennsylvania and a scholar of political discourse,
said the two “compelling” speeches invited the country “to see the
world differently, expanding our concept of basic rights and propelling
action vindicated by history.”
They are underappreciated as oratory, she said, because neither had a
“simple central phrase” like “Ich bin ein Berliner,” which Kennedy said
later that month, or “Ask not what your country can do for you,” from
his inaugural address.
Though Theodore C. Sorensen,
the president’s main speechwriter, was the principal writer of both
speeches, they were prepared in very different ways.
The American University speech was a month in the making, growing out of
Kennedy’s sense that if some progress on controlling arms was to be
made, it had to happen in 1963, not in the election year of 1964, and
from signals from the Kremlin that new talks might be productive. But it
was kept secret from the Pentagon, because of fears that generals might
object to any steps toward conciliation.
In contrast, the civil rights speech was written in a few hours and was almost not given.
Mr. Dallek said the American University speech reflected Kennedy’s “real
passion” about his presidency, the goal of building “not merely peace
in our time but peace for all time,” as Kennedy put it that morning.
To achieve it, Kennedy said, it was necessary to “examine our attitude toward peace itself.”
“Too many of us think it is impossible,” Kennedy said. “Too many think
it unreal. But that is a dangerous, defeatist belief. It leads to the
conclusion that war is inevitable — that mankind is doomed — that we are
gripped by forces we cannot control.
“We need not accept that view. Our problems are man-made — therefore, they can be solved by man.”
Another step was to “re-examine our attitude toward the Soviet Union.”
He said that while it was “sad” to read Soviet propaganda insisting that
the United States was planning many wars so it could dominate the
world, “it is also a warning — a warning to the American people not to
fall into the same trap as the Soviets, not to see only a distorted and
desperate view of the other side, not to see conflict as inevitable,
accommodation as impossible, and communication as nothing more than an
exchange of threats.”
He said Americans should understand that “no government or social system
is so evil that its people must be considered as lacking in virtue. As
Americans, we find communism profoundly repugnant as a negation of
personal freedom and dignity. But we can still hail the Russian people
for their many achievements — in science and space, in economic and
industrial growth, in culture and in acts of courage.”
Reminding his audience that at least 20 million Soviet citizens died in
World War II, Kennedy said, “Among the many traits the peoples of our
two countries have in common, none is stronger than our mutual
abhorrence of war.”
“Today, should total war ever break out again — no matter how — our two
countries would become the primary targets. It is an ironic but accurate
fact that the two strongest powers are the two in the most danger of
devastation. All we have built, all we have worked for, would be
destroyed in the first 24 hours.”
On June 11, Kennedy had planned to speak about civil rights if there was
trouble in Tuscaloosa, Ala., where Gov. George C. Wallace had vowed to
stand in the way to prevent the integration of the University of
Alabama. But Wallace simply made a statement and then stepped aside, and
the process went smoothly. The speech seemed unnecessary.
Sorensen, who had labored over the Monday speech, went home, only to be
summoned back at midafternoon when the president’s brother Attorney
General Robert F. Kennedy persuaded Kennedy to go ahead. Sorensen
finished his draft with only minutes to spare, and Kennedy ad-libbed
concluding paragraphs.
The president had come to the civil rights issue only “grudgingly,” as
Mr. Dallek put it. He thought segregation wrong and the Southerners who
defended it “hopeless.” But for more than two years in the White House,
he had treated the issue as a distraction from not only foreign policy
but also tough domestic issues like a tax cut to spur the economy.
Moreover, Mr. Dallek said, Kennedy and his brother thought the issue
would cost him the Southern states he won in 1960 and could bring his
defeat in 1964.
Still, by late spring in 1963 the spread of civil rights demonstrations,
and the brutality used in Birmingham and elsewhere to suppress them,
forced his hand. And while he had fitfully used the word “moral” in
civil rights statements, he had not made it a cause.
He told the nation: “One hundred years of delay have passed since
President Lincoln freed the slaves, yet their heirs, their grandsons,
are not fully free. They are not yet freed from the bonds of injustice.
They are not yet freed from social and economic oppression. And this
nation, for all its hopes and all its boasts, will not be fully free
until all its citizens are free.”
Kennedy said: “If an American, because his skin is dark, cannot eat
lunch in a restaurant open to the public, if he cannot send his children
to the best public school available, if he cannot vote for the public
officials who represent him, if, in short, he cannot enjoy the full and
free life which all of us want, then who among us would be content to
have the color of his skin changed and stand in his place? Who among us
would then be content with the counsels of patience and delay?”
He was not addressing just the South, or even just Congress. “It is not
enough to pin the blame on others, to say this is a problem of one
section of the country or another,” he said.
“A great change is at hand, and our task, our obligation, is to make
that revolution, that change, peaceful and constructive for all. Those
who do nothing are inviting shame as well as violence. Those who act
boldly are recognizing right as well as reality.”
This “moral crisis,” he said, “cannot be met by repressive police
action. It cannot be left to increased demonstrations in the streets. It
cannot be quieted by token moves or talk. It is a time to act in the
Congress, in your state and local legislative body and, above all, in
all of our daily lives.”
In between the two speeches, another critical issue arose. At a busy
intersection in South Vietnam’s capital, Saigon, a Buddhist monk named
Thich Quang Duc set himself on fire. That set off the political
developments that led to the ouster and murder of President Ngo Dinh
Diem just three weeks before Kennedy’s own assassination.
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