Farewell Address to the Nation
January 11, 1989
My fellow Americans:
This is the 34th time I'll speak to you from the Oval Office and the last. We've been together 8
years now, and soon it'll be time for me to go. But before I do, I wanted to share some thoughts,
some of which I've been saving for a long time.
It's been the honor of my life to be your President. So many of you have written the past few
weeks to say thanks, but I could say as much to you. Nancy and I are grateful for the opportunity
you gave us to serve.
One of the things about the Presidency is that you're always somewhat apart. You spend a lot of
time going by too fast in a car someone else is driving, and seeing the people through tinted glass
-- the parents holding up a child, and the wave you saw too late and couldn't return. And so many
times I wanted to stop and reach out from behind the glass, and connect. Well, maybe I can do a
little of that tonight.
People ask how I feel about leaving. And the fact is, ``parting is such sweet sorrow.'' The sweet
part is California and the ranch and freedom. The sorrow -- the goodbyes, of course, and leaving
this beautiful place.
You know, down the hall and up the stairs from this office is the part of the White House where
the President and his family live. There are a few favorite windows I have up there that I like to
stand and look out of early in the morning. The view is over the grounds here to the Washington
Monument, and then the Mall and the Jefferson Memorial. But on mornings when the humidity
is low, you can see past the Jefferson to the river, the Potomac, and the Virginia shore. Someone
said that's the view Lincoln had when he saw the smoke rising from the Battle of Bull Run. I see
more prosaic things: the grass on the banks, the morning traffic as people make their way to
work, now and then a sailboat on the river.
I've been thinking a bit at that window. I've been reflecting on what the past 8 years have meant
and mean. And the image that comes to mind like a refrain is a nautical one -- a small story about
a big ship, and a refugee, and a sailor. It was back in the early eighties, at the height of the boat
people. And the sailor was hard at work on the carrier Midway, which was patrolling the South
China Sea. The sailor, like most American servicemen, was young, smart, and fiercely observant.
The crew spied on the horizon a leaky little boat. And crammed inside were refugees from
Indochina hoping to get to America. The Midway sent a small launch to bring them to the ship
and safety. As the refugees made their way through the choppy seas, one spied the sailor on
deck, and stood up, and called out to him. He yelled, ``Hello, American sailor. Hello, freedom
man.''
A small moment with a big meaning, a moment the sailor, who wrote it in a letter, couldn't get
out of his mind. And, when I saw it, neither could I. Because that's what it was to be an
American in the 1980's. We stood, again, for freedom. I know we always have, but in the past
few years the world again -- and in a way, we ourselves -- rediscovered it.
It's been quite a journey this decade, and we held together through some stormy seas. And at the
end, together, we are reaching our destination.
The fact is, from Grenada to the Washington and Moscow summits, from the recession of '81 to
'82, to the expansion that began in late '82 and continues to this day, we've made a difference.
The way I see it, there were two great triumphs, two things that I'm proudest of. One is the
economic recovery, in which the people of America created -- and filled -- 19 million new jobs.
The other is the recovery of our morale. America is respected again in the world and looked to
for leadership.
Something that happened to me a few years ago reflects some of this. It was back in 1981, and I
was attending my first big economic summit, which was held that year in Canada. The meeting
place rotates among the member countries. The opening meeting was a formal dinner for the
heads of government of the seven industrialized nations. Now, I sat there like the new kid in
school and listened, and it was all Francois this and Helmut that. They dropped titles and spoke
to one another on a first-name basis. Well, at one point I sort of leaned in and said, ``My name's
Ron.'' Well, in that same year, we began the actions we felt would ignite an economic comeback
-- cut taxes and regulation, started to cut spending. And soon the recovery began.
Two years later, another economic summit with pretty much the same cast. At the big opening
meeting we all got together, and all of a sudden, just for a moment, I saw that everyone was just
sitting there looking at me. And then one of them broke the silence. ``Tell us about the American
miracle,'' he said.
Well, back in 1980, when I was running for President, it was all so different. Some pundits said
our programs would result in catastrophe. Our views on foreign affairs would cause war. Our
plans for the economy would cause inflation to soar and bring about economic collapse. I even
remember one highly respected economist saying, back in 1982, that ``The engines of economic
growth have shut down here, and they're likely to stay that way for years to come.'' Well, he and
the other opinion leaders were wrong. The fact is, what they called ``radical'' was really ``right.''
What they called ``dangerous'' was just ``desperately needed.''
And in all of that time I won a nickname, ``The Great Communicator.'' But I never thought it was
my style or the words I used that made a difference: it was the content. I wasn't a great
communicator, but I communicated great things, and they didn't spring full bloom from my
brow, they came from the heart of a great nation -- from our experience, our wisdom, and our
belief in the principles that have guided us for two centuries. They called it the Reagan
revolution. Well, I'll accept that, but for me it always seemed more like the great rediscovery, a
rediscovery of our values and our common sense.
Common sense told us that when you put a big tax on something, the people will produce less of
it. So, we cut the people's tax rates, and the people produced more than ever before. The
economy bloomed like a plant that had been cut back and could now grow quicker and stronger.
Our economic program brought about the longest peacetime expansion in our history: real family
income up, the poverty rate down, entrepreneurship booming, and an explosion in research and
new technology. We're exporting more than ever because American industry became more
competitive and at the same time, we summoned the national will to knock down protectionist
walls abroad instead of erecting them at home.
Common sense also told us that to preserve the peace, we'd have to become strong again after
years of weakness and confusion. So, we rebuilt our defenses, and this New Year we toasted the
new peacefulness around the globe. Not only have the superpowers actually begun to reduce
their stockpiles of nuclear weapons -- and hope for even more progress is bright -- but the
regional conflicts that rack the globe are also beginning to cease. The Persian Gulf is no longer a
war zone. The Soviets are leaving Afghanistan. The Vietnamese are preparing to pull out of
Cambodia, and an American-mediated accord will soon send 50,000 Cuban troops home from
Angola.
The lesson of all this was, of course, that because we're a great nation, our challenges seem
complex. It will always be this way. But as long as we remember our first principles and believe
in ourselves, the future will always be ours. And something else we learned: Once you begin a
great movement, there's no telling where it will end. We meant to change a nation, and instead,
we changed a world.
Countries across the globe are turning to free markets and free speech and turning away from the
ideologies of the past. For them, the great rediscovery of the 1980's has been that, lo and behold,
the moral way of government is the practical way of government: Democracy, the profoundly
good, is also the profoundly productive.
When you've got to the point when you can celebrate the anniversaries of your 39th birthday you
can sit back sometimes, review your life, and see it flowing before you. For me there was a fork
in the river, and it was right in the middle of my life. I never meant to go into politics. It wasn't
my intention when I was young. But I was raised to believe you had to pay your way for the
blessings bestowed on you. I was happy with my career in the entertainment world, but I
ultimately went into politics because I wanted to protect something precious.
Ours was the first revolution in the history of mankind that truly reversed the course of
government, and with three little words: ``We the People.'' ``We the People'' tell the government
what to do; it doesn't tell us. ``We the People'' are the driver; the government is the car. And we
decide where it should go, and by what route, and how fast. Almost all the world's constitutions
are documents in which governments tell the people what their privileges are. Our Constitution is
a document in which ``We the People'' tell the government what it is allowed to do. ``We the
People'' are free. This belief has been the underlying basis for everything I've tried to do these
past 8 years.
But back in the 1960's, when I began, it seemed to me that we'd begun reversing the order of
things -- that through more and more rules and regulations and confiscatory taxes, the
government was taking more of our money, more of our options, and more of our freedom. I
went into politics in part to put up my hand and say, ``Stop.'' I was a citizen politician, and it
seemed the right thing for a citizen to do.
I think we have stopped a lot of what needed stopping. And I hope we have once again reminded
people that man is not free unless government is limited. There's a clear cause and effect here
that is as neat and predictable as a law of physics: As government expands, liberty contracts.
Nothing is less free than pure communism -- and yet we have, the past few years, forged a
satisfying new closeness with the Soviet Union. I've been asked if this isn't a gamble, and my
answer is no because we're basing our actions not on words but deeds. The detente of the 1970's
was based not on actions but promises. They'd promise to treat their own people and the people
of the world better. But the gulag was still the gulag, and the state was still expansionist, and
they still waged proxy wars in Africa, Asia, and Latin America.
Well, this time, so far, it's different. President Gorbachev has brought about some internal
democratic reforms and begun the withdrawal from Afghanistan. He has also freed prisoners
whose names I've given him every time we've met.
But life has a way of reminding you of big things through small incidents. Once, during the
heady days of the Moscow summit, Nancy and I decided to break off from the entourage one
afternoon to visit the shops on Arbat Street -- that's a little street just off Moscow's main
shopping area. Even though our visit was a surprise, every Russian there immediately recognized
us and called out our names and reached for our hands. We were just about swept away by the
warmth. You could almost feel the possibilities in all that joy. But within seconds, a KGB detail
pushed their way toward us and began pushing and shoving the people in the crowd. It was an
interesting moment. It reminded me that while the man on the street in the Soviet Union yearns
for peace, the government is Communist. And those who run it are Communists, and that means
we and they view such issues as freedom and human rights very differently.
We must keep up our guard, but we must also continue to work together to lessen and eliminate
tension and mistrust. My view is that President Gorbachev is different from previous Soviet
leaders. I think he knows some of the things wrong with his society and is trying to fix them. We
wish him well. And we'll continue to work to make sure that the Soviet Union that eventually
emerges from this process is a less threatening one. What it all boils down to is this: I want the
new closeness to continue. And it will, as long as we make it clear that we will continue to act in
a certain way as long as they continue to act in a helpful manner. If and when they don't, at first
pull your punches. If they persist, pull the plug. It's still trust but verify. It's still play, but cut the
cards. It's still watch closely. And don't be afraid to see what you see.
I've been asked if I have any regrets. Well, I do. The deficit is one. I've been talking a great deal
about that lately, but tonight isn't for arguments, and I'm going to hold my tongue. But an
observation: I've had my share of victories in the Congress, but what few people noticed is that I
never won anything you didn't win for me. They never saw my troops, they never saw Reagan's
regiments, the American people. You won every battle with every call you made and letter you
wrote demanding action. Well, action is still needed. If we're to finish the job, Reagan's
regiments will have to become the Bush brigades. Soon he'll be the chief, and he'll need you
every bit as much as I did.
Finally, there is a great tradition of warnings in Presidential farewells, and I've got one that's
been on my mind for some time. But oddly enough it starts with one of the things I'm proudest of
in the past 8 years: the resurgence of national pride that I called the new patriotism. This national
feeling is good, but it won't count for much, and it won't last unless it's grounded in
thoughtfulness and knowledge.
An informed patriotism is what we want. And are we doing a good enough job teaching our
children what America is and what she represents in the long history of the world? Those of us
who are over 35 or so years of age grew up in a different America. We were taught, very
directly, what it means to be an American. And we absorbed, almost in the air, a love of country
and an appreciation of its institutions. If you didn't get these things from your family you got
them from the neighborhood, from the father down the street who fought in Korea or the family
who lost someone at Anzio. Or you could get a sense of patriotism from school. And if all else
failed you could get a sense of patriotism from the popular culture. The movies celebrated
democratic values and implicitly reinforced the idea that America was special. TV was like that,
too, through the mid-sixties.
But now, we're about to enter the nineties, and some things have changed. Younger parents aren't
sure that an unambivalent appreciation of America is the right thing to teach modern children.
And as for those who create the popular culture, well-grounded patriotism is no longer the style.
Our spirit is back, but we haven't reinstitutionalized it. We've got to do a better job of getting
across that America is freedom -- freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom of enterprise.
And freedom is special and rare. It's fragile; it needs production [protection].
So, we've got to teach history based not on what's in fashion but what's important -- why the
Pilgrims came here, who Jimmy Doolittle was, and what those 30 seconds over Tokyo meant.
You know, 4 years ago on the 40th anniversary of D - day, I read a letter from a young woman
writing to her late father, who'd fought on Omaha Beach. Her name was Lisa Zanatta Henn, and
she said, ``we will always remember, we will never forget what the boys of Normandy did.''
Well, let's help her keep her word. If we forget what we did, we won't know who we are. I'm
warning of an eradication of the American memory that could result, ultimately, in an erosion of
the American spirit. Let's start with some basics: more attention to American history and a
greater emphasis on civic ritual.
And let me offer lesson number one about America: All great change in America begins at the
dinner table. So, tomorrow night in the kitchen I hope the talking begins. And children, if your
parents haven't been teaching you what it means to be an American, let 'em know and nail 'em on
it. That would be a very American thing to do.
And that's about all I have to say tonight, except for one thing. The past few days when I've been
at that window upstairs, I've thought a bit of the ``shining city upon a hill.'' The phrase comes
from John Winthrop, who wrote it to describe the America he imagined. What he imagined was
important because he was an early Pilgrim, an early freedom man. He journeyed here on what
today we'd call a little wooden boat; and like the other Pilgrims, he was looking for a home that
would be free.
I've spoken of the shining city all my political life, but I don't know if I ever quite communicated
what I saw when I said it. But in my mind it was a tall, proud city built on rocks stronger than
oceans, wind-swept, God-blessed, and teeming with people of all kinds living in harmony and
peace; a city with free ports that hummed with commerce and creativity. And if there had to be
city walls, the walls had doors and the doors were open to anyone with the will and the heart to
get here. That's how I saw it, and see it still.
And how stands the city on this winter night? More prosperous, more secure, and happier than it
was 8 years ago. But more than that: After 200 years, two centuries, she still stands strong and
true on the granite ridge, and her glow has held steady no matter what storm. And she's still a
beacon, still a magnet for all who must have freedom, for all the pilgrims from all the lost places
who are hurtling through the darkness, toward home.
We've done our part. And as I walk off into the city streets, a final word to the men and women
of the Reagan revolution, the men and women across America who for 8 years did the work that
brought America back. My friends: We did it. We weren't just marking time. We made a
difference. We made the city stronger, we made the city freer, and we left her in good hands. All
in all, not bad, not bad at all.
And so, goodbye, God bless you, and God bless the United States of America.