Thank God, it’s over.
I’d dreaded Obama’s Nobel Peace Prize Acceptance Speech
because I figured it couldn’t go well.
And it didn’t. The
essential ingredients here didn’t promise much: a talented young man who’d been given an award that he and
legions of others said he didn’t deserve; a commander-in-chief on the brink of
continuing America’s policy of waging perpetual war for an illusive peace by
committing 30,000 troops to Afghanistan with no real way of determining when
and how we might declare an old-fashioned military victory in the new-fangled
post-9/11 world and so bring the troops home; the ghost of MLK, Jr., peering
down, who’d publicly and dramatically refused to support war which, as Obama
was about to announce, he felt compelled to support; an adoring and slightly
condescending European public that our President had recently angered by
turning down the traditional invitations extended Nobel Laureates—put all of
these together, and you’ve got a recipe for bad prose, empty abstractions, and
heart-felt posturing.
Obama's assignment in Oslo amounted to a rhetorical exercise that the most fiendish
instructor of basic composition couldn’t devise: send your country to war, defend that decision, and do this while accepting the Nobel Peace Prize.
So I don’t blame Obama for his speech; I believe that Obama
is a decent, honest, and intelligent man. (Who else would've spent much of the
past two months repeatedly reminding us that he didn’t really deserve to stand
with most of the previous winners?)
But even a President as studious as Obama certainly is couldn’t bring in
high marks for this one.
Oddly, I wanted to blame someone for Obama’s speech, so I
blamed the Nobel Committee for putting Obama in this untenable position--asking
him to write an essay that no human being could write. I think they did this because Obama has
been—to appropriate Edward Said’s term—‘orientalized’ by the Europeans. It turns out, as he showed the
committee in Oslo, that his passport doesn’t say ‘Shangri-La.’ He’s a talented and able politician who
is also black. Another problem: Obama
fell into the category of what William Jelani Cobb and others have called
“Negro Firsts:”
In the cavalcade of heroes that we
trot out each Black History Month, there is a special VIP section reserved for
Negro Firsts. The belief is that
each one is a barometer charting the falling pressures of racism in America . .
. The job is not enviable: the
First is generally required to perform a high-wire act in hurricane winds
(Cobb, “The Tragedy of Colin Powell”).
And so the hurricane winds in Oslo were set in motion by the
likes of Mandela, King
, the Dalai Lama, Aung Sang Suu Kyi, and a host of other
humanitarians who’d given their careers to fighting human oppression and war,
and many of whom had suffered greatly during their struggle. Obama wilted under that comparison, as
all of us would, and it’s not his fault.
The Nobel Peace Arena is simply not his arena. Not yet. He
doesn’t have the chops to thrive and represent himself credibly among that kind
of company.
But Obama did what he could, while continually—painfully, at
times—reminding us that there wasn’t much he could do, credibly, in this
company. He was humble in the face
of those who had gone before him, and he tried honestly to claim that his job
description as Commander-in-Chief of the United States held him to a different
standard than those articulated by King and Gandhi (who never won the award—does
Obama know this?) and the followers of non-violence. This much is clear:
American Presidents are going to be intimately involved with war and violence
on many fronts, and that would seem to hamper their efforts to win the Prize. Obama might realistically have won it when he brokered a deal to end the war he starts—that’s an American’s
best shot at winning it nowadays in our role of Big Stick Carrier. (I know what you’re thinking: but to imply that Americans didn’t play
a role in creating the problems that Jimmy Carter helped to solve is naïve.)
So Obama talked about the notion of the just war, which in
some ways, has become, philosophically, the last refuge of war-makers. And if you believe it’s a bit
incongruous that a Nobel Peace Laureate would find himself in his acceptance
speech defending war, you’d be right.
It hadn’t happened before, and it must have been difficult to do
it. Ever since Constantine took
Christianity, an essentially non-violent religion, and made it the state
religion of the Roman empire, Christian apologists—Augustine and St. Thomas
Aquinas most famously among them—have been struggling to justify the wholesale
slaughter of our fellow human beings.
It’s probably best to keep religion out of war, and see it for what I’ve
always thought war was: the
business end of politics.
But Obama couldn’t do that because he was accepting the
Nobel Peace Prize, and that’s not the place for political expediency, and so he
wound up with idealistic phrases like, “cultural leveling of modernity,” and
“the continued expansion of our moral imagination,” and Bushisms like “evil
does exist in the world,” and fifty-cent phrases that wouldn’t survive a
freshman essay like, “the intractability of depravation.” And several split infinitives, which
his political career will survive.
And an uncharacteristically hazy notion of the subject he was
addressing—just war—and an even more uncharacteristic inability to focus on his
theme. His speech wandered from
abstraction to abstraction, and never developed an argument that would seem
appropriate to the occasion.
He was given a homework assignment that no one could
complete.
Note to Obama and his writers: “just war” has been heavily scrutinized since 9/11,
particularly that part about how you know you’ve won because you’re not
fighting conventional forces who think of defeat in conventional terms. The kind of forces that await our
troops in Afghanistan are always “down” in those same traditional terms, but
they’re never “out.” Which has
profound implications for how we decide when it’s time for us to get out. Obama never mentioned this complexity
because this wasn’t an address to the Joint Chiefs; this was a Nobel Peace
Prize Acceptance Speech.
Again, his difficulty here was rhetorical.
I don’t know who Obama’s speech writers are, but this one
seemed to have been the labor of a long night flight to Oslo.
And when he finally turned to give his advice for achieving
a “just and lasting peace,” he had three things on his mind: 1) developing alternatives to violence;
2) achieving a peace based on “the inherent rights and dignity of every
individual;” 3) insuring that such a peace secures economic rights for all.
But all I could think of, all I could hear, as the plan
unfolded was Obama’s commitment to send 30,000 troops to Afghanistan. Which makes his peace rhetoric a bit
more rhetorical than it ought to have been.
The speech was interrupted by applause only once, and the
audience seemed to grow increasingly uncomfortable with what was unfolding
before them. Maybe they were
beginning to understand that an American president is commander-in-chief of an
aggressive nation traditionally and perennially committed to war, and that even
though many things have changed in this country to elect such a man as Barack
Obama, the essential international mission of our country—that we must police
the world—has not changed, and that the spirit of this singular and talented
man would be unable to represent the spirit of the Nobel Peace Prize in any speech
that aimed for honesty.
So Obama did what he had to do. No one can envy him his task here. He separated himself from the marquee peace-makers that came
before him—the Dalai Lama’s absence from his remarks was glaring, but Obama was
in a difficult position again, having earlier bowed to China’s demands to
postpone meeting His Holiness when he traveled to Washington in the Fall—and
reminded his audience that he is, in fact, a war-maker, like practically every
President before him.
It was a sobering message, I am sure, for the Nobel people
to hear, but someone had to tell them.