Fellow Americans, this marks my 34th and final address to you from the Oval Office. For eight years, we’ve shared a journey, and as my time in office concludes, I want to share some reflections, thoughts I’ve long held.
Serving as your President has been the greatest honor of my life. Many of you have recently expressed your thanks, but I am equally grateful for the opportunity to serve. Nancy and I deeply appreciate the chance you gave us.
The presidency is a unique position, often isolating. Much of my time has been spent traveling at speed in vehicles driven by others, observing people through tinted windows – a parent holding a child, a wave seen too late to return. Countless times, I wished to stop, to connect beyond the glass. Perhaps tonight, I can bridge that gap somewhat.
People often ask about my feelings on departing. Indeed, “parting is such sweet sorrow.” The sweetness lies in returning to California, to the ranch, to freedom. The sorrow, of course, is in saying goodbye to this remarkable place and the duties it holds.
Within the White House, just down the hall and up the stairs from this office, lies the presidential family’s living quarters. There are certain windows there where I often pause in the early morning. The view extends across the grounds to the Washington Monument, then to the Mall and the Jefferson Memorial. On clear mornings, you can even see beyond the Jefferson Memorial to the Potomac River and the Virginia shoreline. It’s said that this was the view Lincoln had when he witnessed the smoke from the Battle of Bull Run. My view is more ordinary: the riverbanks, morning traffic as people commute, and occasionally, a sailboat on the water.
Standing at that window, I’ve contemplated the significance of the past eight years. A nautical image persistently comes to mind: a brief story of a large ship, a refugee, and a sailor. It dates back to the early 1980s, during the height of the boat people crisis. The sailor was serving diligently on the carrier Midway, patrolling the South China Sea. Like many American servicemen, he was young, intelligent, and keenly observant. The crew spotted a small, leaky boat on the horizon, overcrowded with refugees from Indochina seeking refuge in America. The Midway dispatched a launch to bring them aboard to safety. As the refugees navigated the rough seas, one noticed the sailor on deck, stood up, and called out to him, “Hello, American sailor. Hello, freedom man.”
Alt text: Vietnamese refugees reach safety on US Navy ship, highlighting American humanitarian efforts.
This brief encounter, laden with meaning, profoundly impacted the sailor, who shared it in a letter. Upon reading it, I too was deeply moved. It encapsulated what it meant to be an American in the 1980s. We stood, once again, as a beacon of freedom. While this has always been our essence, the world, and perhaps we ourselves, rediscovered this truth in recent years.
This decade has been quite a voyage, navigating through turbulent waters. Yet, together, we are reaching our destination.
From Grenada to the summits in Washington and Moscow, from the recession of ’81-’82 to the expansion that began in late ’82 and continues today, we have made a significant difference. In my view, two triumphs stand out. Firstly, the economic recovery, where the American people generated – and filled – 19 million new jobs. Secondly, the revitalization of our national morale. America has regained global respect and is once again looked to for leadership.
An event from a few years ago illustrates this point. In 1981, I attended my first major economic summit in Canada. These meetings rotate among member nations. The opening event was a formal dinner for the heads of government from the seven industrialized nations. As the newcomer, I listened as they addressed each other by first names, “Francois this,” and “Helmut that.” Eventually, I leaned in and said, “My name’s Ron.” That same year, we initiated policies aimed at sparking economic recovery – tax and regulation cuts, and spending reductions. Soon after, the recovery began.
Two years later, at another economic summit with largely the same attendees, something remarkable happened. As we gathered for the opening meeting, I noticed everyone was looking at me. Then, one of them broke the silence, asking, “Tell us about the American miracle.”
Back in 1980, when I campaigned for President, the atmosphere was vastly different. Pundits predicted catastrophe from our policies. They warned our foreign policy views would incite war, and our economic plans would trigger runaway inflation and economic collapse. I recall a respected economist claiming in 1982 that “The engines of economic growth have shut down here, and they’re likely to stay that way for years to come.” However, he and other opinion leaders were mistaken. What they labeled “radical” was, in fact, “right.” What they deemed “dangerous” was simply “desperately needed.”
Throughout this period, I acquired the nickname, “The Great Communicator.” Yet, I never believed it was my style or words alone that made the difference; it was the substance of the message. I wasn’t a great communicator, but I communicated great things, ideas that didn’t originate solely from me but from the heart of this great nation – from our collective experience, wisdom, and faith in the principles that have guided us for two centuries. They called it the Reagan Revolution. I accept that label, but to me, it felt more like a great rediscovery, a reawakening of our core values and common sense.
Common sense dictated that high taxes on productive activities discourage production. So, we reduced tax rates, and the American people responded by producing more than ever. The economy flourished, like a pruned plant experiencing renewed growth. Our economic program ushered in the longest peacetime expansion in our history: real family income rose, poverty rates declined, entrepreneurship thrived, and research and new technology exploded. American industry became more competitive, boosting exports, and we rallied the national will to dismantle protectionist barriers abroad instead of erecting them at home.
Common sense also told us that maintaining peace requires strength after years of perceived weakness and uncertainty. Therefore, we rebuilt our defenses, and this New Year, we celebrated a growing global peacefulness. Superpowers have begun reducing nuclear stockpiles – with hopes for further progress – and regional conflicts are subsiding. The Persian Gulf is no longer a war zone. The Soviets are withdrawing from Afghanistan. Vietnam is preparing to leave Cambodia, and a U.S.-brokered accord will soon send Cuban troops home from Angola.
The overarching lesson is that as a great nation, our challenges appear complex. This will always be so. But as long as we remember our foundational principles and maintain faith in ourselves, the future remains ours. We also learned that initiating a significant movement has unpredictable consequences. We aimed to transform a nation, and instead, we influenced the world.
Nations worldwide are embracing free markets and free speech, turning away from outdated ideologies. For them, the great rediscovery of the 1980s has been that moral governance is also practical governance: Democracy, profoundly virtuous, is also profoundly productive.
Reaching an age where one celebrates the anniversaries of their 39th birthday allows for reflection on life’s journey. For me, a pivotal moment occurred mid-life. Politics was not my initial path. It wasn’t my youthful ambition. However, I was raised to believe in contributing to the blessings one receives. My entertainment career was fulfilling, but I entered politics to protect something precious.
Ours was history’s first revolution truly reversing government’s course, encapsulated in three words: “We the People.” “We the People” dictate to the government; it doesn’t dictate to us. “We the People” are the drivers; the government is the vehicle. We decide the destination, route, and speed. Most global constitutions are documents where governments define people’s privileges. Our Constitution is unique: “We the People” define the government’s permissible actions. “We the People” are free. This belief has underpinned my actions these past eight years.
Yet, in the 1960s, it seemed we were reversing this order. Increasing regulations, rules, and taxes suggested government was encroaching upon our money, choices, and freedom. I entered politics partly to raise my hand and say, “Stop.” As a citizen politician, it felt like the necessary action.
I believe we’ve halted much that needed stopping. And I hope we’ve reaffirmed that liberty diminishes as government expands. There’s a clear, predictable cause and effect, akin to a law of physics: Government expansion contracts liberty.
Communism represents the antithesis of freedom, yet we’ve forged a positive new relationship with the Soviet Union recently. When asked if this is risky, I say no, because our actions are based on deeds, not just words. The detente of the 1970s was founded on promises, not actions. They pledged to improve treatment of their people and the world, but the Gulag persisted, expansionism continued, and proxy wars raged in Africa, Asia, and Latin America.
This time, it’s different so far. President Gorbachev has initiated internal democratic reforms and begun withdrawing from Afghanistan. He has also released prisoners whose names I’ve personally given him.
Life often underscores significant truths through small events. During the Moscow summit, Nancy and I spontaneously visited shops on Arbat Street, a side street off Moscow’s main shopping area. Despite our impromptu visit, Russians immediately recognized us, calling out our names and reaching out. The warmth was overwhelming, hinting at immense possibilities. However, KGB detail swiftly intervened, pushing and shoving the crowd. It was a telling moment, reminding me that while ordinary Soviet citizens yearn for peace, the government remains Communist, with fundamentally different views on freedom and human rights.
We must remain vigilant, yet continue working to reduce tension and mistrust. I believe President Gorbachev differs from his predecessors. He acknowledges societal problems and seeks solutions. We wish him success and will continue working to ensure a less threatening Soviet Union emerges. Essentially, I want this improved relationship to continue, contingent on their continued helpful actions. If they falter, we’ll initially respond cautiously. If they persist, we’ll disengage. It remains “trust, but verify,” “play, but cut the cards,” and “watch closely.” And crucially, “don’t be afraid to see what you see.”
I’m often asked about regrets. Yes, the deficit is one. I’ve addressed it extensively recently, but tonight isn’t for debate, so I’ll refrain. However, I observe this: I’ve had congressional victories, but few realize they were your victories. You were my troops, my regiments, the American people. Your calls and letters demanding action won every battle. Action is still needed. To finish the job, Reagan’s regiments must become Bush’s brigades. He will soon lead and will need your support as much as I did.
Presidential farewells often include warnings, and I have one that’s been on my mind. Ironically, it stems from one of my proudest achievements: the resurgence of national pride, the new patriotism. This national sentiment is positive, but its endurance and impact depend on thoughtfulness and knowledge.
Informed patriotism is essential. Are we adequately educating our children about America’s essence and global significance? Those over 35 grew up in a different America. We were explicitly taught American values. Love of country and appreciation for its institutions were almost instinctively absorbed – from family, neighbors who served in Korea, families who lost loved ones at Anzio, school, and popular culture. Movies and TV reinforced democratic values and America’s exceptionalism through the mid-sixties.
As we approach the nineties, things have shifted. Younger parents are less certain about the appropriateness of unequivocally teaching patriotism to modern children. And popular culture creators no longer prioritize grounded patriotism. Our spirit has returned, but we haven’t fully reinstitutionalized it. We must better convey that America is freedom – of speech, religion, enterprise. Freedom is unique, fragile, and requires protection.
Therefore, we must teach history based on importance, not trends – the Pilgrims’ journey, Jimmy Doolittle’s heroism, and the significance of the 30 seconds over Tokyo. Four years ago, on the 40th anniversary of D-Day, I read a letter from Lisa Zanatta Henn to her late father, who fought at Omaha Beach: “we will always remember, we will never forget what the boys of Normandy did.” We must uphold her vow. Forgetting our past jeopardizes our identity. I caution against an erosion of American memory, potentially leading to an erosion of the American spirit. Let’s start with basics: more American history and civic ritual emphasis.
Let me offer a primary lesson about America: All great American change begins at the dinner table. So, tomorrow night, I hope conversations begin in kitchens across the nation. And children, if your parents aren’t teaching you what it means to be an American, ask them and hold them accountable. That would be a very American thing to do.
That concludes what I wished to say tonight, except for one final thought. These past days, at that window upstairs, I’ve reflected on the “shining city upon a hill.” This phrase, from John Winthrop, described his vision of America. His vision was profound because he was an early Pilgrim, a freedom seeker. He sailed here in what we’d now call a small wooden boat, seeking a free home, like other Pilgrims.
I’ve often spoken of this shining city, but perhaps haven’t fully conveyed my vision. I see a tall, proud city, built on foundations stronger than oceans, windswept, God-blessed, teeming with diverse people living in peace and harmony, with open ports bustling with commerce and creativity. If walls were necessary, they would have doors open to all with the will and heart to come here. That’s my enduring vision.
Alt text: Manhattan skyline at dusk, symbolizing the “shining city upon a hill” and American prosperity.
And how does that city stand tonight? More prosperous, secure, and content than eight years ago. More importantly, after two centuries, she stands firm, her beacon unwavering through storms, a magnet for all yearning for freedom, for pilgrims from lost places journeying through darkness towards home.
We have played our part. As I leave for the city streets, a final word to the Reagan Revolution’s men and women across America who dedicated eight years to restoring America. My friends: We did it. We didn’t just pass time. We made a difference. We strengthened and freed the city, leaving it in capable hands. Overall, not bad, not bad at all.
So, goodbye, God bless you, and God bless the United States of America.
