My fellow Americans, tonight marks my final address from this cherished Oval Office. As the 34th occasion I’ve had the privilege to speak to you from here, it also signifies the closing chapter of our eight years together. Soon, the time will come for me to depart, but before I do, I feel compelled to share some reflections, thoughts that have matured over time and hold special significance for me.
Serving as your President has been the greatest honor of my life. The outpouring of gratitude from so many of you in recent weeks has been deeply touching, and I want to express my reciprocal thanks. Nancy and I are profoundly grateful for the opportunity you entrusted to us to serve this remarkable nation.
The presidency, by its very nature, creates a sense of separation. Much of my time has been spent traveling in vehicles, often too quickly, observing people through tinted windows. I’ve seen parents holding their children, caught fleeting waves I couldn’t return in time. Countless times, I’ve wished to break through that glass barrier, to truly connect. Perhaps tonight, I can bridge that gap, even if just a little.
People often ask about my feelings as I prepare to leave office. Indeed, “parting is such sweet sorrow.” The “sweet” undoubtedly lies in the prospect of returning to California, to our ranch, to the freedom it represents. The “sorrow” stems from the inevitable goodbyes and leaving behind this extraordinary place, the White House.
Just down the hall from this office, and up the stairs, lies the residential heart of the White House, where the President and First Family reside. There are certain windows up there that have become personal favorites, where I often find myself gazing out in the early morning light. The view stretches across the White House grounds towards the Washington Monument, extending further to the Mall and the Jefferson Memorial. On clear, low-humidity mornings, the vista expands beyond the Jefferson Memorial, reaching the Potomac River and the Virginia shoreline. It’s been said that this was the very view Lincoln contemplated as he witnessed the smoke rising from the Battle of Bull Run. My own observations are more mundane: the verdant riverbanks, the rhythm of morning traffic as people commute to work, and the occasional sailboat gracefully gliding along the Potomac.
It’s at this window that I’ve spent considerable time in reflection. I’ve contemplated the meaning of these past eight years, what they truly represent. A nautical image persistently resurfaces in my mind – a brief tale of a large ship, a refugee, and a sailor. It takes me back to the early 1980s, during the peak of the boat people crisis. A sailor served diligently on the carrier Midway, patrolling the South China Sea. This sailor, typical of American servicemen, was young, intelligent, and keenly observant. The Midway’s crew spotted a small, precarious boat on the horizon, packed with refugees from Indochina, desperately seeking refuge in America. The Midway dispatched a launch to bring them aboard to safety. As these refugees navigated the choppy waters, one of them noticed the sailor on deck. He stood up and called out, “Hello, American sailor. Hello, freedom man.”
This brief encounter, pregnant with meaning, profoundly impacted the sailor, as he recounted in a letter. And upon reading his words, it resonated deeply with me as well. It encapsulated What Was The essence of being an American in the 1980s. We stood, once again, as a beacon of freedom. While this has always been our nation’s creed, the past few years have witnessed the world, and indeed ourselves, rediscovering this fundamental truth.
This decade has been quite a voyage, navigating through turbulent waters. Yet, together, we are now approaching our intended destination.
From Grenada to the summits in Washington and Moscow, from the recession of ’81-’82 to the ensuing expansion that began in late ’82 and continues to this day, our collective efforts have made a tangible difference. In my view, two significant triumphs stand out, achievements of which I am particularly proud. The first is the economic recovery, driven by the American people who created – and filled – 19 million new jobs. The second is the resurgence of our national morale. America has regained global respect and is once again looked upon for leadership.
An event from a few years ago vividly illustrates this point. In 1981, I attended my first major economic summit in Canada. These meetings rotate among member countries. The opening event was a formal dinner for the heads of government from the seven industrialized nations. As the newcomer, I observed and listened as they addressed each other familiarly, “Francois this,” and “Helmut that,” using first names and dropping titles. Eventually, I leaned in and simply said, “My name’s Ron.” That same year, we initiated policies designed to ignite economic recovery – tax cuts, deregulation, and spending reductions. The recovery soon followed.
Two years later, another economic summit convened with largely the same participants. At the opening meeting, I noticed a moment of silence as everyone seemed to be looking at me. Then, one of them broke the silence, asking, “Tell us about the American miracle.”
Back in 1980, during my presidential campaign, the atmosphere was vastly different. Pundits predicted catastrophe if our programs were implemented. They warned our foreign policy views would provoke war, and our economic plans would unleash runaway inflation and economic collapse. I recall a highly respected economist even stating 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, these opinion leaders were mistaken. What was the reality? What they labeled “radical” was, in fact, “right.” What they deemed “dangerous” was “desperately needed.”
Throughout this period, I acquired the moniker “The Great Communicator.” Yet, I never believed it was my style or eloquence 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 shared experience, our collective wisdom, and our unwavering belief in the principles that have guided us for two centuries. They called it the Reagan Revolution. I accept that label, but for me, it felt more like a great rediscovery, a rediscovery of our core values and common sense.
Common sense dictates that when you heavily tax something, people will produce less of it. Therefore, we lowered tax rates, and the American people responded by producing more than ever before. Our economy flourished, like a plant pruned back, now able to grow more vigorously. Our economic program ushered in the longest peacetime expansion in our history: real family income increased, poverty rates decreased, entrepreneurship thrived, and research and technological innovation exploded. American industry became more competitive, boosting exports, while we simultaneously rallied the national will to dismantle protectionist barriers abroad instead of erecting them at home.
Common sense also underscored the necessity of restoring our strength to preserve peace after years of perceived weakness and uncertainty. We rebuilt our defenses, and this New Year, we celebrated a newfound global peacefulness. Superpowers have begun to reduce nuclear arsenals – with brighter prospects for further progress – and regional conflicts worldwide are beginning to subside. The Persian Gulf is no longer a war zone. The Soviets are withdrawing from Afghanistan. The Vietnamese are preparing to leave Cambodia, and an American-brokered accord will soon repatriate 50,000 Cuban troops from Angola.
The enduring lesson from all this is that as a great nation, our challenges will invariably appear complex. This is inherent to our position. However, as long as we remain anchored to our fundamental principles and maintain faith in ourselves, the future will always be ours to shape. Another key lesson learned: once a great movement begins, its ultimate reach is unpredictable. We set out to change a nation, and instead, we ended up changing the world.
Across the globe, nations are embracing free markets and free speech, turning away from outdated ideologies. For them, the great rediscovery of the 1980s has been this profound realization: the morally sound path of government is also the most practically effective. Democracy, inherently good, is also profoundly productive.
Reaching an age where you celebrate the anniversaries of your 39th birthday allows for reflection, for reviewing life’s journey. For me, there was a significant turning point, a fork in the river right in the middle of my life. Politics was never my intended path. It wasn’t my youthful ambition. But I was raised with the belief that one must earn their keep for the blessings received. I was content in the entertainment industry, yet I ultimately entered politics driven by a desire to protect something precious.
Ours was the first revolution in human history to truly reverse the direction of government, encapsulated in three powerful words: “We the People.” “We the People” dictate the government’s actions; it doesn’t dictate ours. “We the People” are the driver; the government is the vehicle. We determine the destination, the route, and the speed. Most constitutions worldwide are documents where governments define the people’s privileges. Our Constitution is unique; it’s a document where “We the People” define the government’s permissible actions. “We the People” are free. This conviction has been the bedrock of everything I’ve strived to achieve these past eight years.
However, back in the 1960s, it seemed to me that we had begun to invert this order. Through increasing rules, regulations, and confiscatory taxes, the government was encroaching upon our money, our choices, and our freedom. My entry into politics was, in part, to raise my hand and say, “Stop.” I was a citizen politician, and it felt like the right thing for a citizen to do.
I believe we have successfully halted much of what needed to be stopped. And I hope we’ve reaffirmed the understanding that individual freedom is contingent upon limited government. There’s a clear and predictable cause and effect, almost a law of physics: as government expands, liberty contracts.
Nothing embodies the absence of freedom more than pure communism. Yet, in recent years, we’ve cultivated a satisfying new closeness with the Soviet Union. Some question if this is a gamble. My response is no, because our approach is based not on words, but on deeds. The détente of the 1970s rested on promises, on their pledges to treat their people and the world better. But the gulag remained, the state remained expansionist, and proxy wars persisted in Africa, Asia, and Latin America.
This time, thus far, it’s different. President Gorbachev has initiated internal democratic reforms and commenced withdrawal from Afghanistan. He has also released prisoners whose names I personally provided at each meeting.
Life often reminds you of significant truths through small incidents. During the Moscow summit, Nancy and I spontaneously decided to visit shops on Arbat Street, a side street off Moscow’s main shopping area. Despite the unplanned nature of our visit, Russians immediately recognized us, called out our names, and reached out to shake our hands. The warmth was overwhelming, and you could almost sense the potential for change in that collective joy. But within moments, KGB agents pushed through the crowd, forcefully shoving people aside. It was a telling moment, reminding me that while the average Soviet citizen yearns for peace, the government remains communist. And those in power are communists, implying fundamentally different views on freedom and human rights.
We must remain vigilant, yet we must also persist in working together to reduce tension and mistrust. My assessment is that President Gorbachev is distinct from his predecessors. I believe he recognizes some of his society’s inherent problems and is genuinely attempting to address them. We wish him well. And we will continue to strive to ensure that the Soviet Union emerging from this process poses less of a threat. Ultimately, my desire is for this new closeness to endure. It will, provided we maintain a clear stance – we will continue to act constructively as long as they reciprocate. If and when they deviate, initially, we’ll pull our punches. If they persist, we’ll pull the plug entirely. It remains “trust, but verify.” It’s still “play, but cut the cards.” It’s still “watch closely.” And never be afraid to see what was the reality before you.
I’m often asked if I have regrets. Yes, one significant regret is the deficit. I’ve addressed this extensively recently, and tonight isn’t for arguments, so I’ll refrain from further comment. But one observation: I’ve had legislative victories, but few realize that every single one was ultimately your victory. You, the American people, were my regiments, my force. Every call you made, every letter you wrote demanding action, won those battles. Action is still required. To complete the task, Reagan’s regiments must become Bush’s brigades. Soon, he will be the chief, and he will need your support just as much as I did.
Finally, presidential farewells traditionally include warnings, and I have one that has been weighing on my mind. Ironically, it stems from one of my proudest achievements of the past eight years: the resurgence of national pride, what I’ve called the new patriotism. This national sentiment is positive, but its longevity and impact depend on being grounded in thoughtfulness and knowledge.
Informed patriotism is our goal. And are we adequately educating our children about what was the true essence of America and its role in world history? Those of us over 35 grew up in a different America. We were explicitly taught the meaning of being an American. We absorbed a love of country and an appreciation for its institutions almost instinctively. If not from family, then from the neighborhood, from veterans of Korea down the street, or families who lost loved ones at Anzio. Patriotism permeated schools and popular culture. Movies celebrated democratic values and subtly reinforced America’s exceptionalism. Television, until the mid-sixties, served a similar purpose.
However, as we approach the nineties, things have shifted. Younger parents are less certain about the appropriateness of teaching unquestioning appreciation of America to modern children. And well-grounded patriotism is no longer fashionable in popular culture. Our spirit has returned, but we haven’t yet reinstitutionalized it. We must improve at conveying that America is synonymous with freedom – freedom of speech, religion, and enterprise. And freedom is special, rare, and fragile; it requires protection.
Therefore, we must teach history based not on fleeting trends but on enduring importance – the Pilgrims’ motivations, Jimmy Doolittle’s significance, and the meaning of those 30 seconds over Tokyo. Four years ago, on the 40th anniversary of D-Day, I read a letter from Lisa Zanatta Henn to her deceased father, who fought on Omaha Beach. She wrote, “we will always remember, we will never forget what the boys of Normandy did.” Let us honor her pledge. If we forget our past, we risk losing our identity. I caution against an erosion of American memory that could ultimately weaken the American spirit. Let’s begin with basics: increased focus on American history and greater emphasis on civic rituals.
And let me offer a fundamental lesson about America: All significant change in America originates at the dinner table. So, tomorrow night, I hope conversations begin in kitchens across the nation. And children, if your parents haven’t been teaching you what was the meaning of being an American, let them know and hold them accountable. That would be a very American thing to do.
That concludes what I wanted to share tonight, except for one final thought. These past few days, gazing from that window upstairs, I’ve reflected on the “shining city upon a hill.” The phrase comes from John Winthrop, describing his vision for America. His vision was crucial because he was an early Pilgrim, an early champion of freedom. He journeyed here in what we’d now call a small wooden boat, seeking a home of freedom, like the other Pilgrims.
I’ve invoked the “shining city” throughout my political life, yet I’m not sure I fully conveyed my vision. In my mind, it’s a tall, proud city, built on foundations stronger than oceans, windswept, God-blessed, teeming with diverse people living in harmony and peace. A city with bustling free ports of commerce and creativity. And if walls were necessary, they would have doors, open to anyone with the will and heart to come here. That’s how I envisioned it, and how I still do.
And how does that city stand on this winter night? More prosperous, more secure, and happier than eight years ago. But more profoundly, after two centuries, she stands firm and true on her granite ridge, her glow unwavering through any storm. She remains a beacon, a magnet for all who yearn for freedom, for all pilgrims from lost places, hurtling through darkness toward home.
We’ve played our part. And as I step out into the city streets, a final word to the men and women of the Reagan revolution, those across America who, for eight years, did the work that brought America back. My friends: We did it. We weren’t merely marking time. We made a difference. We fortified the city, we liberated the city, and we entrusted her to capable hands. All in all, not bad, not bad at all.
And so, goodbye, God bless you, and God bless the United States of America.
