Madam Speaker, I rise today in strong support of House Resolution 529 and with deep regret that this measure is necessary. I am saddened deeply by the tragic events that took place yesterday at the…
Madam Speaker, I rise today in strong support of House Resolution 529 and with deep regret that this measure is necessary. I am saddened deeply by the tragic events that took place yesterday at the United States Holocaust Museum. Especially upsetting was the loss of Mr. Stephen Tyrone Johns, who loyally served and protected those visiting the Holocaust Museum for six years. Mr. Johns was known as a warm, friendly individual who was well-respected by his colleagues. My sincerest condolences and my most heartfelt prayers are with his family and friends, whose lives have been devastated so unfairly.
While yesterday's violence appears to have been the act of single individual, similar actions rooted in hatred and intolerance are not unknown to our society or our local communities. I am distressed by a recent report from the Anti-Defamation League, which indicated that my own state of New Jersey experiences the highest number of anti-Semitic incidents in the country. The persistence of these unacceptable acts throughout our nation indicates that the sinister notions of anti- Semitism, racism, and intolerance continue to plague our society. The Holocaust Museum stands as a testament to the tragedy and suffering that can occur when hatred goes unchallenged and turns to violence. It is also a place to reflect upon tremendous bravery and heroism. Yesterday's events, and the sacrifices made by Mr. Johns and his loved ones, are a profound reminder that we cannot be complacent. We must remain vigilant against prejudice and work together to promote peace and tolerance in our hometowns, across the nation, and around the world.
Finally, I would note that yesterday's events bring to mind the stirring call to action by President Obama at the Holocaust Days of Remembrance Ceremony in April, and I ask that they be printed in the Record in their entirety.
Remarks by the President at the Holocaust Days of Remembrance Ceremony,
United States Capitol, Washington, DC.
The President. Thank you. Please be seated. Thank you very
much. To Sara Bloomfield, for the wonderful introduction and
the outstanding work she's doing; to Fred Zeidman; Joel
Geiderman; Mr. Wiesel--thank you for your wisdom and your
witness; Speaker Nancy Pelosi; Senator Dick Durbin; members
of Congress; our good friend the Ambassador of Israel;
members of the United States Holocaust Memorial Council; and
most importantly, the survivors and rescuers and their
families who are here today. It is a great honor for me to be
here, and I'm grateful that I have the opportunity to address
you briefly.
We gather today to mourn the loss of so many lives, and
celebrate those who saved them; honor those who survived, and
contemplate the obligations of the living.
It is the grimmest of ironies that one of the most savage,
barbaric acts of evil in history began in one of the most
modernized societies of its time, where so many markers of
human progress became tools of human depravity: science that
can heal used to kill; education that can enlighten used to
rationalize away basic moral impulses; the bureaucracy that
sustains modern life used as the machinery of mass death--a
ruthless, chillingly efficient system where many were
responsible for the killing, but few got actual blood on
their hands.
While the uniqueness of the Holocaust in scope and in
method is truly astounding, the Holocaust was driven by many
of the same forces that have fueled atrocities throughout
history: the scapegoating that leads to hatred and blinds us
to our common humanity; the justifications that replace
conscience and allow cruelty to spread; the willingness of
those who are neither perpetrators nor victims to accept the
assigned role of bystander, believing the lie that, good
people are ever powerless or alone, the fiction that we do
not have a choice.
But while we are here today to bear witness to the human
capacity to destroy, we are also here to pay tribute to the
human impulse to save. In the moral accounting of the
Holocaust, as we reckon with numbers like 6 million, as we
recall the horror of numbers etched into arms, we also factor
in numbers like these: 7,200--the number of Danish Jews
ferried to safety, many of whom later returned home to find
the neighbors who rescued them had also faithfully tended
their homes and businesses and belongings while they were
gone.
We remember the number five--the five righteous men and
women who join us today from Poland. We are awed by your acts
of courage and conscience. And your presence today compels
each of us to ask ourselves whether we would have done what
you did. We can only hope that the answer is yes.
We also remember the number 5,000--the number of Jews
rescued by the villagers of Le Chambon, France--one life
saved for each of its 5,000 residents. Not a single Jew who
came there was turned away, or turned in. But it was not
until decades later that the villagers spoke of what they had
done--and even then, only reluctantly. The author of a book
on the rescue found that those he interviewed were baffled by
his interest. ``How could you call us 'good'?'' they said.
``We were doing what had to be done.''
That is the question of the righteous--those who would do
extraordinary good at extraordinary risk not for affirmation
or acclaim or to advance their own interests, but because it
is what must be done. They remind us that no one is born a
savior or a murderer--these are choices we each have the
power to make. They teach us that no one can make us into
bystanders without our consent, and that we are never truly
alone--that if we have the courage to heed that ``still,
small voice'' within us, we can form a minyan for
righteousness that can span a village, even a nation.
Their legacy is our inheritance. And the question is, how
do we honor and preserve it? How do we ensure that ``never
again'' isn't an empty slogan, or merely an aspiration, but
also a call to action?
I believe we start by doing what we are doing today--by
bearing witness, by fighting the silence that is evil's
greatest co-conspirator.
In the face of horrors that defy comprehension, the impulse
to silence is understandable. My own great uncle returned
from his service in World War II in a state of shock, saying
little, alone with painful memories that would not leave his
head. He went up into the attic, according to the stories
that I've heard, and wouldn't come down for six months. He
was one of the liberators--someone who at a very tender age
had seen the unimaginable. And so some of the liberators who
are here today honor us with their presence--all of whom we
honor for their extraordinary service. My great uncle was
part of the 89th Infantry Division--the first Americans to
reach a Nazi concentration camp. And they liberated Ohrdruf,
part of Buchenwald, where tens of thousands had perished.
The story goes that when the Americans marched in, they
discovered the starving survivors and the piles of dead
bodies. And General Eisenhower made a decision. He ordered
Germans from the nearby town to tour the camp, so they could
see what had been done in their name. And he ordered American
troops to tour the camp, so they could see the evil they were
fighting against. Then he invited congressmen and journalists
to bear witness. And he ordered that photographs and films be
made. Some of us have seen those same images, whether in the
Holocaust Museum or when I visited Yad Vashem, and they never
leave you. Eisenhower said that he wanted ``to be in a
position to give firsthand evidence of these things, if ever,
in the future, there develops a tendency to charge these
allegations merely to propaganda.''
Eisenhower understood the danger of silence. He understood
that if no one knew what had happened, that would be yet
another atrocity--and it would be the perpetrators' ultimate
triumph.
What Eisenhower did to record these crimes for history is
what we are doing here today. That's what Elie Wiesel and the
survivors we honor here do by fighting to make their memories
part of our collective memory. That's what the Holocaust
Museum does every day on our National Mall, the place where
we display for the world our triumphs and failures and the
lessons we've learned from our history. It's the very
opposite of silence.
But we must also remember that bearing witness is not the
end of our obligation--it's just the beginning. We know that
evil has yet to run its course on Earth. We've seen it in
this century in the mass graves and the ashes of villages
burned to the ground, and children used as soldiers and rape
used as a weapon of war. To this day, there are those who
insist the Holocaust never happened; who perpetrate every
form of intolerance--racism and anti-Semitism, homophobia,
xenophobia, sexism, and more--hatred that degrades its victim
and diminishes us all.
Today, and every day, we have an opportunity, as well as an
obligation, to confront these scourges--to fight the impulse
to turn the channel when we see images that disturb us, or
wrap ourselves in the false comfort that others' sufferings
are not our own. Instead we have the opportunity to make a
habit of empathy; to recognize ourselves in each other; to
commit ourselves to resisting injustice and intolerance and
indifference in whatever forms they may take--whether
confronting those who tell lies about history, or doing
everything we can to prevent and end atrocities like those
that took place in Rwanda, those taking place in Darfur. That
is my commitment as President. I hope that is yours, as well.
It will not be easy. At times, fulfilling these obligations
require self-reflection. But
in the final analysis, I believe history gives us cause for
hope rather than despair--the hope of a chosen people who
have overcome oppression since the days of Exodus; of the
nation of Israel rising from the destruction of the
Holocaust; of the strong and enduring bonds between our
nations.
It is the hope, too, of those who not only survived, but
chose to live, teaching us the meaning of courage and
resilience and dignity. I'm thinking today of a study
conducted after the war that found that Holocaust survivors
living in America actually had a higher birthrate than
American Jews. What a stunning act of faith--to bring a child
in a world that has shown you so much cruelty; to believe
that no matter what you have endured, or how much you have
lost, in the end, you have a duty to life.
We find cause for hope as well in Protestant and Catholic
children attending school together in Northern Ireland; in
Hutus and Tutsis living side by side, forgiving neighbors who
have done the unforgivable; in a movement to save Darfur that
has thousands of high school and college chapters in 25
countries, and brought 70,000 people to the Washington Mall--
people of every age and faith and background and race united
in common cause with suffering brothers and sisters halfway
around the world.
Those numbers can be our future--our fellow citizens of the
world showing us how to make the journey from oppression to
survival, from witness to resistance, and ultimately to
reconciliation. That is what we mean when we say ``never
again.''
So today, during this season when we celebrate liberation,
resurrection, and the possibility of redemption, may each of
us renew our resolve to do what must be done. And may we
strive each day, both individually and as a nation, to be
among the righteous.
Thank you, God bless you, and God bless the United States
of America.