Mr. President, I am here at desk 88, honored to address my family and friends and Ohioans of the Nation. I remember well my first speech 18 years ago. Illinois Senator Barack Obama was presiding over…
Mr. President, I am here at desk 88, honored to address my family and friends and Ohioans of the Nation.
I remember well my first speech 18 years ago. Illinois Senator Barack Obama was presiding over the Senate. Following parliamentary norms--and perhaps a bit presciently--I addressed him as ``Mr. President.''
A few desks away sat the senior Senator from Massachusetts, whose brother's desk I have now occupied for my entire three terms. Senator Kennedy, the chair of the Labor Committee, spoke after my remarks about his commitment and my commitment to workers. My speech, no surprise to anyone, was about workers and their dignity, raising the minimum wage, creating more opportunity for people who build this country with their brains and with their hands.
By some measure, my life began less than 3 miles from here. My dad, a family doctor from Mansfield, OH, and my mother a teacher from Mansfield, GA, met at a soldiers' dance in 1945 at the Mayflower Hotel. My father had returned from serving in the Army in the Middle East; my mother had moved to Washington to assist in the war effort to work at OSS. Their first date a few days later was at the Willard Hotel.
When they married the next year, my father moved to Mansfield, OH, then a prosperous industrial city where Ohioans made steel and manufactured cars and tires and appliances for young families returning from World War II.
When I was in high school, my mother, troubled by racism she saw in smalltown Georgia as a kid and in Ohio when she moved there, helped found the Ohio council of YWCAs. The 165-year mission of the Young Women's Christian Association is to eliminate racism and to empower women.
My dad was a family doctor with a working-class practice. He always took care of people, regardless of their ability to pay.
From them came my values and my desire to serve. From my parents--he a conservative, she a liberal; he a Republican, she a Democrat; he a northerner, she a southerner--taught me by their action and their admonition that the role of government was to help the little guy; the big guy could take care of himself.
I went to Johnny Appleseed Junior High--that was really its name--and walked the halls with the sons and daughters of autoworkers at GM, electrical workers of Westinghouse, steelworkers of Empire-Detroit, machinists at Tappan Stove, and the daughters and sons of the thousands of millwrights and electricians and laborers and pipefitters who kept those plants running. These workers, especially those lucky enough to carry union cards, could buy a home, take a vacation, and join a growing middle class.
But by the time I graduated from Mansfield Senior High School, these plants were starting to shut down. Corporations searched the globe for cheap labor. First, they moved south to anti-union States; then they lobbied for tax breaks and bad trade deals to move jobs overseas. Always--always in search, Mr. President--of lower wages.
Compliant politicians were all too happy to oblige. They called it the North American Free Trade Agreement; they called it Most Favored Nation status with China--honest to God, that was its original name; they called it the Central American Free Trade Agreement; they called it the Trans-Pacific Partnership--until we put a stop to it.
And Wall Street rewarded those countries and those politicians over and over and over again. I saw what corporate greed and, frankly, Presidents of both parties did to my hometown and towns like it all over this country.
Through all my years in Congress, I have tried to be the voice in the megaphone for those workers and for those communities.
I think back to 2003. Every night, at the other end of this building--every night--I stood in the well of the House of Representatives reading letters from Ohioans opposing Bush's war in Iraq--from Cleveland to Cincinnati, from Dayton to Columbus, from Toledo to Athens. The White House, on flimsy evidence but with an itch to go to war, was sending working-class kids from Ohio to fight and, too often, to die in Iraq, a war that history tells us was a colossal mistake.
I drew inspiration from President John Quincy Adams who had returned to the House in his attack on slavery. To evade House rules that prohibited--believe it or not--that prohibited debating slavery, rules forced on the people's House by enslavers, by southern enslavers, he read letter after letter from his constituents about the evils of slavery and advocating for its abolition.
Then as now, our duty is to amplify the voices of the people whom we serve. To be that strong and effective megaphone, you start by listening.
I remember when I helped lead the opposition in my first year in the House to NAFTA. Bill Richardson, a pro-NAFTA Democrat from New Mexico, lamented the fact that Members would go home during congressional recess. He said, ``You know, every time Members of Congress go home, my side loses votes.''
Well, there is a reason for that. We are supposed to listen to our constituents. So almost every week, every Friday, Saturday, Sunday, I am in Ohio. I have crisscrossed this State, from Ashtabula to Athens, from Gallipolis to Zanesville to Portsmouth to Springfield to Van Wert to Toledo to Shelby--
all over this State holding roundtables, walking picket lines, touring plants, talking to workers in break rooms and on worksites and behind checkout counters.
On Monday afternoons, I return to Washington carrying a satchel of good ideas drawn from Ohioans. My job in both the House and Senate has been to represent those workers, to listen to them, to speak out for them, to fight for them; not to listen to Wall Street, not the drug companies, not the big railroads, but to fight for the people who make this country work.
Over the last few weeks, people have come up to me, since the election, at the grocery store, after church, at the airport, in the halls of the Senate asking how I am doing. There are two reasons I answer, ``I am doing well.'' First is this team, the team around me. I have never been prouder of the public servants who work in this office, how they immediately went to work to help and support each other. All of them, all of them have dedicated themselves to making sure their colleagues land well and to making sure casework for Ohioans is handed off to other Members of Congress.
Over the last few weeks, I have been meeting with every single staff member--70 in all--to discuss their careers and their futures.
The second reason is that for me, this job has never really been about the title of being a U.S. Senator. Much of the important work we have done has been driven not by a bunch of Washington insiders but by ordinary Ohioans. I think about the fight to save workers' pensions. When Wall Street gambled away workers' retirement savings, we fought back.
Washington ignored Ohio workers, didn't take them seriously. Most people in Washington don't really even understand what collective bargaining is, that workers give up raises at the bargaining table for pensions and paid into them over a lifetime, all for the promise of a secure retirement for their family.
Ohioans put this on the agenda. They kept it there. They--we--never gave up, and together we passed the Butch Lewis Act, named for an Ohioan, saving the pensions of 100,000 Ohio workers and a million workers serving this country.
Or think how we expanded healthcare for veterans exposed to those football field-sized burn pits. Ohio veterans and their families came to us. They put it on the agenda. They forced--forced--Washington to listen. Veterans traveled to Washington. Many of them camped outside this door not far from here to make this happen. Because of them, the Heath Robinson PACT Act--again named for an Ohioan--is now law.
Those fights aren't quick, particularly when they require taking on powerful corporate interests.
Back when I was in the House more than two decades ago, we organized bus trips for Ohio seniors to Canada to save money on prescription drugs. Three-hour bus ride from Lorain to Toledo to Detroit, across the river to Windsor, Ontario, so they could save money on prescription drugs.
Throughout my entire time in the Senate and before, we fought big Pharma and their lobbyists trying to lower the cost of prescription drugs. Two years ago, finally we won. This never happens fast. We capped the price of insulin at $35 a month for Medicare beneficiaries. For the first time, Medicare was negotiating drug prices for seniors.
These victories, as I say, they don't come easy. Of course they don't, but they matter to millions of families. When we stand up to corporate special interest, when we guarantee workers a seat at the table, when we see decisions here through the eyes of workers, we all do our jobs a little bit differently and better.
We included a project labor agreement for 8,000 workers at a single construction site, ensuring a path to middle class for those families.
We expanded the childcare tax credit, giving more than 90 percent of American families a tax cut to keep up with the cost of living--2 million children in Ohio, 60 million around the country benefited, if only for a year.
We are on the verge of restoring the full Social Security benefits that police officers and teachers and firefighters and busdrivers and school cafeteria workers have earned.
With Finance Chair Ron Wyden, we created an industrial policy to build more manufacturing in our country. And we have fundamentally-- fundamentally--changed the debate on trade in this country. Of course, this town is still full of people who think that way, whose arrogance won't allow their world view to be changed by all the evidence that corporate trade deals have failed our workers, failed our communities, and, frankly, poisoned our politics.
They no longer go unchallenged and unquestioned. They used to ridicule you if you spoke up for workers, if you dared to suggest that no amount of compensating the losers, no amount of compensation can replace the dignity of a good-paying, rewarding job--no longer.
I have always looked at things a little differently, perhaps, than some. To me, politics is not really left or right or liberal or conservative. It is really about whose side you are on and whom you are willing to fight for, whom you are willing to stand up to. That is what true populism is all about. True populism lifts all people. True populism doesn't tear others down. True populism doesn't play to race and division. True populism is essentially about the dignity of work, putting workers at the center of all we should be doing.
When I talk about workers, I mean all workers--whether you swipe a badge or punch a clock, whether you work for tips or whether you work on salary, whether you are going to school or raising kids or caring for an aging parent. No matter who you are, no matter where you live, no matter what kind of work you do, your work has dignity. It ought to pay off for you and your family. We have that in common. With all the differences we have as a country, we have work in common. Work is really what binds us.
For too many people in Ohio and around the country, hard work hasn't paid off. Today, far too many workers don't see a path to the middle class, no matter how hard they work.
For almost a half a century--we know this, we know this--we should be challenging this. For half a century, the stock market soared; executive compensation has exploded; corporate profits have risen dramatically; worker productivity has increased, but workers' wages have been comparatively flat, and costs keep going up.
Until we solve the fundamental problem in this country, until hard work is valued, until everyone has a path to the middle class and the stability and security of a good-paying job, our work in this body, my work as a private citizen, come January, that work is unfinished.
If you want to know why so many workers think the system is rigged against them, just look at what happened 3 weeks ago in East Texas. It is a little fanfare. A single judge, appointed by President Trump, at the behest of the Texas Chamber of Commerce, struck down a Labor Department rule which guaranteed overtime for workers making $35,000 or $40,000 a year.
That ought to be a fundamental principle. If you put in extra hours, you ought to earn extra pay. You did the work; you earned it. One judge, one decision, four million workers lost their overtime. One judge, one decision, four million workers lost their overtime. That is why we make this fight.
In 1891, Pope Leo XIII wrote what is recognized as the first time an international figure acknowledged the rights of workers and the duty of employers to respect workers' inherent dignity. In Rerum Novarum, he wrote that ``to respect in every man his dignity,'' required respecting workers' rights to fair compensation and safe humane working conditions.
Think about this. Seven decades later, in a segregated Tennessee, in a segregated city of Memphis, in a segregated neighborhood, amidst a torrential downpour, four sanitation workers climbed into--yes--a segregated garbage truck to shield themselves from the rain. Two White workers settled into the warmth and the safety of the cab. Two Black workers crawled in the back, amidst the garbage, where the compactor malfunctioned, and two young Black workers were crushed to death.
Dr. King went to Memphis twice that year. He went after that happened. The
second time, we know he was murdered. Both times, he was fighting for the dignity of work. He wove together better than anybody I know of in history--wove together civil rights, voting rights, and worker rights better than anybody ever has.
In a speech to ACME Sanitation workers, a month after the workers were crushed to death, he spoke at ACME on March 18 in Memphis:
So often we overlook the work and the significance of those
who are not in professional jobs, of those who are not in the
so-called big jobs. But let me say to you tonight--
Dr. King went on--
that whenever you are engaged in work that serves humanity
. . . it has dignity and it has worth.
All labor has dignity. While the shape of our fight for the dignity of work may change, it will, of course, continue. And I count on my colleagues to do that.
I will close the same way I have closed so many speeches across Ohio because the values I fight for have not changed and will never change come January. On my lapel, I wear this pin. Some of you have one on today. Thank you. Many of you do.
I wear this pin--I know you don't wear it every day, but thank you for wearing it--depicting a canary in a birdcage. It was given to me at a workers' Memorial Day rally 25 years ago in Lorain, OH.
You know the story. At the turn of the last century, coal miners took the canary down into the mines with them to warn them of poisonous gases. They didn't have a union strong enough to protect them. They didn't have a government that cared enough to protect them. He was on his own.
But over the last century and a half, think about what we as a nation have done. Think of what we have done to change that. All those fights required going up against powerful special interests. I think about the lesson that any union organizer knows. They don't just give you fair wages and better benefits and retirement. They don't give it to you. You have to go out and take it. That is how progress works.
Wall Street didn't just wake up one day and say: You know, older people ought to have a pension. We ought to give them--no, we demanded Social Security, we fought for it, and we got it.
Companies 100 years ago didn't just all of a sudden think: You know, work is too hard; we ought to have an 8-hour workday. We ought to ban child labor. No. We fought for it. We demanded it. We got it.
Big insurance companies didn't just all of a sudden think: You know, there are a lot of seniors that just can't afford their healthcare. No. We fought for it; we demanded it; and we got Medicare.
In the 1960s, a bunch of Southern segregationists didn't say: You know, everybody ought to have the right to vote. No. We fought for it. We demanded it. We got voting rights in this country.
And then, just 2 years ago, the drug companies didn't all of a sudden say: Insulin costs too damn much. We have got to do something. Drugs are too expensive. No. We took them on. We fought for it. We got a $35 insulin cap.
Those fights--progress didn't just happen on their own course.
So when I first came to the Senate, like all new Senators, they gave me a really cool, pretty expensive-looking piece of jewelry to say: I am a big shot. I am a Senator, and walk around. Well, I wore that for a couple days, and then I thought, you know, it didn't feel right. So I took it off. I put my canary pin back on. I have worn it every day since.
So when I walk off the Senate floor at the end of this year, nothing changes. I am not taking off this pin. I am not giving up my fight for workers. If you love this country, you fight for the people who make it work every day.
In January, I return to Ohio, close to the seven grandchildren who are sitting in the Gallery today. My wife Connie surprised me last night with their showing up at a dinner with their parents in tow. My grandchildren are in the Gallery--some sitting there patiently, some perhaps not so patiently. Leo and Jackie and Milo and Carolyn and Russell and Ela and Maribell sitting with Emily and Matt. Sitting with Elizabeth and Patrick and Caitlin and Alejandro. And Clayton, our oldest, is taking finals today, but their dad Andy is here. My journey has been a family affair.
With my brothers Bob and Charlie, for literally 50 years with the sacrifices that family members inevitably make to ambition, to service--yes, sometimes to ego--for a career of serving the public.
To my beloved Connie, how selfless she has been as I pursued this dream. Her exceptional talent is exceeded only by her kindness in spirit, as a wife and mother and grandmother extraordinaire. There is no one like her. How lucky I have been the last 22 years.
So to my colleagues, this is my last speech on the Senate floor. But it is not, I promise you, the last time you will hear from me.
Thank you.
(Applause, Senators rising.)