REMARKS BY PRESIDENT
OBAMA
AT 70TH
ANNIVERSARY OF D-DAY
Normandy American
Cemetery and Memorial
Omaha
Beach
Normandy,
France
11:16 A.M. CET
PRESIDENT OBAMA: President Hollande; to the people of
France; friends; the family; our veterans:
If prayer were made of sound, the
skies over England that night would have deafened the world.
Captains paced their decks.
Pilots tapped their gauges. Commanders pored over maps, fully aware that for
all the months of meticulous planning, everything could go wrong -- the winds,
the tides, the element of surprise -- and above all, the audacious bet that what
waited on the other side of the Channel would compel men not to shrink away, but
to charge ahead.
Fresh-faced GIs rubbed trinkets,
kissed pictures of sweethearts, checked and re-checked their equipment. “God,”
asked one, “give me guts.” And in the pre-dawn hours, planes rumbled down
runways; gliders and paratroopers slipped through the sky; giant screws began to
turn on an armada that looked like more ships than sea. And more than 150,000
souls set off towards this tiny sliver of sand upon which hung more than the
fate of a war, but rather the course of human history.
President Hollande, distinguished
guests, I’m honored to return here today to pay tribute to the men and women of
a generation who defied every danger -- among them, our veterans of D-Day. And,
gentlemen, we are truly humbled by your presence here today. (Applause.)
Just last week, I received a
letter from a French citizen. “Dear Mr. President, and the American people,” he
wrote, “[we are] honored to welcome you… to thank you again for all the pain and
efforts of [the] American people and others in our common struggle for
freedom.”
Today, we say the same to the
people of France. Thank you, especially, for the generosity that you’ve shown
the Americans who’ve come here over the generations -- to these beaches, and to
this sacred place of rest for 9,387 Americans. At the end of the war, when our
ships set off for America, filled with our fallen, tens of thousands of
liberated Europeans turned out to say farewell, and they pledged to take care of
the more than 60,000 Americans who would remain in cemeteries on this
continent. In the words of one man, we will take care of the fallen “as if
their tombs were our children’s.” And the people of France, you have kept your
word like the true friends you are. We are forever grateful. (Applause.)
Here, we don’t just commemorate
victory, as proud of that victory as we are. We don’t just honor sacrifice, as
grateful as the world is. We come to remember why America and our allies gave
so much for the survival of liberty at its moment of maximum peril. We come to
tell the story of the men and women who did it so that it remains seared into
the memory of a future world.
We tell this story for the old
soldiers who pull themselves a little straighter today to salute brothers who
never made it home. We tell the story for the daughter who clutches a faded
photo of her father, forever young; for the child who runs his fingers over
colorful ribbons he knows signify something of great consequence, even if he
doesn’t yet fully understand why. We tell this story to bear what witness we
can to what happened when the boys from America reached Omaha
Beach.
By daybreak, blood soaked the
water, bombs broke the sky. Thousands of paratroopers had dropped into the
wrong landing sites; thousands of rounds bit into flesh and sand. Entire
companies’ worth of men fell in minutes. “Hell’s Beach” had earned its name.
By 8:30 a.m., General Omar Bradley
expected our troops to be a mile inland. “Six hours after the landings,” he
wrote, “we held only ten yards of beach.” In this age of instant commentary,
the invasion would have swiftly and roundly been declared, as it was by one
officer, “a debacle.”
But such a race to judgment would
not have taken into account the courage of free men. “Success may not come with
rushing speed,” President Roosevelt would say that night, “but we shall return
again and again.” And paratroopers fought through the countryside to find one
another. Rangers pulled themselves over those cliffs to silence Nazi guns. To
the west, Americans took Utah Beach with relative ease. To the east, the
British tore through the coast, fueled by the fury of five years of bombs over
London and a solemn vow to “fight them on the beaches.” The Canadians, whose
shores had not been touched by war, drove far into France. And here, at Omaha,
troops who finally made it to the seawall used it as shelter -- where a general
barked, “If you’re Rangers… lead the way!”
By the end of that longest day,
this beach had been fought, lost, refought, and won -- a piece of Europe once
again liberated and free. Hitler’s Wall was breached, letting loose Patton’s
Army to pour into France. Within a week, the world’s bloodiest beach had become
the world’s busiest port. Within a month, one million Allied troops thundered
through Normandy into Europe, and as our armies marched across the continent,
one pilot said it looked “as if the very crust of the Earth had shaken loose.”
The Arc de Triomphe lit up for the first time in years, and Paris was punctuated
by shouts of “Vive la France!” and “Vive les États-Unis!”
(Applause.)
Of course, even as we gather here
at Normandy, we remember that freedom’s victory was also made possible by so
many others who wore America’s uniform. Two years before he commanded armies,
Eisenhower’s troops sliced through North Africa. Three times before D-Day, our
GIs stormed the beaches at Sicily, Salerno, Anzio. Divisions like the Fighting
36th brawled their way through Italy, fighting through the mud for months,
marching through towns past waving children before opening the gates to Rome.
As the “dogfaces” marched to victory in Europe, the Devil Dogs -- the Marines --
clawed their way from island to island in the Pacific, in some of the war’s
fiercest fighting. And back home, an army of women -- including my grandmother
-- rolled up their sleeves to help build a mighty arsenal of
democracy.
But it was here, on these shores,
that the tide was turned in that common struggle for freedom. What more
powerful manifestation of America’s commitment to human freedom than the sight
of wave after wave after wave of young men boarding those boats to liberate
people they had never met?
We say it now as if it couldn’t be
any other way. But in the annals of history, the world had never seen anything
like it. And when the war was won, we claimed no spoils of victory -- we helped
Europe rebuild. We claimed no land other than the earth where we buried those
who gave their lives under our flag and where we station those who still serve
under it. But America’s claim -- our commitment -- to liberty, our claim to
equality, our claim to freedom and to the inherent dignity of every human being
-- that claim is written in the blood on these beaches, and it will endure for
eternity.
Omaha -- Normandy -- this was
democracy’s beachhead. And our victory in that war decided not just a century,
but shaped the security and well-being of all posterity. We worked to turn old
adversaries into new allies. We built new prosperity. We stood once more with
the people of this continent through a long twilight struggle until finally a
wall tumbled down, and an Iron Curtain, too. And from Western Europe to East,
from South America to Southeast Asia -- 70 years of democratic movement spread.
And nations that once knew only the blinders of fear began to taste the
blessings of freedom.
None of that would have happened
without the men who were willing to lay down their lives for people they’d never
met and ideals they couldn’t live without.
None of it would have happened
without the troops President Roosevelt called “the life-blood of America… the
hope of the world.”
They left home barely more than
boys and returned home heroes. But to their great credit, that is not how this
generation carried itself. After the war, some put away their medals, were
quiet about their service, moved on. Some, carrying shrapnel and scars, found
that moving on was much harder. Many, like my grandfather, who served in
Patton’s Army, lived a quiet life, trading one uniform and set of
responsibilities for another -- as a teacher, or a salesman, or a doctor, or an
engineer, a dad, a grandpa.
Our country made sure millions of
them earned a college education, opening up opportunity on an unprecedented
scale. And they married those sweethearts and bought new homes and raised
families and built businesses, lifting up the greatest middle class the world
has ever known. And through it all, they were inspired, I suspect, by memories
of their fallen brothers -- memories that drove them to live their lives each
day as best they possibly could.
Whenever the world makes you
cynical, stop and think of these men. Whenever you lose hope, stop and think of
these men.
Think of Wilson Colwell, who was
told he couldn’t pilot a plane without a high school degree, so he decided to
jump out of a plane instead. And he did, here on D-Day, with the 101st Airborne
when he was just 16 years old.
Think of Harry Kulkowitz, the
Jewish son of Russian immigrants, who fudged his age at enlistment so he could
join his friends in the fight. And don’t worry, Harry, the statute of
limitations has expired. (Laughter.) Harry came ashore at Utah Beach on
D-Day. And now that he’s come back, we said he could have anything he wants for
lunch today -- he helped liberate this coast, after all. But he said a
hamburger would do fine. (Laughter.) What’s more American than
that?
Think of “Rock” Merritt, who saw a
recruitment poster asking him if he was man enough to be a paratrooper -- so he
signed up on the spot. And that decision landed him here on D-Day with the
508th regiment, a unit that would suffer heavy casualties. And 70 years later,
it’s said that all across Fort Bragg, they know Rock -- not just for his
exploits on D-Day, or his 35 years in the Army, but because 91-year-old Rock
Merritt still spends his time speaking to the young men and women of today’s
Army and still bleeds “O.D. Green” for his 82nd Airborne.
Whenever the world makes you
cynical, whenever you doubt that courage and goodness is possible -- stop and
think of these men.
Wilson and Harry and Rock, they
are here today, and although I know we already gave them a rousing round of
applause, along with all our veterans of D-Day -- if you can stand, please
stand; if not, please raise your hand. Let us recognize your service once
more. (Applause.) These men waged war so that we might know peace. They
sacrificed so that we might be free. They fought in hopes of a day when we’d no
longer need to fight. We are grateful to them. (Applause.)
And, gentlemen, I want each of you
to know that your legacy is in good hands. For in a time when it has never been
more tempting to pursue narrow self-interest, to slough off common endeavor,
this generation of Americans, a new generation -- our men and women of war --
have chosen to do their part as well.
Rock, I want you to know that
Staff Sergeant Melvin Cedillo-Martin, who’s here today, is following in your
footsteps. He just had to become an American first -- because Melvin was born
in Honduras, moved to the United States, joined the Army. After tours in Iraq
and Afghanistan, he was reassigned to the 82nd Airborne. And Sunday, he’ll
parachute into Normandy. (Applause.) “I became part of a family of real
American heroes,” he said. “The Paratroopers of the 82nd.”
Wilson, you should know that
Specialist Jannise Rodriguez joined the Army not even two years ago, was
assigned to the 101st Airborne, and just last month earned the title of the
101st Airborne Division Air Assault Soldier of the Year. And that’s inspiring
but not surprising, when the women of today’s military have taken on
responsibilities, including combat, like never before. (Applause.)
I want each of you to know that
their commitment to their fellow servicemembers and veterans endures. Sergeant
First Class Brian Hawthorne’s grandfather served under General Patton and
General MacArthur. Brian himself served two tours in Iraq, earned the Bronze
Star in Baghdad for saving the life of his best friend, and today, he and his
wife use their experience to help other veterans and military families navigate
theirs. And Brian is here in Normandy to participate in Sunday’s jump, and
here, just yesterday, he reenlisted in the Army Reserve.
And this generation -- this 9/11
Generation of servicemembers -- they, too, felt something. They answered some
call; they said “I will go.” They, too, chose to serve a cause that’s greater
than self -- many even after they knew they’d be sent into harm’s way. And for
more than a decade, they have endured tour after tour.
Sergeant First Class Cory Remsburg
has served ten. And I’ve told Cory’s incredible story before, most recently
when he sat with my wife, Michelle, at the State of the Union address. It was
here, at Omaha Beach, on the 65th anniversary of D-Day, where I first met Cory
and his fellow Army Rangers, right after they made their own jump into
Normandy. The next time I saw him, he was in the hospital, unable to speak or
walk after an IED nearly killed him in Afghanistan. But over the past five
years, Cory has grown stronger, learning to speak again and stand again and walk
again. And earlier this year, he jumped out of a plane again. The first words
Cory said to me after his accident echoed those words first shouted all those
years ago on this beach: “Rangers lead the way.” (Applause.)
So Cory has come back today, along
with Melvin and Jannise and Brian, and many of their fellow active-duty
servicemembers. We thank them for their service. They are a reminder that the
tradition represented by these gentlemen continues.
We are on this Earth for only a
moment in time. And fewer of us have parents and grandparents to tell us about
what the veterans of D-Day did here 70 years ago. As I was landing on Marine
One, I told my staff, I don’t think there’s a time where I miss my grandfather
more, where I’d be more happy to have him here, than this day. So we have to
tell their stories for them. We have to do our best to uphold in our own lives
the values that they were prepared to die for. We have to honor those who carry
forward that legacy, recognizing that people cannot live in freedom unless free
people are prepared to die for it.
And as today’s wars come to an
end, this generation of servicemen and women will step out of uniform, and they,
too, will build families and lives of their own. They, too, will become leaders
in their communities, in commerce, in industry, and perhaps politics -- the
leaders we need for the beachheads of our time. And, God willing, they, too,
will grow old in the land they helped to keep free. And someday, future
generations, whether 70 or 700 years hence, will gather at places like this to
honor them and to say that these were generations of men and women who proved
once again that the United States of America is and will remain the greatest
force for freedom the world has ever known. (Applause.)
May God bless our veterans and all
who served with them, including those who rest here in eternal peace. And may
God bless all who serve today for the peace and security of the world. May God
bless the people of France. And may God bless our United States of America.
(Applause.)
