My fellow Americans,
This marks the 34th and final time I will address you from the Oval Office. We have shared eight years, and the moment has arrived for my departure. Before I leave, I wish to share some reflections, thoughts I have accumulated over time.
Serving as your President has been the greatest honor of my life. Many of you have sent kind words in recent weeks, for which I am deeply thankful, but I equally extend my gratitude to you. Nancy and I are profoundly grateful for the opportunity you entrusted to us to serve this nation.
The presidency inherently creates a sense of distance. Much of my time has been spent traveling swiftly in vehicles driven by others, observing people through tinted windows – parents holding children, fleeting waves seen too late to return. Countless times, I longed to stop, to reach out from behind that glass and connect with you directly. Perhaps tonight, I can bridge that gap, even if just a little.
People often ask about my feelings as I prepare to leave office. The sentiment is best captured by the phrase, “parting is such sweet sorrow.” The “sweet” refers to California, my ranch, and the freedom that awaits. The “sorrow” is in the goodbyes, in leaving this cherished place.
Down the hall and up the stairs from this very office lies the residential section of the White House, where the First Family resides. There are a few windows there I particularly favor, where I often stand in the early morning to gaze out. The view extends across the grounds to the Washington Monument, then further to the Mall and the Jefferson Memorial. On clear, low-humidity mornings, the vista stretches past 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 rising from the Battle of Bull Run. My view is more ordinary: the grassy riverbanks, the morning commute of people heading to work, and occasionally, a sailboat gliding on the river.
Standing at that window, I’ve spent time contemplating the meaning of the past eight years. A nautical image keeps returning to mind – a brief story about a large ship, a refugee, and a sailor. It takes place in the early 1980s, during the peak of the boat people crisis. A sailor was diligently working on the aircraft carrier Midway, patrolling the South China Sea. This sailor, like many American servicemen, was young, intelligent, and keenly observant. The crew spotted a small, leaky boat on the horizon, packed 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, “Hello, American sailor. Hello, freedom man.”
This brief encounter, pregnant with meaning, deeply resonated with the sailor, who shared it in a letter. It resonated deeply with me as well. Because that encapsulates 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 journey, and we weathered some turbulent times together. Now, united, we are approaching our destination.
From Grenada to the Washington and Moscow summits, from the recession of ’81-’82 to the economic expansion that began in late ’82 and continues to this day, we have made a significant difference. In my view, there are two major triumphs, two achievements of which I am most proud. The first is the economic recovery, where the American people generated – and filled – 19 million new jobs. The second is the restoration of our national morale. America is once again respected globally and 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. The summit venue rotates among member countries. 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 we believed would spark economic recovery – tax cuts, deregulation, and spending reductions. And soon, the recovery began.
Two years later, another economic summit with largely the same participants. At the opening meeting, I noticed a moment where everyone was simply looking at me. Then, one of them broke the silence and asked, “Tell us about the American miracle.”
Back in 1980, when I was campaigning for President, the atmosphere was vastly different. Pundits predicted catastrophe from our programs. They claimed our foreign policy views would lead to war, and our economic plans would cause runaway inflation and economic collapse. I recall one highly respected economist 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.” But he and other opinion leaders were wrong. What they termed “radical” was actually “right.” What they labeled “dangerous” was simply “desperately needed.”
During this period, I acquired the nickname “The Great Communicator.” However, I never believed it was my style or my words that made the difference; it was the substance. I wasn’t a great communicator, but I communicated great things. These ideas didn’t originate solely from me; they arose 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 rediscovery of our values and common sense.
Common sense dictates that taxing something more leads to reduced production. Therefore, we lowered tax rates, and the American people produced more than ever. The economy flourished, like a plant pruned back to enable stronger, faster growth. Our economic program initiated 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, leading to increased exports, and we rallied the national will to dismantle protectionist barriers abroad instead of erecting them at home.
Common sense also told us that preserving peace required restoring our strength after years of weakness and uncertainty. So, we rebuilt our defenses, and this New Year, we celebrated increased global peacefulness. Superpowers began reducing nuclear stockpiles, with hopes for further progress, and regional conflicts around the world started to subside. The Persian Gulf is no longer a war zone. The Soviets are leaving Afghanistan. The Vietnamese are preparing to withdraw from Cambodia, and an American-brokered agreement will soon send 50,000 Cuban troops home from Angola.
The overarching lesson is that as a great nation, our challenges will always appear complex. This is inherent to our role. However, as long as we remember our foundational principles and maintain faith in ourselves, the future will always be ours to shape. We also learned that initiating a significant movement has unpredictable, far-reaching consequences. We aimed to change a nation, and instead, we influenced the world.
Countries worldwide are embracing free markets and free speech, moving away from outdated ideologies. For them, the great rediscovery of the 1980s is that moral governance is also practical governance: democracy, profoundly good, is also profoundly productive.
Reaching an age where you celebrate the anniversaries of your 39th birthday allows for reflection on life’s journey. For me, there was a distinct turning point, a fork in the road in mid-life. Politics was not my initial ambition. It wasn’t my youthful aspiration. But I was raised with the belief that one must earn their blessings. I was content in my entertainment career, but I entered politics to protect something precious.
Ours was history’s first revolution to truly reverse the direction of government, encapsulated in three words: “We the People.” “We the People” instruct the government; it does not instruct us. “We the People” are the driver; the government is the car. We determine the destination, the route, and the speed. Most global constitutions are documents where governments define the people’s privileges. Our Constitution is where “We the People” define the government’s permissible actions. “We the People” are free. This conviction has underpinned everything I’ve strived for these past eight years.
But in the 1960s, it seemed we were reversing this order – with increasing rules, regulations, and confiscatory taxes, the government was taking more of our money, options, and freedom. I entered politics partly to raise my hand and say, “Stop.” I was a citizen politician, believing it was the right course of action for a citizen.
I believe we have stopped much of what needed halting. And I hope we’ve reaffirmed that human freedom requires limited government. There’s a clear, predictable cause and effect, as consistent as a law of physics: government expansion leads to liberty contraction.
Nothing embodies a lack of freedom more than pure communism. Yet, in recent years, we’ve forged a positive new relationship with the Soviet Union. Some ask if this is risky. My answer is no, because our actions are based on deeds, not just words. The detente of the 1970s relied on promises, not actions. They promised better treatment of their people and the world, but the gulag remained, the state remained expansionist, and proxy wars continued in Africa, Asia, and Latin America.
This time, it’s different, at least thus far. President Gorbachev has initiated internal democratic reforms and begun withdrawing from Afghanistan. He has also freed prisoners whose names I have provided at each meeting.
Life often underscores 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 visit, Russians immediately recognized us, called out our names, and reached for our hands. We were almost overwhelmed by the warmth and could sense the potential in that joy. But within moments, KGB agents pushed through, shoving people aside. It was a telling moment. It reminded me that while ordinary Soviet citizens yearn for peace, the government remains Communist. And those in power are Communists, meaning fundamental differences in our views on freedom and human rights persist.
We must remain vigilant, yet continue working to reduce tension and mistrust. My assessment is that President Gorbachev is different from his predecessors. I believe he recognizes flaws within his society and is attempting to address them. We wish him success. And we will continue efforts to ensure the Soviet Union emerging from this process is less of a threat. Ultimately, I want this new closeness to endure. It will, provided we maintain our clear stance and respond reciprocally to their actions. If they falter, initially, we should hold back our response. If they persist, we pull the plug. “Trust but verify” remains our approach. “Play, but cut the cards.” “Watch closely.” And never be afraid to see reality as it is.
I am often asked about regrets. Yes, I have one: the deficit. I’ve spoken about it frequently lately, but tonight is not for arguments, so I will refrain. However, I must observe: I’ve had legislative victories, but few realize that none were solely my doing. You, the American people, were my “troops,” my “Reagan’s regiments.” Every battle won was through your calls and letters demanding action. Action is still needed. To complete the task, “Reagan’s regiments” must become “Bush’s brigades.” Soon, he will lead, and he will require your support as much as I did.
Presidential farewell addresses often include warnings, and I have one that has been on my mind. Oddly, it stems from something I am most proud of – the resurgence of national pride, what I called the new patriotism. This national sentiment is positive, but its value and longevity depend on being grounded in thoughtfulness and knowledge.
Informed patriotism is our goal. Are we adequately teaching our children about America’s essence and its historical significance? Those over 35 grew up in a different America. We were directly taught what it meant to be American. We absorbed a love of country and an appreciation for its institutions almost instinctively. If not from family, it came from the neighborhood, a Korean War veteran down the street, or a family who lost a loved one at Anzio. Patriotism was instilled in schools and reinforced by popular culture. Movies celebrated democratic values and subtly affirmed America’s exceptionalism. Television, until the mid-sixties, mirrored this.
However, as we approach the nineties, things have shifted. Younger parents are less certain about the unqualified appreciation of America as the right message for modern children. And creators of popular culture no longer prioritize well-grounded patriotism. Our spirit is revived, but not yet reinstitutionalized. We must improve at conveying that America embodies freedom – of speech, religion, enterprise. Freedom is unique, precious, and fragile, requiring protection.
We must teach history based on importance, not trends – the Pilgrims’ journey, 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 late father, who fought on Omaha Beach. She wrote, “we will always remember, we will never forget what the boys of Normandy did.” Let’s help her keep that promise. Forgetting our deeds equates to forgetting who we are. I caution against an erosion of American memory, potentially leading to an erosion of the American spirit. Let’s start with basics: more focus on American history and civic rituals.
And here’s lesson number one 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 aren’t teaching you the meaning of being American, ask them and hold them accountable. That would be a very American thing to do.
That concludes my message tonight, except for one final thought. These past days, at that window upstairs, I’ve reflected on the “shining city upon a hill.” The phrase comes from John Winthrop, describing his vision of America. His vision was crucial because he was an early Pilgrim, a “freedom man.” He journeyed here on what we’d call a small wooden boat, seeking a free home like the other Pilgrims.
I’ve often spoken of the shining city throughout my political life, but 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 peace and harmony; 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 is my vision, still.
And how stands the city on this winter night? More prosperous, secure, and happier than eight years ago. More than that: After two centuries, she remains strong and true on the granite ridge, her glow unwavering through every storm. She remains a beacon, a magnet for all who crave freedom, for all pilgrims from lost places journeying through darkness toward home.
We have played our part. As I walk into the city streets, a final word to the men and women of the Reagan Revolution, those across America who for eight years worked to bring America back: My friends, we did it. We didn’t just pass time. We made a difference. We strengthened the city, freed the city, and left her in capable hands. Overall, not bad, not bad at all.
So, goodbye, God bless you, and God bless the United States of America.
Note: The President spoke at 9:02 p.m. from the Oval Office at the White House. The address was broadcast live on nationwide radio and television.
