Obama Tucson Speech - 與兒子分享奧巴馬的演說
在Youtube看到美國總統奧巴馬在亞利桑那州圖森市槍擊案悼念儀式上發表的講話，內容令人感動，引人反思。一聽、再聽，又與兒子分享。這是一篇可用作教授英語(美語)及生命教育的好材料。
Thank you. Please. Please, be seated.
To the families of those we've lost, to all who called them friends, to the students of this university, the public servants who are gathered here, the people of Tucson and the people of Arizona: I have come here tonight as an American who, like all Americans, kneels to pray with you today and will stand by you tomorrow.
There is nothing I can say that will fill the sudden hole torn in your hearts. But know this: The hopes of a nation are here tonight. We mourn (哀悼) with you for the fallen (死去的). We join you in your grief (悲痛). And we add our faith to yours that Representative Gabrielle Giffords and the other living victims of this tragedy will pull through (渡過難關).
Scripture (聖經) tells us, "There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the most high dwells. God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day (破曉)."
On Saturday morning, Gabby, her staff, and many of her constituents (選民) gathered outside a supermarket to exercise (行使) their right to peaceful assembly and free speech.
They were fulfilling (履行) a central tenet (宗旨, 原則) of the democracy envisioned (想像, 展望) by our founders: representatives of the people answering questions to their constituents, so as to carry their concerns back to our nation's capital. Gabby called it "Congress on Your Corner" (街頭國會), just an updated version of government of and by and for the people.
And that quintessentially (典型地) American scene, that was the scene that was shattered by a gunman's bullets. And the six people who lost their lives on Saturday, they, too, represented what is best in us, what is best in America.
Judge John Roll served our legal system for nearly 40 years.
A graduate of this university and a graduate of this law school...
... Judge Roll was recommended for the federal bench (聯邦法官) by John McCain 20 years ago, appointed by President George H.W. Bush, and rose to become Arizona's chief federal judge.
His colleagues described him as the hardest-working judge within the Ninth Circuit. He was on his way back from attending mass (彌撒), as he did every day, when he decided to stop by (順路造訪) and say hi to his representative.
John is survived by (遺下) his loving wife, Maureen, his three sons, and his five beautiful grandchildren.
George and Dorothy Morris -- "Dot" to her friends -- were high school sweethearts (高中時的情侶) who got married and had two daughters. They did everything together, traveling the open road in their R.V., enjoying what their friends called a 50-year honeymoon.
Saturday morning, they went by the Safeway to hear what their congresswoman (女眾議員) had to say. When gunfire rang out (突然響起), George, a former Marine (前海軍陸戰隊隊員), instinctively (本能地) tried to shield (保護) his wife.
Both were shot. Dot passed away.
A New Jersey native, Phyllis Schneck retired to Tucson to beat (逃避) the snow. But in the summer, she would return east, where her world revolved around (圍繞, 以…為中心) her three children, her seven grandchildren, and two-year-old great-granddaughter. A gifted quilter (縫被子的人), she'd often work under her favorite tree, or sometimes she'd sew aprons with the logos of the Jets and the Giants...
... to give out at the church where she volunteered. A Republican (共和黨人), she took a liking to (對...產生好感) Gabby and wanted to get to know her better.
Dorwan and Mavy Stoddard grew up in Tucson together about 70 years ago. They moved apart and started their own respective (各自的) families, but after both were widowed, they found their way back here, to, as one of Mavy's daughters put it, "be boyfriend and girlfriend again."
When they weren't out on the road in their motor home, you could find them just up the road, helping folks (普通百姓, 人們) in need at the Mountain Avenue Church of Christ. A retired construction worker, Dorwan spent his spare time fixing up the church along with their dog, Tux. His final act of selflessness (無私) was to dive on top of his wife, sacrificing his life for hers.
Everything -- everything Gabe Zimmerman did, he did with passion, but...
... but his true passion was helping people. As Gabby's outreach (外展服務) director, he made the cares of thousands of her constituents his own, seeing to it that (確保) seniors (長者) got the Medicare benefits that they had earned, that veterans (退伍軍人) got the medals and the care that they deserved, that government was working for ordinary folks.
He died doing what he loved: talking with people and seeing how he could help. And Gabe is survived by his parents, Ross and Emily, his brother, Ben, and his fiancee, Kelly, who he planned to marry next year.
And then there is nine-year-old Christina-Taylor Green. Christina was an A student. She was a dancer. She was a gymnast. She was a swimmer. She decided that she wanted to be the first woman to play in the Major Leagues (職棒聯盟), and as the only girl on her Little League (少棒聯盟) team, no one put it past her (所有人相信她會).
She showed an appreciation for life uncommon for a girl her age. She'd remind her mother, "We are so blessed. We have the best life." And she'd pay those blessings back by participating in a charity that helped children who were less fortunate.
Our hearts are broken by their sudden passing. Our hearts are broken, and yet (然而) our hearts also have reason for fullness (充實, 完美, 完全).
Our hearts are full of hope and thanks for the 13 Americans who survived the shooting, including the congresswoman many of them went to see on Saturday. I have just come from the University Medical Center, just a mile from here, where our friend Gabby courageously fights to recover even as we speak.
And I want to tell you -- her husband, Mark, is here, and he allows me to share this with you. Right after we went to visit, a few minutes after we left her room and some of her colleagues from Congress were in the room, Gabby opened her eyes for the first time.
Gabby opened her eyes for the first time.
Gabby opened her eyes.
Gabby opened her eyes, so I can tell you, she knows we are here, she knows we love her, and she knows that we are rooting for (正在為……加油) her through what is undoubtedly going to be a difficult journey. We are there for her.
Our hearts are full of thanks for that good news, and our hearts are full of gratitude (感恩, 感謝) for those who saved others. We are grateful to Daniel Hernandez...
... a volunteer in Gabby's office.
And, Daniel, I'm sorry, you may deny it, but we've decided you are a hero, because you ran through the chaos to minister to (給予援助, 照料) your boss and tended to (照料, 護理) her wounds and help keep her alive.
We are grateful to the men who tackled the gunman as he stopped to reload.
They're right over there.
We -- we are grateful for petite (個子嬌小的) Patricia Maisch, who wrestled away the killer's ammunition (彈藥) and undoubtedly saved some lives.
And we are grateful for the doctors and nurses and first responders...
... who worked wonders (創造奇蹟) to heal those who'd been hurt. We are grateful to them.
These men and women remind us that heroism ( 英雄氣概, 勇氣) is found not only on the fields of battle. They remind us that heroism does not require special training or physical strength. Heroism is here, in the hearts of so many of our fellow citizens, all around us, just waiting to be summoned, as it was on Saturday morning.
Their actions, their selflessness poses (造成, 引起, 產生) a challenge to each of us. It raises the question of what, beyond prayers and expressions of concern, is required of us going forward. How can we honor the fallen? How can we be true to their memory?
You see, when a tragedy like this strikes, it is part of our nature to demand explanations, to try to impose (把…強加於) some order on the chaos and make sense out of that which seems senseless.
Already, we've seen a national conversation commence, not only about the motivations behind these killings, but about everything from the merits (價值, 優點, 法律意義) of gun safety laws to the adequacy (適當, 足夠) of our mental health system. And much -- much of this process...
... of debating what might be done to prevent such tragedies in the future is an essential ingredient (要素, 因素) in our exercise of self-government.
But at a time (每次) when our discourse (談話, 辯論) has become so sharply polarized, at a time when we are far too eager to lay the blame for all that ails (使苦惱) the world at the feet of those who happen to think differently than we do, it's important for us to pause for a moment and make sure that we're talking with each other in a way that -- that heals, not in a way that wounds.
Scripture tells us that there is evil in the world and that terrible things happen for reasons that defy human understanding (人類無法理解). In the words of Job (約伯記), "When I looked for light, then came darkness." Bad things happen, and we have to guard against simple explanations in the aftermath (事件結束後的一段時期, 後果).
For the truth is, none of us can know exactly what triggered (引發) this vicious attack. None of us can know with any certainty what might have stopped these shots from being fired or what thoughts lurked (潛伏) in the inner recesses (深處, 幽深處, 隱蔽處) of a violent man's mind.
Yes, we had to examine all the facts behind this tragedy. We cannot and will not be passive in the face of such violence. We should be willing to challenge old assumptions in order to lessen the prospects (機會, 可能性) of such violence in the future.
But what we cannot do is use this tragedy as one more occasion to turn on each other (互相攻擊).
That we cannot do.
That we cannot do.
As we discuss these issues, let each of us do so with a good dose of humility (謙卑, 謙遜). Rather than pointing fingers or assigning blame, let's use this occasion to expand our moral (精神上的, 道德上的) imaginations, to listen to each other more carefully, to sharpen our instincts for empathy (同理心, 同情), and remind ourselves of all the ways that our hopes and dreams are bound together. After all...
After all, that's what most of us do when we lose somebody in our family, especially if the loss is unexpected. We're shaken out of our routines. We're forced to look inward. We reflect (深思, 反省) on the past.
Did we spend enough time with an aging -- an aging parent, we wonder? Did we express our gratitude for all the sacrifices that they made for us? Did we tell a spouse (配偶) just how desperately we loved them, not just once in a while, but every single day?
So sudden loss causes us to look backward, but it also forces us to look forward, to reflect on the present and the future, on the manner in which we live our lives and nurture (養育, 培育) our relationships with those who are still with us.
We may ask ourselves if we've shown enough kindness and generosity (寬宏大量, 慷慨) and compassion (憐憫, 同情) to the people in our lives. Perhaps we question whether we're doing right by our children, or our community, whether our priorities are in order. We recognize our own mortality (生命的有限). And we are reminded that, in the fleeting (轉瞬間的, 短暫的) time we have on this Earth, what matters is not wealth, or status, or power, or fame, but rather how well we have loved and what small part we have played in making the lives of other people better.
And that process -- that process of reflection, of making sure we align (使一致) our values with our actions, that, I believe, is what a tragedy like this requires.
For those who were harmed, those who were killed, they are part of our family, an American family, 300 million strong.
We may not have known them personally, but surely we see ourselves in them. In George and Dot, in Dorwan and Mavy, we sense the abiding (持久的, 始終不渝的) love we have for our own husbands, our own wives, our own life partners.
Phyllis, she's our mom or our grandma, Gabe, our brother or son.
In Judge Roll, we recognize not only a man who prized (珍視) his family and doing his job well, but also a man who embodied (具體表現, 代表) America's fidelity (忠誠) to the law.
And in Gabby -- in Gabby, we see a reflection of our public-spiritedness (公共精神, 公益意識), that desire to participate in that sometimes frustrating, sometimes contentious (可能引起爭論的), but always necessary and never-ending process to form a more perfect union.
And in Christina, in Christina, we see all of our children, so curious, so trusting (輕易信賴別人的), so energetic, so full of magic, so deserving of our love, and so deserving of our good example.
If this tragedy prompts (引起, 激起) reflection and debate, as it should, let's make sure it's worthy of those we have lost.
Let's make sure it's not on the usual plane (水平, 層次) of politics and point-scoring and pettiness (器量小, 卑鄙, 狹隘) that drifts away in the next news cycle.
The loss of these wonderful people should make every one of us strive (努力, 奮鬥) to be better, to be better in our private lives, to be better friends and neighbors and co-workers and parents.
And if, as has been discussed in recent days, their death helps usher in (引進, 開闢) more civility (文明, 禮貌) in our public discourse, let us remember it is not because a simple lack of civility caused this tragedy -- it did not -- but rather because only a more civil and honest public discourse can help us face up to the challenges of our nation in a way that would make them proud.
We should be civil (文明的) because we want to live up to (達到, 實踐, 不辜負) the example of public servants like John Roll and Gabby Giffords, who knew first and foremost that we are all Americans, and that we can question each other's ideas without questioning each other's love of country, and that our task, working together, is to constantly widen the circle of our concern so that we bequeath (傳下, 留下) the American dream to future generations.
They believe -- they believe and I believe that we can be better. Those who died here, those who saved lives here, they help me believe. We may not be able to stop all evil in the world, but I know that how we treat one another, that's entirely up to us.
And I believe that, for all our imperfections, we are full of decency (正派, 寬容, 懂得情理) and goodness and that the forces that divide us are not as strong as those that unite us.
That's what I believe, in part (在某種程度上) because that's what a child like Christina-Taylor Green believed.
Imagine -- can you imagine for a moment, here was a young girl who was just becoming aware of our democracy, just beginning to understand the obligations (義務; 責任) of citizenship, just starting to glimpse (瞥見; 開始認識) the fact that someday she, too, might play a part in (參與) shaping her nation's future.
She had been elected to her student council. She saw public service as something exciting and hopeful. She was off to meet her congresswoman, someone she was sure was good and important and might be a role model (榜樣). She saw all this through the eyes of a child, undimmed (沒有被弄模糊) by the cynicism (憤世嫉俗) or vitriol (尖刻無情的話) that we adults all too often just take for granted (認為是理所當然, 不當一回事).
I want us to live up to her expectations.
I want our democracy to be as good as Christina imagined it. I want America to be as good as she imagined it. All of us, we should do everything we can to make sure this country lives up to our children's expectations.
As has already been mentioned, Christina was given to us on September 11th, 2001, one of 50 babies born that day to be pictured in a book called "Faces of Hope." On either side of her photo in that book were simple wishes for a child's life: "I hope you help those in need," read one. "I hope you know all of the words to the National Anthem (國歌) and sing it with your hand over your heart. I hope -- I hope you jump in rain puddles."
If there are rain puddles in Heaven, Christina is jumping in them today.
And here on this Earth, here on this Earth, we place our hands over our hearts and we commit ourselves as Americans to forging (塑造) a country that is forever worthy of her gentle, happy spirit.
May God bless and keep those we've lost in restful and eternal (永久的, 永恒的) peace. May he love and watch over (看守, 保護) the survivors. And may he bless the United States of America.
Thank you. Please. Please, be seated.
To the families of those we've lost, to all who called them friends, to the students of this university, the public servants who are gathered here, the people of Tucson and the people of Arizona: I have come here tonight as an American who, like all Americans, kneels to pray with you today and will stand by you tomorrow.
There is nothing I can say that will fill the sudden hole torn in your hearts. But know this: The hopes of a nation are here tonight. We mourn (哀悼) with you for the fallen (死去的). We join you in your grief (悲痛). And we add our faith to yours that Representative Gabrielle Giffords and the other living victims of this tragedy will pull through (渡過難關).
Scripture (聖經) tells us, "There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the most high dwells. God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day (破曉)."
On Saturday morning, Gabby, her staff, and many of her constituents (選民) gathered outside a supermarket to exercise (行使) their right to peaceful assembly and free speech.
They were fulfilling (履行) a central tenet (宗旨, 原則) of the democracy envisioned (想像, 展望) by our founders: representatives of the people answering questions to their constituents, so as to carry their concerns back to our nation's capital. Gabby called it "Congress on Your Corner" (街頭國會), just an updated version of government of and by and for the people.
And that quintessentially (典型地) American scene, that was the scene that was shattered by a gunman's bullets. And the six people who lost their lives on Saturday, they, too, represented what is best in us, what is best in America.
Judge John Roll served our legal system for nearly 40 years.
A graduate of this university and a graduate of this law school...
... Judge Roll was recommended for the federal bench (聯邦法官) by John McCain 20 years ago, appointed by President George H.W. Bush, and rose to become Arizona's chief federal judge.
His colleagues described him as the hardest-working judge within the Ninth Circuit. He was on his way back from attending mass (彌撒), as he did every day, when he decided to stop by (順路造訪) and say hi to his representative.
John is survived by (遺下) his loving wife, Maureen, his three sons, and his five beautiful grandchildren.
George and Dorothy Morris -- "Dot" to her friends -- were high school sweethearts (高中時的情侶) who got married and had two daughters. They did everything together, traveling the open road in their R.V., enjoying what their friends called a 50-year honeymoon.
Saturday morning, they went by the Safeway to hear what their congresswoman (女眾議員) had to say. When gunfire rang out (突然響起), George, a former Marine (前海軍陸戰隊隊員), instinctively (本能地) tried to shield (保護) his wife.
Both were shot. Dot passed away.
A New Jersey native, Phyllis Schneck retired to Tucson to beat (逃避) the snow. But in the summer, she would return east, where her world revolved around (圍繞, 以…為中心) her three children, her seven grandchildren, and two-year-old great-granddaughter. A gifted quilter (縫被子的人), she'd often work under her favorite tree, or sometimes she'd sew aprons with the logos of the Jets and the Giants...
... to give out at the church where she volunteered. A Republican (共和黨人), she took a liking to (對...產生好感) Gabby and wanted to get to know her better.
Dorwan and Mavy Stoddard grew up in Tucson together about 70 years ago. They moved apart and started their own respective (各自的) families, but after both were widowed, they found their way back here, to, as one of Mavy's daughters put it, "be boyfriend and girlfriend again."
When they weren't out on the road in their motor home, you could find them just up the road, helping folks (普通百姓, 人們) in need at the Mountain Avenue Church of Christ. A retired construction worker, Dorwan spent his spare time fixing up the church along with their dog, Tux. His final act of selflessness (無私) was to dive on top of his wife, sacrificing his life for hers.
Everything -- everything Gabe Zimmerman did, he did with passion, but...
... but his true passion was helping people. As Gabby's outreach (外展服務) director, he made the cares of thousands of her constituents his own, seeing to it that (確保) seniors (長者) got the Medicare benefits that they had earned, that veterans (退伍軍人) got the medals and the care that they deserved, that government was working for ordinary folks.
He died doing what he loved: talking with people and seeing how he could help. And Gabe is survived by his parents, Ross and Emily, his brother, Ben, and his fiancee, Kelly, who he planned to marry next year.
And then there is nine-year-old Christina-Taylor Green. Christina was an A student. She was a dancer. She was a gymnast. She was a swimmer. She decided that she wanted to be the first woman to play in the Major Leagues (職棒聯盟), and as the only girl on her Little League (少棒聯盟) team, no one put it past her (所有人相信她會).
She showed an appreciation for life uncommon for a girl her age. She'd remind her mother, "We are so blessed. We have the best life." And she'd pay those blessings back by participating in a charity that helped children who were less fortunate.
Our hearts are broken by their sudden passing. Our hearts are broken, and yet (然而) our hearts also have reason for fullness (充實, 完美, 完全).
Our hearts are full of hope and thanks for the 13 Americans who survived the shooting, including the congresswoman many of them went to see on Saturday. I have just come from the University Medical Center, just a mile from here, where our friend Gabby courageously fights to recover even as we speak.
And I want to tell you -- her husband, Mark, is here, and he allows me to share this with you. Right after we went to visit, a few minutes after we left her room and some of her colleagues from Congress were in the room, Gabby opened her eyes for the first time.
Gabby opened her eyes for the first time.
Gabby opened her eyes.
Gabby opened her eyes, so I can tell you, she knows we are here, she knows we love her, and she knows that we are rooting for (正在為……加油) her through what is undoubtedly going to be a difficult journey. We are there for her.
Our hearts are full of thanks for that good news, and our hearts are full of gratitude (感恩, 感謝) for those who saved others. We are grateful to Daniel Hernandez...
... a volunteer in Gabby's office.
And, Daniel, I'm sorry, you may deny it, but we've decided you are a hero, because you ran through the chaos to minister to (給予援助, 照料) your boss and tended to (照料, 護理) her wounds and help keep her alive.
We are grateful to the men who tackled the gunman as he stopped to reload.
They're right over there.
We -- we are grateful for petite (個子嬌小的) Patricia Maisch, who wrestled away the killer's ammunition (彈藥) and undoubtedly saved some lives.
And we are grateful for the doctors and nurses and first responders...
... who worked wonders (創造奇蹟) to heal those who'd been hurt. We are grateful to them.
These men and women remind us that heroism ( 英雄氣概, 勇氣) is found not only on the fields of battle. They remind us that heroism does not require special training or physical strength. Heroism is here, in the hearts of so many of our fellow citizens, all around us, just waiting to be summoned, as it was on Saturday morning.
Their actions, their selflessness poses (造成, 引起, 產生) a challenge to each of us. It raises the question of what, beyond prayers and expressions of concern, is required of us going forward. How can we honor the fallen? How can we be true to their memory?
You see, when a tragedy like this strikes, it is part of our nature to demand explanations, to try to impose (把…強加於) some order on the chaos and make sense out of that which seems senseless.
Already, we've seen a national conversation commence, not only about the motivations behind these killings, but about everything from the merits (價值, 優點, 法律意義) of gun safety laws to the adequacy (適當, 足夠) of our mental health system. And much -- much of this process...
... of debating what might be done to prevent such tragedies in the future is an essential ingredient (要素, 因素) in our exercise of self-government.
But at a time (每次) when our discourse (談話, 辯論) has become so sharply polarized, at a time when we are far too eager to lay the blame for all that ails (使苦惱) the world at the feet of those who happen to think differently than we do, it's important for us to pause for a moment and make sure that we're talking with each other in a way that -- that heals, not in a way that wounds.
Scripture tells us that there is evil in the world and that terrible things happen for reasons that defy human understanding (人類無法理解). In the words of Job (約伯記), "When I looked for light, then came darkness." Bad things happen, and we have to guard against simple explanations in the aftermath (事件結束後的一段時期, 後果).
For the truth is, none of us can know exactly what triggered (引發) this vicious attack. None of us can know with any certainty what might have stopped these shots from being fired or what thoughts lurked (潛伏) in the inner recesses (深處, 幽深處, 隱蔽處) of a violent man's mind.
Yes, we had to examine all the facts behind this tragedy. We cannot and will not be passive in the face of such violence. We should be willing to challenge old assumptions in order to lessen the prospects (機會, 可能性) of such violence in the future.
But what we cannot do is use this tragedy as one more occasion to turn on each other (互相攻擊).
That we cannot do.
That we cannot do.
As we discuss these issues, let each of us do so with a good dose of humility (謙卑, 謙遜). Rather than pointing fingers or assigning blame, let's use this occasion to expand our moral (精神上的, 道德上的) imaginations, to listen to each other more carefully, to sharpen our instincts for empathy (同理心, 同情), and remind ourselves of all the ways that our hopes and dreams are bound together. After all...
After all, that's what most of us do when we lose somebody in our family, especially if the loss is unexpected. We're shaken out of our routines. We're forced to look inward. We reflect (深思, 反省) on the past.
Did we spend enough time with an aging -- an aging parent, we wonder? Did we express our gratitude for all the sacrifices that they made for us? Did we tell a spouse (配偶) just how desperately we loved them, not just once in a while, but every single day?
So sudden loss causes us to look backward, but it also forces us to look forward, to reflect on the present and the future, on the manner in which we live our lives and nurture (養育, 培育) our relationships with those who are still with us.
We may ask ourselves if we've shown enough kindness and generosity (寬宏大量, 慷慨) and compassion (憐憫, 同情) to the people in our lives. Perhaps we question whether we're doing right by our children, or our community, whether our priorities are in order. We recognize our own mortality (生命的有限). And we are reminded that, in the fleeting (轉瞬間的, 短暫的) time we have on this Earth, what matters is not wealth, or status, or power, or fame, but rather how well we have loved and what small part we have played in making the lives of other people better.
And that process -- that process of reflection, of making sure we align (使一致) our values with our actions, that, I believe, is what a tragedy like this requires.
For those who were harmed, those who were killed, they are part of our family, an American family, 300 million strong.
We may not have known them personally, but surely we see ourselves in them. In George and Dot, in Dorwan and Mavy, we sense the abiding (持久的, 始終不渝的) love we have for our own husbands, our own wives, our own life partners.
Phyllis, she's our mom or our grandma, Gabe, our brother or son.
In Judge Roll, we recognize not only a man who prized (珍視) his family and doing his job well, but also a man who embodied (具體表現, 代表) America's fidelity (忠誠) to the law.
And in Gabby -- in Gabby, we see a reflection of our public-spiritedness (公共精神, 公益意識), that desire to participate in that sometimes frustrating, sometimes contentious (可能引起爭論的), but always necessary and never-ending process to form a more perfect union.
And in Christina, in Christina, we see all of our children, so curious, so trusting (輕易信賴別人的), so energetic, so full of magic, so deserving of our love, and so deserving of our good example.
If this tragedy prompts (引起, 激起) reflection and debate, as it should, let's make sure it's worthy of those we have lost.
Let's make sure it's not on the usual plane (水平, 層次) of politics and point-scoring and pettiness (器量小, 卑鄙, 狹隘) that drifts away in the next news cycle.
The loss of these wonderful people should make every one of us strive (努力, 奮鬥) to be better, to be better in our private lives, to be better friends and neighbors and co-workers and parents.
And if, as has been discussed in recent days, their death helps usher in (引進, 開闢) more civility (文明, 禮貌) in our public discourse, let us remember it is not because a simple lack of civility caused this tragedy -- it did not -- but rather because only a more civil and honest public discourse can help us face up to the challenges of our nation in a way that would make them proud.
We should be civil (文明的) because we want to live up to (達到, 實踐, 不辜負) the example of public servants like John Roll and Gabby Giffords, who knew first and foremost that we are all Americans, and that we can question each other's ideas without questioning each other's love of country, and that our task, working together, is to constantly widen the circle of our concern so that we bequeath (傳下, 留下) the American dream to future generations.
They believe -- they believe and I believe that we can be better. Those who died here, those who saved lives here, they help me believe. We may not be able to stop all evil in the world, but I know that how we treat one another, that's entirely up to us.
And I believe that, for all our imperfections, we are full of decency (正派, 寬容, 懂得情理) and goodness and that the forces that divide us are not as strong as those that unite us.
That's what I believe, in part (在某種程度上) because that's what a child like Christina-Taylor Green believed.
Imagine -- can you imagine for a moment, here was a young girl who was just becoming aware of our democracy, just beginning to understand the obligations (義務; 責任) of citizenship, just starting to glimpse (瞥見; 開始認識) the fact that someday she, too, might play a part in (參與) shaping her nation's future.
She had been elected to her student council. She saw public service as something exciting and hopeful. She was off to meet her congresswoman, someone she was sure was good and important and might be a role model (榜樣). She saw all this through the eyes of a child, undimmed (沒有被弄模糊) by the cynicism (憤世嫉俗) or vitriol (尖刻無情的話) that we adults all too often just take for granted (認為是理所當然, 不當一回事).
I want us to live up to her expectations.
I want our democracy to be as good as Christina imagined it. I want America to be as good as she imagined it. All of us, we should do everything we can to make sure this country lives up to our children's expectations.
As has already been mentioned, Christina was given to us on September 11th, 2001, one of 50 babies born that day to be pictured in a book called "Faces of Hope." On either side of her photo in that book were simple wishes for a child's life: "I hope you help those in need," read one. "I hope you know all of the words to the National Anthem (國歌) and sing it with your hand over your heart. I hope -- I hope you jump in rain puddles."
If there are rain puddles in Heaven, Christina is jumping in them today.
And here on this Earth, here on this Earth, we place our hands over our hearts and we commit ourselves as Americans to forging (塑造) a country that is forever worthy of her gentle, happy spirit.
May God bless and keep those we've lost in restful and eternal (永久的, 永恒的) peace. May he love and watch over (看守, 保護) the survivors. And may he bless the United States of America.
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