For George Floyd: 'Keep my brother's name ringing!' by Terrence Floyd - 2020

1 June 2020, Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA

First of all …Hello.

Audience:
Hello, hello.

I understand you all upset, but I can deservedly say, I dealt in y’all’s habits of society.

Audience:
Come on, now. I can’t hear. Speak.

So if I’m not over here wilding out, if I’m not over here blowing up stuff …
… if I’m not over here messing up my community, then what are y’all doing?

Audience:
White nationalists.

What are y’all doing? Y’all doing nothing, because that’s going to bring my brother back at all.

Audience:
It’s not us. It’s Donald Trump’s buddies. Yeah, Donald Trump’s buddies is right.

It may feel good for the moment, just like when you drink, but when it come down, you going to wonder what you did.

My family is a peaceful family. My family is god fearing.

Audience:
Amen.

Yeah, we upset, but we not going to take it, we not going to be repetitious. In every case of police brutality, the same thing has been happening.

Audience:
Yes, sir.

Y’all protest, y’all destroy stuff, and they don’t move. You know why they don’t move? Because it’s not their stuff, it’s our stuff.

Audience:
That’s it.

So they want us to destroy our stuff.

Rev. Kevin McCall:
Come on, guy.

They’re not going to move.

Audience:

Yes, sir. It’s the truth.

So let’s do this another way.

Audience:
That’s right. Come on now, brother.

Let’s do this another way.

Audience:
Yes, let’s fix this city. They’re going to try to take it. Let’s fix this city. Speak. And get our people into office. They’re going to try to come build. Let’s fix this city.

Y’all right. Let’s do this another way. Let’s stop thinking that our voice don’t matter and vote.

Rev. Kevin McCall:
There you go.

Audience:
Vote.

Not just vote for the president, vote for the preliminaries, vote for everybody.

Audience:
Justice

Educate yourself.

Audience:
Educate and agitate.

Educate yourself. Don’t wait for somebody else to tell you who’s who. Educate yourself and know who you’re voting for.

Audience:
That’s right. You’re right.

And that’s how we going to hit them, because it’s a lot of us.

Audience:
Hard.

It’s a lot of us.

Rev. Kevin McCall:
That’s right.

Audience:
Hell yeah.

It’s a lot of us.

And we still going to do this peacefully, because that’s when we going to get them, because we going to fool them. They think we going to do this, they think we’re going to do something, and we’re going to switch it on them.

Audience:
Change it up.

Let’s switch it up, y’all. Let’s switch it up.
Do this peacefully, please.
My brother moved here from Houston, and I used to talk to him on the phone. He loved it here. He started driving a truck. He was good. So I highly doubt … no. I know, he would not want y’all to be doing this. And I’m not saying the people here. Whoever’s doing it, relax.

Audience:
It ain’t us, man. It ain’t us. It ain’t us. Come on, brother. Come on, brother. It’s okay, brother. It’s okay. It’s okay. Take your time, take your time. Take your time. Come on, brother.

And I like Reverend McCall said, “Peace on the left … ”

Rev. Kevin McCall:
Justice on the right.

Did I forgot already?

Audience:
Peace on the left, justice on the right.

Peace on the left.

Audience:
Justice on the right.

Peace on the left.

Audience:
Justice on the right.

Peace on the left.

Audience:
Justice on the right.

Peace on the left.

Audience:
Justice on the right.

I says that. Who says that? Peace on the left.

Audience:
Justice on the right.

Justice on the right.

Audience:
Peace on the right.

Right, that’s what I’m saying. That’s what I want to see. Peace on the left.

Audience:
Justice on the right.

Peace on the left.

Audience:
Justice on the right.

Peace on the left.

Audience:
Justice on the right.

Peace on the left.

Audience:
Justice on the right.

That’s what I’m talking about.

Audience:
We love you, brother.

On behalf of the Floyd family, thank you. Thank you for the love.

Audience:
We love you.

Thank you for the flowers. Thank you for the memorials.

Audience:
That was my family.

Thank you.

Audience:
Don’t mention it. Thank you, brother.

Now before I go, I just want to hear this again. What’s his name?

George Floyd.

What’s his name?

Audience:
George Floyd.

What’s his name?

Audience:
George Floyd.

What’s his name?

Audience:
George Floyd.

George.

Audience:
Floyd.

George.

Audience:
Floyd.

George.

Audience:
Floyd.

George.

Audience:

Floyd


Lert us pray for peace. I thank you.

for John McCain: 'Character is destiny. John had character', by Joe Biden - 2018

1 September 2018, Washington National Cathedral, Washington DC, USA

My name is Joe Biden. I’m a Democrat. And I loved John McCain. I have had the dubious honor over the years of giving some eulogies for fine women and men that I’ve admired. But, Lindsey, this one’s hard.

The three men who spoke before me I think captured John, different aspects of John in a way that only someone close to him could understand. But the way I look at it, the way I thought about it, was that I always thought of John as a brother. We had a hell of a lot of family fights. We go back a long way. I was a young United States Senator. I got elected when I was 29. I had the dubious distinction of being put on the formulations committee, which the next youngest person was 14 years older than me. And I spent a lot of time traveling the world because I was assigned responsibility, my colleagues in the Senate knew I was chairman of the European Affairs subcommittee, so I spent a lot of time at NATO and then the Soviet Union.

Along came a guy a couple of years later, a guy I knew of, admired from afar, your husband, who had been a prisoner of war, who had endured enormous, enormous pain and suffering. And demonstrated the code, the McCain code. People don't think much about it today, but imagine having already known the pain you were likely to endure, and being offered the opportunity to go home, but saying no. As his son can tell you in the Navy, last one in, last one out.

So I knew of John. and John became the Navy liaison officer in the United States Senate. There's an office, then it used to be on the basement floor, of members of the military who are assigned to senators when they travel abroad to meet with heads of state or other foreign dignitaries. And John had been recently released from the HanoI Hilton, a genuine hero, and he became the Navy liaison. For some reason we hit it off in the beginning. We were both full of dreams and ambitions and an overwhelming desire to make the time we had there worthwhile. To try to do the right thing. To think about how we could make things better for the country we loved so much.

John and I ended up traveling every time I went anywhere. I took John with me or John took me with him. we were in China, Japan, Russia, Germany, France, England, Turkey, all over the world. Tens of thousands of miles. And we would sit on that plane and late into the night, when everyone else was asleep, and just talk. Getting to know one another. We'd talk about family, we'd talk about politics, we'd talk about international relations. we'd talk about promise, the promise of America. Because we were both cockeyed optimists and believe there's not a single thing, beyond the capacity of this country. I mean, for real, not a single thing.

And, when you get to know another woman or man, you begin to know their hopes and their fears, you get to know their family even before you meet them, you get to know how they feel about important things. We talked about everything except captivity and the loss of my family which had just occurred, my wife and daughter, the only two things we didn't talk about.

But, I found that it wasn't too long into John's duties that Jill and I got married. Jill is here with me today. Five years, I had been a single dad and no man deserves one great love, let alone two. And I met Jill. It changed my life. She fell in love with him and he with her. He'd always call her, as Lindsey would travel with her, Jilly. Matter of fact, when they got bored being with me on these trips, I remember in Greece, he said, ‘Why don't I take Jill for dinner?’ Later, I would learn they are at a cafe at the port and he has her dancing on top of a cement table drinking uzo. Not a joke. Jilly. Right, Jilly?

But we got to know each other well and he loved my son Beau and my son Hunt. As a young man, he came up to my house and he came up to Wilmington and out of this grew a great friendship that transcended whatever political differences we had or later developed because, above all, above all, we understood the same thing. All politics is personal. It's all about trust. I trusted John with my life and I would and I think he would trust me with his. And as our life progressed, we learned more, there are times when life can be so cruel, pain so blinding it's hard to see anything else.

The disease that took John's life took our mutual friend’s, Teddy [Kennedy]’s life, the exact same disease nine years ago, a couple days ago, and three years ago, took my beautiful son Beau's life. It's brutal. It's relentless. It's unforgiving. And it takes so much from those we love and from the families who love them that in order to survive, we have to remember how they lived, not how they died. I carry with me an image of Beau, sitting out in a little lake we live on, starting a motor on an old boat and smiling away. Not the last days. I’m sure Vickie Kennedy has her own image, looking, seeing Teddy looking so alive in a sailboat, out in the Cape. For the family, for the family, you will all find your own images, whether it's remembering his smile, his laugh or that touch in the shoulder or running his hand down your cheek. Or, just feeling like someone is looking, turn and see him just smiling at you, from a distance, just looking at you. Or when you saw the pure joy the moment he was about to take the stage on the Senate floor and start a fight.

God, he loved it. so, to Cindy, the kids, Doug, Andy, Cindy, Meghan, Jack, Jimmy, Bridget, and I know she's not here, but to Mrs. McCain, we know how difficult it is to bury a child, Mrs. McCain. My heart goes out to you. And I know right now, the pain you all are feeling is so sharp and so hollowing. And John's absence is all consuming, for all of you right now. It's like being sucked into a black hole inside your chest. And it's frightening. But, I know something else, unfortunately, from experience. There's nothing anyone can say or do to ease the pain right now. But I pray, I pray you take some comfort knowing that because you shared John with all of us, your whole life, the world now shares with you in the ache of John's death.

Look around this magnificent church. Look what you saw coming from the state capitol yesterday. it's hard to stand there but part of it, part of it was at least it was for me with Beau, standing in the state capitol, you knew. It was genuine. It was deep. He touched so many lives. I’ve gotten calls not just because people knew we were friends, not just from people around the country, but leaders around the world calling. Meghan, I'm getting all these sympathy letters. I mean, hundreds of them, and tweets.

Character is destiny. John had character. While others will miss his leadership, passion, even his stubbornness, you are going to miss that hand on your shoulder. Family, you are going to miss the man, faithful man as he was, who you knew would literally give his life for you. And for that there's no balm but time. Time and your memories of a life lived well and lived fully.

But I make you a promise. I promise you, the time will come that what's going to happen is six months will go by and everybody is going to think, well, it's passed. But you are going to ride by that field or smell that fragrance or see that flashing image. You are going to feel like you did the day you got the news. But you know you are going to make it. The image of your dad, your husband, your friend. It crosses your mind and a smile comes to your lips before a tear to your eye. That's who you know. I promise you, I give you my word, I promise you, this I know. The day will come. That day will come.

You know, I’m sure if my former colleagues who worked with John, I'm sure there's people who said to you not only now, but the last ten years, ‘Explain this guy to me.’ Right? Explain this guy to me. Because, as they looked at him, in one sense they admired him, in one sense, the way things changed so much in America, they look add him as if John came from another age, lived by a different code, an ancient, antiquated courage, integrity, duty, were alive. That was obvious how John lived his life. The truth is, John's code was ageless, is ageless. When you talked earlier, Grant, you talked about values. It wasn't about politics with John. He could disagree on substance, but the underlying values that animated everything John did, everything he was, come to a different conclusion. He'd part company with you, if you lacked the basic values of decency, respect, knowing this project is bigger than yourself.

John's story is an American story. It's not hyperbole. it's the American story. grounded in respect and decency. basic fairness. the intolerance through the abuse of power. Many of you travel the world, look how the rest of the world looks at us. They look at us a little naive, so fair, so decent. We are the naive Americans. that's who we are. That's who John was. He could not stand the abuse of power. wherever he saw it, in whatever form, in whatever ways. He loved basic values, fairness, honesty, dignity, respect, giving hate no safe harbor, leaving no one behind and understanding Americans were part of something much bigger than ourselves.

With John, it was a value set that was neither selfish nor self-serving. John understood that America was first and foremost, an idea. Audacious and risky, organized around not tribe but ideals. Think of how he approached every issue. The ideals that Americans rallied around for 200 years, the ideals of the world has prepared you. Sounds corny. We hold these truths self-evident, that all men are created equal, endowed by their creator with certain rights. To John, those words had meaning, as they have for every great patriot who's ever served this country. We both loved the Senate. The proudest years of my life were being a United States Senator. I was honored to be Vice President, but a United States Senator. We both lamented, watching it change. During the long debates in the '80s and '90s, I would go sit next to John, next to his seat or he would come on the Democratic side and sit next to me. I'm not joking. We'd sit there and talk to each other. I came out to see John, we were reminiscing around it. It was '96, about to go to the caucus. We both went into our caucus and coincidentally, we were approached by our caucus leaders with the same thing. Foe, it doesn't look good, you sitting next to John all the time. I swear to God. same thing was said to John in your caucus.

That's when things began to change for the worse in America in the Senate. That's when it changed. What happened was, at those times, it was always appropriate to challenge another Senator's judgment, but never appropriate to challenge their motive. When you challenge their motive, it's impossible to get to go. If I say you are going this because you are being paid off or you are doing it because you are not a good Christian or this, that, or the other thing, it's impossible to reach consensus. Think about in your personal lives. All we do today is attack the oppositions of both parties, their motives, not the substance of their argument. This is the mid-'90s. it began to go downhill from there. The last day John was on the Senate floor, what was he fighting to do? He was fighting to restore what you call regular order, just start to treat one another again, like we used to.

The Senate was never perfect, John, you know that. we were there a long time together. I watched Teddy Kennedy and James O. Eastland fight like hell on civil rights and then go have lunch together, down in the Senate dining room. John wanted to see, “regular order” writ large. Get to know one another. You know, John and I were both amused and I think Lindsey was at one of these events where John and I received two prestigious awards where the last year I was vice president and one immediately after, for our dignity and respect we showed to one another, we received an award for civility in public life. Allegheny College puts out this award every year for bipartisanship. John and I looked at each and said, ‘What the hell is going on here?’ No, not a joke. I said to Senator Flake, that's how it's supposed to be. We get an award? I’m serious. Think about this. Getting an award for your civility. Getting an award for bipartisanship. Classic John, Allegheny College, hundreds of people, got the award and the Senate was in session. He spoke first and, as he walked off the stage and I walked on, he said, Joe, don't take it personally, but I don't want to hear what the hell you have to say, and left.

One of John's major campaign people is now with the senate with the governor of Ohio, was on [TV] this morning and I happened to watch it. He said that Biden and McCain had a strange relationship, they always seemed to have each other's back. Whenever I was in trouble, John was the first guy there. I hope I was there for him. We never hesitate to give each other advice. He would call me in the middle of the campaign, he’d say, ‘What the hell did you say that for? you just screwed up, Joe.’ I'd occasionally call him.

Look, I've been thinking this week about why John's death hit the country so hard. yes, he was a long-serving senator with a remarkable record. Yes, he was a two-time presidential candidate who captured the support and imagination of the American people and, yes, John was a war hero, demonstrated extraordinary courage. I think of John and my son when I think of Ingersoll’s words when duty throws the gauntlet down to fate and honor scorns to compromise with death, that is heroism. Everybody knows that about John. But I don't think it fully explains why the country has been so taken by John's passing. I think it's something more intangible.

I think it's because they knew John believed so deeply and so passionately in the soul of America. He made it easier for them to have confidence and faith in America. His faith in the core values of this nation made them somehow feel it more genuinely themselves. his conviction that we, as a country, would never walk away from the sacrifice generations of Americans have made to defend liberty and freedom and dignity around the world. It made average Americans proud of themselves and their country. His belief, and it was deep, that Americans can do anything, withstand anything, achieve anything. It was unflagging and ultimately reassuring. This man believed that so strongly. His capacity that we truly are the world's last best hope, the beacon to the world. There are principles and ideals more than ourselves worth sacrificing for and if necessary, dying for. Americans saw how he lived his life that way. and they knew the truth of what he was saying. I just think he gave Americans confidence.

John was a hero, his character, courage, honor, integrity. I think it is understated when they say optimism. That's what made John special. Made John a giant among all of us. In my view, John didn't believe that America's future and faith rested on heroes. we used to talk about, he understood what I hope we all remember, heroes didn't build this country. Ordinary people being given half a chance are capable of doing extraordinary things, extraordinary things. John knew ordinary Americans understood each of us has a duty to defend, integrity, dignity and birthright of every child. He carried it. Good communities are built by thousands of acts of decency that Americans, as I speak today, show each other every single day deep in the DNA of this nation's soul lies a flame that was lit over 200 years ago. Each of us carries with us and each one of us has the capacity, the responsibility and we can screw up the courage to ensure it does not extinguish. There's a thousand little things that make us different.

Bottom line was, I think John believed in us. I think he believed in the American people. not just all the preambles, he believed until the American people, all 325 million of us. Even though John is no longer with us, he left us clear instructions. ‘Believe always in the promise and greatness of America because nothing is inevitable here.’ Close to the last thing John said took the whole nation, as he knew he was about to depart. That's what he wanted America to understand. not to build his legacy. he wanted America reminded, to understand. I think John's legacy is going to continue to inspire and challenge generations of leaders as they step forward and John McCain’s America is not over. it is hyperbole, it's not over. It's not close.

Cindy, John owed so much of what he was to you. you were his ballast. when I was with you both, I could see how he looked at you. Jill is the one, when we were in Hawaii, we first met you there and he kept staring at you. Jill said, go up and talk to her. Doug, Andy, Sydney, Meghan, Jack, Jimmy, Bridget, you may not have had your father as long as you would like, but you got from him everything you need to pursue your own dreams. To follow the course of your own spirit. You are a living legacy, not hyperbole. You are a living legacy and proof of John McCain’s success.

Now John is going to take his rightful place in a long line of extraordinary leaders in this nation's history. Who in their time and in their way stood for freedom and stood for liberty and have made the American story the most improbable and most hopeful and most enduring story on earth. I know John said he hoped he played a small part in that story. John, you did much more than that, my friend. To paraphrase Shakespeare, we shall not see his like again.

for Michael Gordon: "He would tap me on the shoulder and say, 'You're OK. You're strong'", by Ali Mullaie - 2018

16 February 2018, MCG, Melbourne, Australia

It is a great honour to be asked to share my story of my relationship with Michael Gordon.

I keep thinking and dreaming of Michael and the many things that were between us.

It is impossible to find the words that describe who he was to me.

He was the closest friend a person could have.

He was a father figure. A brother. A role model and he was my colleague when I worked at The Age in Information Technology.

He introduced me to his family Robyn, Sarah and Scott and I became a part of his family.

He helped me with job opportunities.

He was always there for me and I was there for him.

I could pick up the phone any time and speak to him.

We would meet for coffee, go for lunch and dinner.

He would take me on drives to Phillip Island.   

He took me to the footy and to the beaches where he went surfing.

He discussed his designs for the holiday house he was building.

He introduced me to the Australian way of life.

We hugged each other whenever we met.

We sent each other messages. When I was feeling down, he would tap me on the shoulder and say, 'You're OK. You're strong.'

We would talk about everything, or we said nothing and enjoyed each other's company. Or we would just have a laugh.

What can I say? We connected.

We first met on Nauru in the computer lab at Nauru College, where I was a teacher of English and computer science.

The connection was instant. I could feel it. I was appointed his interpreter.

We spent a lot of time walking around the island.

He wondered if my name was Ali or Sir, because everywhere I went, the students called me Sir.

He saw how they ran up to me and how we walked together.

He saw that the locals respected me because I taught their children and because I was engaged with the community. He understood my achievement.

On Nauru, I taught myself English and Computer Science.

I did not waste my time. But I had no family. Michael could truly hear me. Until then no one outside Nauru knew me. No one had told my story.

And because he was there, and spent time with me and with those inside the camp and because he listened he wrote the truth about our despair and our aspirations.

He did not see me as a victim.

Our friendship had nothing to do with this.

It was not based on sympathy.

He was human and he saw me as human.

I want to get the words right as if Michael is listening and can feel what I am saying.

We were born in separate countries and came from different cultures.

I was Hazara but it made no difference.

Our friendship was not about the past.

It was about now and about the future.

It was about total trust and about two human beings.

Two Australians.

I deeply miss him.

for Michael Gordon: '13 days ago my Dad’s big, beautiful, generous heart suddenly stopped beating', by Scott and Sarah Gordon - 2018

15 February 2018, MCG. Melbourne, Australia

Scott:

Good friend and longtime colleague Tony Wright, closed out his June 2017 tribute to Dad upon his retirement at The Age with the following observation:

"As he leaves Fairfax, there are two recent portraits of Michael Gordon that capture a contentment that transcends journalism.

Not so long ago, he sat on a beach in Sierra Leone with his son, Scott, who is an aid worker in that west African nation battered by civil war and ebola.

They shared a beer and the love of a father and son and watched the sun setting on the waves, a few surfers out for the last break of the day.

Only a few weeks ago, Michael held a tiny baby in his arms: his and his wife Robyn's first grandchild, son of their daughter Sarah. 

The baby is named Harry, after Michael's own late father - himself a legendary journalist - and all who knew the Gordons had held their collective breath for weeks, willing little Harry, born 10 weeks prematurely, to battle on. He had, and his grandfather, the most decent of men, was finally able to hold him, the Gordon story continuing.”

---

When Dad stood here 3 years ago and delivered his father Harry’s eulogy, he noted that Harry was blessed to have two innings in life. Dad’s retirement from The Age marked the beginning of his second dig... the back 9 and he was ready for it. He was excited and he was happy. 

"I was talking to him yesterday,” Tony Wright was quoted over the weekend, "he had his surfboards on the roof and was looking forward to a very pleasant weekend out there around the beaches and he was as happy as I've heard him for a very long time.” 

For me Dad’s happiness at the time of his death was perfectly captured in a video sent to me by one his many unofficial god son’s Simon Bramwell. It was during the recent Christmas New Year break and the video showed Simon on a perfectly clear summers day with a light north easterly blowing walking down the pebbled path at Millhouse (our affectionately named beach house) to Dad’s vege patch at the bottom of the hill. 

Dad and his father Harry had long shared a passion for gardening and growing vegies since Dad’s teenage years at Mount Martha. Both approached growing vegies with the same unwavering enthusiasm as they did journalism. Never to be disheartened. 

Just like the journalism gene, I missed the gardening gene. I would often frustrate Dad when he would ring from Melbourne or out of town and ask, "How is the garden looking Scooty?" I would peer out the window at Milhouse and say enthusiastically, “gee mate, I don’t think it has ever looked better!”. Inevitably Dad would return some days or weeks later to find the garden had not seen any attention since his departure and weeds had taken over.  

While Dad and Harry never questioned my career choice to become an auditor (although I later did), Dad still harbored hopes of me finding the passion for gardening and his beloved vege patch.

Aside from Journalism and gardening, I don’t think there was a passion we did not share. 

On my long transit home, I re-read the eulogy Dad prepared for Harry. In many ways this could have been Dad’s eulogy if you only changed the names, they shared that much in common.

In describing Harry, dad wrote, "What sort of father was he? Most of all, he was passionate, someone who greeted each day with enthusiasm and a sense of adventure, generosity and optimism – traits that never left him. He was proud of his kids and loyal, too.

Over the years, Harry became more a sibling than a parent to us kids and even our kids…, and Johnny, Harry and I were the Gordon brothers. 

Close friend and Age colleague John Sylvester, described Dad as a "serial hugger" in the paper last week. Hugging is a defining characteristic of the Gordon brothers, and kissing also. At Harry’s Queensland funeral, I remember Dad’s brother Johnny proudly boasting of how the boys would always kiss each other on the cheek.

One thing the Gordon brothers would never do … is forget to tell you how positively they thought of you. Harry, Dad, Johnny … and I like to think myself … have never been afraid to tell people how much we love them. Whether it’s

·       a waiter at the Chinese Restaurant;

·       a friend of a friend you’ve just been introduced to;

·       someone you’ve shared a moment with in the water;

·       or your dearest and dearest.

We tell them, you just can’t risk not.

Whenever the Gordon brother’s have a beer we affectionately clink both sides of the stubby as if to signal something special (pause) sometimes Dad and I would even clink 3 times on surfing holidays or after a Hawthorn flag in the Blazer Bar. These moments make up my fondest memories.

Sarah and Jimmy, let me know when little H is ready and Johnny and I will be sure to pass on the tradition. 

While Dad’s second dig was unfairly cut short, his first innings was long and accomplished with plenty of well documented runs on the board. In reading the tributes that have flowed in, I was taken by that of Orietta Guerra. I’ve never met Orietta, like many of those Dad influenced, I only hope you are here so we can share stories afterwards.

In her tribute Orietta says, “I have spent the past 24 hours questioning how I, we, can all be kinder, nicer, better. More like Michael Gordon.”

For many of us, and I suspect for you, Dad’s positive influence has long since taken affect. We are all kinder, nicer and better for having Micky around. Dad was a molder of good people and so many of you in the room today are testament to that. He gave us all the tools needed to be better. And better we are and better we will be.  

---

When Simon reached Dad’s veggie patch he was carrying two ice cold beers. When the camera first pans to Dad, he is hard at work turning over soil wearing a ridiculous wide brimmed hat complete with fly net. Then once Dad feels Simon’s presence he looks up and greets the camera with a full body smile. Next the video cuts to a snippet of Simon, mum and dad enjoying cold drinks and the afternoon sea breeze on Milhouse’s deck. From Simon’s short video, it was clear… Dad was exactly where he needed to be.

Two weeks ago I read out my 2018 goals to mum and dad over the phone from Sierra Leone. Number 1 on the list was to surf more with those I love surfing with. 

Dad and I didn’t get to paddle out together in 2018 but we will forever be sharing the ocean. 

For me, Nick McKenzie summed this up best, "Died in the ocean, sun on his back. What a wave you rode Mickey, what a wave…"

Michael, Scott, Robyn and Sarah Gordon

Sarah:

13 days ago my Dad’s big, beautiful, generous heart suddenly stopped beating. And we didn’t see it coming.

So many times over the past two weeks, as I’ve howled, hurt or hoped, I’ve wanted to call Dad. He would be able to help.

He was the Dad that was always there for me, my thinker, my friend and my protector.

He was the Dad who always told me, “Don’t worry. It’s all good. Have I ever let you down?”

The word mentor has been used so much over the past two weeks to describe Dad, and I feel so very blessed as he didn’t just mentor me in a professional sense, he mentored me in life.

Perhaps that is why I’ve found it so hard to come up with the right words today. Dad was our narrator and now I’m lost for words. He was the person that provided me with so many.

He taught me so much and I hope I can pass on these special qualities and values to his grandson, Harry, who he loved so dearly.

Dad, I could be sad, that I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye or get one final trademark “Micky” hug.

Dad, I could be sad, that I didn’t get the chance to say how proud I am of you and how much I love you.

I could be sad, that I didn’t get the chance to thank you for everything you have done for me and our family.

But you wouldn’t want that.

Just two days before Dad’s big, beautiful generous heart stopped beating, he came to our place for dinner. He stood outside with a beer in hand. We were listening to Jimmy’s latest playlist and admiring our new deck, as the sun went down. He had Harry in his arms and a big grin on his face. He was happy. Oh so happy…

Dad, I didn’t get the chance to tell you that night, so I’m telling you now.

We are going to be okay. We are going to be okay because you showed us the way. We are going to be okay because you have given us the gifts that are more precious than anything in this world.

Whenever we were heading off to a big event, you would calmly say: “Feel Good, Feel Strong”.

Dad, I’ll try my very best. I love you.

Related speech: Friend and colleague Martin Flanagan delivered a typically beautiful and emotional eulogy for his first editor at The Age. " Michael Gordon may be the most sensitive man I ever met. When you spoke to him, you could hear the words drop inside him. Like coins in a slot machine." Read and listen here.

for Nelson Mandela: 'Tata Madiba taught us that we can overcome the evils of our societies', by Joyce Banda

10 December 2013, FNB Stadium, Johannesburg, South Africa

Joyce Banda was President of Malawi at the time of the memorial

It is with a deep sense of humility that I accepted to come and be part of this event today

I stand before you today to join you, the people of South Africa, and the world, to mourn the loss of a great leader: Nelson Rohlihlahla Mandela.

I join you, the people of this rainbow nation, to celebrate a life of one of Africa’s unique leaders who gallantly fought for freedom and peace for this great country and the world.

The first time I was privileged to meet Mandela was during his visit to Malawi in 1990, after his release from prison, when he came to meet the President, Kamuzu Banda.

I was amazed with his humility and the great sense of leadership around him.

In 1996, I was further privileged to be invited to visit Robben Island together with a team from Malawians. After the tour of Robben Island, I was greatly touched by the life and story of Tata Mandela and since then I sought to know and understand this great son of Africa.

I read and read about anything I could lay my hands on about him.

In 1997, I met Tata Mandela at a Conference for Smart Partnership in Kasane, Botswana. I was inspired by this great leader who was focused, calm and collected.

A few years later, I had an opportunity to visit Tata Mandela and Mama Graca Machel at their home in Johannesburg. We had a very moving conversation. I was deeply touched by his spirit of forgiveness, his passion to put people first and courage. These attributes have greatly influenced my life.

Allow me to share that moment because it is important. I walked into that house, and Mama Graca was facing me, and I thought that she was taking me to a room, when then after that she was going to go and collect Madiba. I walked into the room not knowing he was already sitting there. And when I turned and saw him, my first reaction was to run out . And as I was running out, the picture that I have, that has been showing in Malawi this last week, is Mama Graca pulling me back. It was him.

At that moment I did not know that I was to become President of Malawi a few months down the line. At the moment I became Presidnet of Malawi, I had been isolated, humiliated, called names, and survived an assassination attempt on my life.

I found myself in a situation where I had to work with those same people who had  prevented me from becoming President of my country.

I had to forgive but I had to forgive without any effort, because my Madiba had prepared me.  Tata’s courage, determination, love and passion for his people inspired me on my journey to becoming the first elected woman President in my country.

I learned that leadership is about falling in love with the people that you serve and the people falling in love with you.

It is about serving the people with selflessness, with sacrifice and with the need to put the common good ahead of personal interests.

I am saying all this because the day after Madiba passed away, the BBC called Malawi to interview me, and they say that a lot of African leaders are talking about the lessons that you ought to learn from Madiba, but are you practising them? Are you doing it? And i said yes. Come and see.

Today, I stand before you, on behalf of our regional grouping and family, the Southern Africa Development Community (SADC), to extend a collective hand of comfort to the Mandela Family, the Government of the Republic of South Africa, the African National Congress and to all South Africans on this irreplaceable loss of one of its true sons, Tata Madiba.

The passing on of Tata Mandela is not only a loss to South Africa, but also to the SADC Region, and indeed to the world. As we celebrate the life of this icon, it is also time to take stock of the things that Tata Madiba taught us during his time.

I know that much has already been said about Tata by those whose lives have been touched and inspired by his work. I need to add a few words. The SADC region will remember him for his wisdom and statesmanship; his humility and sense of humour; and his servant leadership style. Tata Madiba believed that all people are created equal before God.

The way he conducted himself, he saw no boundaries in this region, between and among the countries of the region that we live. He championed the freedom of not only South Africans but of all Africans.

Tata Madiba taught us that even when the challenges of life seem insurmountable, with courage and determination, we can overcome the evils of our societies.

The struggle Tata Madiba led against the apartheid system was not just a struggle against racial inequality, but a struggle against all forms of oppression against humanity; a struggle for democracy and human dignity. It was the struggle for the emancipation of the youth. It was a struggle for the social security of children.

It was a struggle for the participation of women in politics, in commerce and in high offices. It was a struggle to overcome poverty. Yes, it was a struggle for Africa’s freedom.

We in the SADC Region will remember Tata as a great reformer who championed the cause of humanity, deepening democracy and dedicated his life to selfless service, a man who worked tirelessly to promote national, regional and world peace.

We in the SADC Region, whilst mourning his death, we also see this as an opportunity to celebrate the life of a great Statesman, an icon from our own region.

The life of Tata Mandela will continue to inspire those of us left behind, to promote peace and security, deepen regional integration and work to support one another as it was during the fight against apartheid. We will strive to emulate President Mandela’s stature and spirit so that his legacy can live on.

The ideals of political, social and economic emancipation that he stood for will inspire us forever as a Region.

In conclusion, I believe I am speaking for many within the region.

Tata’s words are still echoing in our minds, his call to get millions of young people in the region decent jobs. His call to get millions of our women and men out of poverty, deprivation and underdevelopment.

His call to get food for the hungry, to eradicate preventable diseases, to let people find their voice, and restore their dignity. These words will inspire SADC long after Tata Madiba is gone.

Our Dear Father and compatriot, Tata Nelson Mandela, fought a good fight and he finished the race well.

As an African woman and leader, I wish to acknowledge Mama Winnie Madikizela Mandela for her efforts and steadfastness for standing with Tata Mandela before and during Tata’s imprisonment and for being in the forefront of ANC’s struggle for liberation.

And to you, Mama Graca Machel, I wish to thank you for your visible love and care for our Madiba  during the last days of his life.

Women across Africa have told me these last ten days, that they are very very proud to you, and will forever be grateful for what you have taught us as African women.

Allow me to talk to both of you, the love and tolerance you have demonstrated before the whole world during the funeral has shown us that you are prepared to continue with our Madiba's ideals. I wish to thank President Zuma for leading the nation to mourn Madiba like the hero that he is. As SADC we feel very proud. You have done your level best. This was not a wedding, this was a funeral, and you made every effort to see that we bury our father with dignity.

In the same spirti, I wish to therefore appeal to you President Zuma, and under your leadership, all South Africans, to make this appeal that you remain united and continue to be a rainbow nation for this is what Tata Madiba cherished .

It is our hope and prayer that South Africa will remain a country of all people regardless of race, colour, religion and tribe.

SADC will stand with you and by you, and look forward to a continued engagement in our joint efforts to deepen democracy and regional integration. It is now up to us as leaders, as citizens, as a continent to continue from where Tata Madiba has left, so that his legacy lives on, so that he can be remembered for what he stood for, and that we should not allow what he fought for and lived to die with him.

May his soul Rest in Peace! I thank you.

Tony Walsh (Longfella): 'This is the place', Manchester bombing vigil - 2017

24 May 2017, Manchester, UK

This was a vigil in honour of the victim of the Manchester terrorist attack on 23rd May 2017 at Manchester Stadium.

It falls to me to sum up what makes this city, its people, its communities, so great, with a poem. It's called 'This is the Place'.

This is the place

In the north-west of England. It’s ace, it’s the best

And the songs that we sing from the stands, from our bands

Set the whole planet shaking.

Our inventions are legends. There’s nowt we can’t make, and so we make brilliant music

We make brilliant bands

We make goals that make souls leap from seats in the stands

And we make things from steel

And we make things from cotton

And we make people laugh, take the mick summat rotten

And we make you at home

And we make you feel welcome and we make summat happen

And we can’t seem to help it

And if you’re looking from history, then yeah we’ve a wealth

But the Manchester way is to make it yourself.

And make us a record, a new number one

And make us a brew while you’re up, love, go on

And make us feel proud that you’re winning the league

And make us sing louder and make us believe that this is the place that has helped shape the world

And this is the place where a Manchester girl named Emmeline Pankhurst from the streets of Moss Side led a suffragette city with sisterhood pride

And this is the place with appliance of science, we’re on it, atomic, we struck with defiance, and in the face of a challenge, we always stand tall, Mancunians, in union, delivered it all

Such as housing and libraries and health, education and unions and co-ops and first railway stations

So we’re sorry, bear with us, we invented commuters. But we hope you forgive us, we invented computers.

And this is the place Henry Rice strolled with rolls, and we’ve rocked and we’ve rolled with our own northern soul

And so this is the place to do business then dance, where go-getters and goal-setters know they’ve a chance

And this is the place where we first played as kids. And me mum, lived and died here, she loved it, she did.

And this is the place where our folks came to work, where they struggled in puddles, they hurt in the dirt and they built us a city, they built us these towns and they coughed on the cobbles to the deafening sound to the steaming machines and the screaming of slaves, they were scheming for greatness, they dreamed to their graves.

And they left us a spirit. They left us a vibe. That Mancunian way to survive and to thrive and to work and to build, to connect, and create and Greater Manchester’s greatness is keeping it great.

And so this is the place now with kids of our own. Some are born here, some drawn here, but they all call it home.

And they’ve covered the cobbles, but they’ll never defeat, all the dreamers and schemers who still teem through these streets.

Because this is a place that has been through some hard times: oppressions, recessions, depressions, and dark times.

But we keep fighting back with Greater Manchester spirit. Northern grit, Northern wit, and Greater Manchester’s lyrics.

And these hard times again, in these streets of our city, but we won’t take defeat and we don’t want your pity.

Because this is a place where we stand strong together, with a smile on our face, greater Manchester forever.

And we’ve got this place where a team with a dream can get funding and something to help with a scheme.

Because this is a place that understands your grand plans. We don’t do “no can do” we just stress “yes we can”

Forever Manchester’s a charity for people round here, you can fundraise, donate, you can be a volunteer. You can live local, give local, we can honestly say, we do charity different, that Mancunian way.

And we fund local kids, and we fund local teams. We support local dreamers to work for their dreams. We support local groups and the great work they do. So can you help us. help local people like you?

Because this is the place in our hearts, in our homes, because this is the place that’s a part of our bones.

Because Greater Manchester gives us such strength from the fact that this is the place, we should give something back.

Always remember, never forget, forever Manchester.

To read more poetry from Longfella, visit his website.

for Gough Whitlam: 'I was but three when he passed by but I shall be grateful 'til the day I die', by Cate Blanchett - 2014

4 November 2014, Sydney Town Hall, Australia

When I heard Gough Whitlam had died, I was filled with an inordinate sadness. A great sorrow. I wasn't even in school when his primeministership was ended. Why was I so sad? His public presence over the course of my life was important, but he was no show pony. So what had gone?

The loss I felt came down to something very deep and very simple. I am the beneficiary of free, tertiary education. When I went to university I could explore different courses and engage with the student union in extracurricular activity. It was through that that I discovered acting.

I am the product of an Australia that wanted, and was encouraged, to explore its voice culturally.

I am the beneficiary of good, free healthcare, and that meant the little I earned after tax and rent could go towards seeing shows, bands, and living inside my generation's expression. I am a product of the Australia Council.

I am the beneficiary of a foreign policy that put us on the world stage and on the front foot in our region. I am the product of an Australia that engages with the globeand engages honestly with its history and its indigenous peoples.

I am a small part of Australia's coming of age, and so many of those initiatives were enacted when I was three.

In 2004, after working overseas for a few years, I returned to Australia to work on a production of Hedda Gabler at the Sydney Theatre Company, a company I love. A theatre company, like so many theatre companies, that would not exist without the Whitlam initiatives, or more importantly, the ongoing Whitlam legacy.

Anyway, I also shot an Australian film that year called Little Fish. This was a decidedly urban story set in a culturally diverse suburb of western Sydney. The tale of a young woman in a relationship with an Asian-Australian man, a chequered history with drugs, and a lot of personal ghosts. A story like Little Fish would not have been told without the massive changes to the Australian cultural conversation initiated, and shaped, by Gough Whitlam's legacy.

In 1972 an Australian film or drama would have been a kind of country idyll, with no connection to urbanity or multiculturalism. Little Fish starred Hugo Weaving, Noni Hazlehurst and Sam Neill; all wonderful actors and themselves direct beneficiaries – and indeed products – of the wave of Australian cinematic and theatrical creativity unleashed by Gough Whitlam's time in government.

This story embraced Asia and multiculturalism. It was a brutal, sharp and unromantic tale. It was made by a wonderful Australian director, Rowan Woods, and an Australian writer and now producer Jacquelin Perske, both of whom graduated from the AFTRS – probably without fees – and produced by Porchlight Pictures, with the help and guidance of government film bodies that all found their voice, and their true shape, under and out of initiatives made in Gough Whitlam's time in government. Little Fish represented in its own small way a maturing of the Australian dramatic voice on so many levels – nearly 30 years after the initial changes and support were put in place by Gough Whitlam.

I tell this story not to wave a personal Little Fish flag, but for this simple reason. It was a film shot, for the most part, in Cabramatta – hello everyone in Cabramatta – the heart of Gough's seat. And quite simply today I was faced with talking about the impact of Gough Whitlam on women and the arts, and I was overwhelmed.

So, I stuck a random pin in the map, because his effect on the geo-cultural-political map of Australia is so vast that wherever you stick the pin in you get a wealth of Gough's legacy. Hugo Weaving, Noni Hazlehurst, Sam Neill, Rowan Woods, Jacquelin Perske, Vincent Sheehan, AFTRS, STC, Cabramatta, multiculturalism, urban stories, Australia's relationship with Asia, a complex national identity scrutinising itself through difficult and well-wrought drama; the list goes on. And that is just one pin stab in one art form from one beneficiary's perspective. It's exhausting just trying to conceive of it.

Speaking of exhausting, I am a working mother of three, and when I took on the role of Little Fish I had just had my second child. Noone batted an eyelid. No one passed judgment. And no one deemed me incapable. Because the culture around women and their right to work as equals in Australia, had already been addressed significantly by Gough Whitlam.

Supporting mothers' benefits. Before 1973, only widows were entitled to pensions, and thus the new benefit created the choice for single mothers in how they raise their children, and began combating some of the stigmas surrounding single motherhood itself.

Equal pay for equal work began with the 1972 equal pay case at the Commonwealth Conciliation and Arbitration Commissionand was extended in 1974 when  the Commission  included women workers in the adult minimum wage for the very first time.

In the early '70s there were a series of international conventions to which Australia was not yet a party. Gough, who was a huge believer in the UN and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, was active in signing us up to those agreements and initiatives.

The Whitlam government was also a pioneerin awarding numerous senior positions to women in such crucial areas of government as the courts, the public service, and the diplomatic service. Whitlam was the first leader to appoint a prime ministerial adviser on matters relating to the welfare of women and children – enter, the great Elizabeth Reid.

He established the Family Court – a cornerstone reform – and in the Family Law Act of 1975 he made the space for fault-free divorce, which allowed women to exit from abusive relationships and re-engage with society with dignity and with equality.

Women were probably the main beneficiaries of free tertiary education. So here today I may stand as an exemplar, but if you combine the modernising and enabling capacity afforded women by his legislation you can begin to see that the nation was truly changed by him through the arts and through gender, thereby leading us towards an inclusive, compassionate maturity. So much of this achievement is directly attributable to policy initiatives Gough Whitlam began with a series of reforms to extend the degree and quality of social opportunities to women in Australia.

But there is so much to say. Even from my own small, tiny, irrelevant experience, that what I would actually love to do at this memorial is pretend to be Gough Whitlam for a minute. (Don't worry I'm not going to imitate him, no-one could).

He said of his government:

"In any civilised community, the arts and associated amenities must occupy a central place. Their enjoyment should not be seen as remote from everyday life. Of all the objectives of my government, none had a higher priority then the encouragement of the arts - the preservation and enrichment of our cultural and intellectual heritage. Indeed I would argue that all other objectives of a Labor government – social reform, justice and equity in the provision of welfare services and educational opportunities – have as their goal the creation of a society in which the arts and the appreciation of spiritual and intellectual values can flourish. Our other objectives are all means to an end. The enjoyment of the arts is an end in itself."

I was but three when he passed by but I shall be grateful 'til the day I die.

The scale of Gough Whitlam's ambition and vision will be forever remembered.

John Howard: 'As the sun sets over this beautiful island we gather here in sorrow', Bali Bombings Memorial Service - 2002

17 October, 2002, Australian Consulate, Bali, Indonesia

There is no available audio or video of this speech.

As the sun sets over this beautiful island we gather here in sorrow, in anguish, in disbelief and in pain.

There are no words that I can summon to salve in anyway the hurt and the suffering and the pain being felt by so many of my fellow countrymen and women and by so many of the citizens of other nations.

I can say though to my Australian countrymen and women that there are 19 and a half million Australians who are trying however inadequately to feel for you and to support you at this time of unbearable grief and pain.

The wanton, cruel and barbaric character of what occurred last Saturday night has shocked our nation to the core and now the anguish that so many are feeling, the painful process of identification which has prolonged that agony for so many, the sense of bewilderment and disbelief that so many young lives with so much before them should have been taken away in such blind fury, hatred and violence.

I can on behalf of all the people of Australia declare to you that we will do everything in our power to bring to justice those who were responsible for this foul deed.

We will work with our friends in Indonesia to do that and we will work to others to achieve an outcome of justice.

Can I say to our Balinese friends, the lovely people of Bali, who have been befriended over the decades, by the generations of so many Australians who have come here, we grieve for you, we feel for you, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts for the love and support you have extended to our fellow countrymen and women over these past days.

As the chaplain said there will be scars left on people for the rest of their life, both physical and emotional.

Our nation has been changed by this event.

Perhaps we may not be so carefree as we have been in the past but we will never lose our openness, our sense of adventure.

The young of Australia will always travel, they will always seek fun in different parts, they will always reach out to the young of other nations, they will always be open, fun-loving and decent men and women.

So as we grapple inadequately and in despair to try and comprehend what has happened, let us gather ourselves together, let us wrap our arms not only around our fellow Australians but our arms around the people of Indonesia, of Bali, let us wrap our arms around the people of other nations and the friends and relatives of the nationals of other countries who died in this horrible event.

It will take a long time for these foul deeds to be seen in any kind of context, they can never be understood, they can never be excused.

Australia has been affected very deeply but the Australian spirit has not been broken, the spirit remains strong and free and open and tolerant.

I know that is what all of those who lost their lives would have wanted and I know that is what those who grieve for them want.

for Clementa Pinckney: 'May grace now lead them home', Barack Obama (Charleston Shootings) -2015

26 June, 2015, TD Arena, Charleston, SC, USA

The Bible calls us to hope. To persevere, and have faith in things not seen.

"They were still living by faith when they died," Scripture tells us. "They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on Earth."

We are here today to remember a man of God who lived by faith. A man who believed in things not seen. A man who believed there were better days ahead, off in the distance. A man of service who persevered, knowing full well he would not receive all those things he was promised, because he believed his efforts would deliver a better life for those who followed.

To Jennifer, his beloved wife; to Eliana and Malana, his beautiful, wonderful daughters; to the Mother Emanuel family and the people of Charleston, the people of South Carolina.

I cannot claim to have the good fortune to know Reverend Pinckney well. But I did have the pleasure of knowing him and meeting him here in South Carolina, back when we were both a little bit younger. (Laughter.) Back when I didn't have visible grey hair. (Laughter.) The first thing I noticed was his graciousness, his smile, his reassuring baritone, his deceptive sense of humor -- all qualities that helped him wear so effortlessly a heavy burden of expectation.

Friends of his remarked this week that when Clementa Pinckney entered a room, it was like the future arrived; that even from a young age, folks knew he was special. Anointed. He was the progeny of a long line of the faithful -- a family of preachers who spread God's word, a family of protesters who sowed change to expand voting rights and desegregate the South. Clem heard their instruction, and he did not forsake their teaching.

He was in the pulpit by 13, pastor by 18, public servant by 23. He did not exhibit any of the cockiness of youth, nor youth's insecurities; instead, he set an example worthy of his position, wise beyond his years, in his speech, in his conduct, in his love, faith, and purity.

As a senator, he represented a sprawling swath of the Lowcountry, a place that has long been one of the most neglected in America. A place still wracked by poverty and inadequate schools; a place where children can still go hungry and the sick can go without treatment. A place that needed somebody like Clem. (Applause.)

His position in the minority party meant the odds of winning more resources for his constituents were often long. His calls for greater equity were too often unheeded, the votes he cast were sometimes lonely. But he never gave up. He stayed true to his convictions. He would not grow discouraged. After a full day at the capitol, he'd climb into his car and head to the church to draw sustenance from his family, from his ministry, from the community that loved and needed him. There he would fortify his faith, and imagine what might be.

Reverend Pinckney embodied a politics that was neither mean, nor small. He conducted himself quietly, and kindly, and diligently. He encouraged progress not by pushing his ideas alone, but by seeking out your ideas, partnering with you to make things happen. He was full of empathy and fellow feeling, able to walk in somebody else's shoes and see through their eyes. No wonder one of his senate colleagues remembered Senator Pinckney as "the most gentle of the 46 of us -- the best of the 46 of us."

Clem was often asked why he chose to be a pastor and a public servant. But the person who asked probably didn't know the history of the AME church. (Applause.) As our brothers and sisters in the AME church know, we don't make those distinctions. "Our calling," Clem once said, "is not just within the walls of the congregation, but...the life and community in which our congregation resides." (Applause.)

He embodied the idea that our Christian faith demands deeds and not just words; that the "sweet hour of prayer" actually lasts the whole week long -- (applause) -- that to put our faith in action is more than individual salvation, it's about our collective salvation; that to feed the hungry and clothe the naked and house the homeless is not just a call for isolated charity but the imperative of a just society.

What a good man. Sometimes I think that's the best thing to hope for when you're eulogized -- after all the words and recitations and resumes are read, to just say someone was a good man. (Applause.)

You don't have to be of high station to be a good man. Preacher by 13. Pastor by 18. Public servant by 23. What a life Clementa Pinckney lived. What an example he set. What a model for his faith. And then to lose him at 41 -- slain in his sanctuary with eight wonderful members of his flock, each at different stages in life but bound together by a common commitment to God.

Cynthia Hurd. Susie Jackson. Ethel Lance. DePayne Middleton-Doctor. Tywanza Sanders. Daniel L. Simmons. Sharonda Coleman-Singleton. Myra Thompson. Good people. Decent people. God-fearing people. (Applause.) People so full of life and so full of kindness. People who ran the race, who persevered. People of great faith.

To the families of the fallen, the nation shares in your grief. Our pain cuts that much deeper because it happened in a church. The church is and always has been the center of African-American life -- (applause) -- a place to call our own in a too often hostile world, a sanctuary from so many hardships.

Over the course of centuries, black churches served as "hush harbors" where slaves could worship in safety; praise houses where their free descendants could gather and shout hallelujah -- (applause) -- rest stops for the weary along the Underground Railroad; bunkers for the foot soldiers of the Civil Rights Movement. They have been, and continue to be, community centers where we organize for jobs and justice; places of scholarship and network; places where children are loved and fed and kept out of harm's way, and told that they are beautiful and smart -- (applause) -- and taught that they matter. (Applause.) That's what happens in church.

That's what the black church means. Our beating heart. The place where our dignity as a people is inviolate. When there's no better example of this tradition than Mother Emanuel -- (applause) -- a church built by blacks seeking liberty, burned to the ground because its founder sought to end slavery, only to rise up again, a Phoenix from these ashes. (Applause.)

When there were laws banning all-black church gatherings, services happened here anyway, in defiance of unjust laws. When there was a righteous movement to dismantle Jim Crow, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. preached from its pulpit, and marches began from its steps. A sacred place, this church. Not just for blacks, not just for Christians, but for every American who cares about the steady expansion -- (applause) -- of human rights and human dignity in this country; a foundation stone for liberty and justice for all. That's what the church meant. (Applause.)

We do not know whether the killer of Reverend Pinckney and eight others knew all of this history. But he surely sensed the meaning of his violent act. It was an act that drew on a long history of bombs and arson and shots fired at churches, not random, but as a means of control, a way to terrorize and oppress. (Applause.) An act that he imagined would incite fear and recrimination; violence and suspicion. An act that he presumed would deepen divisions that trace back to our nation's original sin.

Oh, but God works in mysterious ways. (Applause.) God has different ideas. (Applause.)

He didn't know he was being used by God. (Applause.) Blinded by hatred, the alleged killer could not see the grace surrounding Reverend Pinckney and that Bible study group -- the light of love that shone as they opened the church doors and invited a stranger to join in their prayer circle. The alleged killer could have never anticipated the way the families of the fallen would respond when they saw him in court -- in the midst of unspeakable grief, with words of forgiveness. He couldn't imagine that. (Applause.)

The alleged killer could not imagine how the city of Charleston, under the good and wise leadership of Mayor Riley -- (applause) -- how the state of South Carolina, how the United States of America would respond -- not merely with revulsion at his evil act, but with big-hearted generosity and, more importantly, with a thoughtful introspection and self-examination that we so rarely see in public life.

Blinded by hatred, he failed to comprehend what Reverend Pinckney so well understood -- the power of God's grace. (Applause.)

This whole week, I've been reflecting on this idea of grace. (Applause.) The grace of the families who lost loved ones. The grace that Reverend Pinckney would preach about in his sermons. The grace described in one of my favorite hymnals -- the one we all know: Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. (Applause.) I once was lost, but now I'm found; was blind but now I see. (Applause.)

According to the Christian tradition, grace is not earned. Grace is not merited. It's not something we deserve. Rather, grace is the free and benevolent favor of God -- (applause) -- as manifested in the salvation of sinners and the bestowal of blessings. Grace.

As a nation, out of this terrible tragedy, God has visited grace upon us, for he has allowed us to see where we've been blind. (Applause.) He has given us the chance, where we've been lost, to find our best selves. (Applause.) We may not have earned it, this grace, with our rancor and complacency, and short-sightedness and fear of each other -- but we got it all the same. He gave it to us anyway. He's once more given us grace. But it is up to us now to make the most of it, to receive it with gratitude, and to prove ourselves worthy of this gift.

For too long, we were blind to the pain that the Confederate flag stirred in too many of our citizens. (Applause.) It's true, a flag did not cause these murders. But as people from all walks of life, Republicans and Democrats, now acknowledge -- including Governor Haley, whose recent eloquence on the subject is worthy of praise -- (applause) -- as we all have to acknowledge, the flag has always represented more than just ancestral pride. (Applause.) For many, black and white, that flag was a reminder of systemic oppression and racial subjugation. We see that now.

Removing the flag from this state's capitol would not be an act of political correctness; it would not be an insult to the valor of Confederate soldiers. It would simply be an acknowledgment that the cause for which they fought -- the cause of slavery -- was wrong -- (applause) -- the imposition of Jim Crow after the Civil War, the resistance to civil rights for all people was wrong. (Applause.) It would be one step in an honest accounting of America's history; a modest but meaningful balm for so many unhealed wounds. It would be an expression of the amazing changes that have transformed this state and this country for the better, because of the work of so many people of goodwill, people of all races striving to form a more perfect union. By taking down that flag, we express God's grace. (Applause.)

But I don't think God wants us to stop there. (Applause.) For too long, we've been blind to the way past injustices continue to shape the present. Perhaps we see that now. Perhaps this tragedy causes us to ask some tough questions about how we can permit so many of our children to languish in poverty, or attend dilapidated schools, or grow up without prospects for a job or for a career. (Applause.)

Perhaps it causes us to examine what we're doing to cause some of our children to hate. (Applause.) Perhaps it softens hearts towards those lost young men, tens and tens of thousands caught up in the criminal justice system -- (applause) -- and leads us to make sure that that system is not infected with bias; that we embrace changes in how we train and equip our police so that the bonds of trust between law enforcement and the communities they serve make us all safer and more secure. (Applause.)

Maybe we now realize the way racial bias can infect us even when we don't realize it, so that we're guarding against not just racial slurs, but we're also guarding against the subtle impulse to call Johnny back for a job interview but not Jamal. (Applause.) So that we search our hearts when we consider laws to make it harder for some of our fellow citizens to vote. (Applause.) By recognizing our common humanity by treating every child as important, regardless of the color of their skin or the station into which they were born, and to do what's necessary to make opportunity real for every American -- by doing that, we express God's grace. (Applause.)

For too long --

AUDIENCE: For too long!

For too long, we've been blind to the unique mayhem that gun violence inflicts upon this nation. (Applause.) Sporadically, our eyes are open: When eight of our brothers and sisters are cut down in a church basement, 12 in a movie theater, 26 in an elementary school. But I hope we also see the 30 precious lives cut short by gun violence in this country every single day; the countless more whose lives are forever changed -- the survivors crippled, the children traumatized and fearful every day as they walk to school, the husband who will never feel his wife's warm touch, the entire communities whose grief overflows every time they have to watch what happened to them happen to some other place.

The vast majority of Americans -- the majority of gun owners -- want to do something about this. We see that now. (Applause.) And I'm convinced that by acknowledging the pain and loss of others, even as we respect the traditions and ways of life that make up this beloved country -- by making the moral choice to change, we express God's grace. (Applause.)

We don't earn grace. We're all sinners. We don't deserve it. (Applause.) But God gives it to us anyway. (Applause.) And we choose how to receive it. It's our decision how to honor it.

None of us can or should expect a transformation in race relations overnight. Every time something like this happens, somebody says we have to have a conversation about race. We talk a lot about race. There's no shortcut. And we don't need more talk. (Applause.) None of us should believe that a handful of gun safety measures will prevent every tragedy. It will not. People of goodwill will continue to debate the merits of various policies, as our democracy requires -- this is a big, raucous place, America is. And there are good people on both sides of these debates. Whatever solutions we find will necessarily be incomplete.

But it would be a betrayal of everything Reverend Pinckney stood for, I believe, if we allowed ourselves to slip into a comfortable silence again. (Applause.) Once the eulogies have been delivered, once the TV cameras move on, to go back to business as usual -- that's what we so often do to avoid uncomfortable truths about the prejudice that still infects our society. (Applause.) To settle for symbolic gestures without following up with the hard work of more lasting change -- that's how we lose our way again.

It would be a refutation of the forgiveness expressed by those families if we merely slipped into old habits, whereby those who disagree with us are not merely wrong but bad; where we shout instead of listen; where we barricade ourselves behind preconceived notions or well-practiced cynicism.

Reverend Pinckney once said, "Across the South, we have a deep appreciation of history -- we haven't always had a deep appreciation of each other's history." (Applause.) What is true in the South is true for America. Clem understood that justice grows out of recognition of ourselves in each other. That my liberty depends on you being free, too. (Applause.) That history can't be a sword to justify injustice, or a shield against progress, but must be a manual for how to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past -- how to break the cycle. A roadway toward a better world. He knew that the path of grace involves an open mind -- but, more importantly, an open heart.

That's what I've felt this week -- an open heart. That, more than any particular policy or analysis, is what's called upon right now, I think -- what a friend of mine, the writer Marilyn Robinson, calls "that reservoir of goodness, beyond, and of another kind, that we are able to do each other in the ordinary cause of things."

That reservoir of goodness. If we can find that grace, anything is possible. (Applause.) If we can tap that grace, everything can change. (Applause.)

Amazing grace. Amazing grace.

(Begins to sing) -- Amazing grace -- (applause) -- how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me; I once was lost, but now I'm found; was blind but now I see. (Applause.)

Clementa Pinckney found that grace.

Cynthia Hurd found that grace.

Susie Jackson found that grace.

Ethel Lance found that grace.

DePayne Middleton-Doctor found that grace.

Tywanza Sanders found that grace.

Daniel L. Simmons, Sr. found that grace.

Sharonda Coleman-Singleton found that grace.

Myra Thompson found that grace.

Through the example of their lives, they've now passed it on to us. May we find ourselves worthy of that precious and extraordinary gift, as long as our lives endure. May grace now lead them home. May God continue to shed His grace on the United States of America. (Applause.)

full transcript

Olklahoma Bombing Memorial: 'Our words seem small beside the loss you have endured', Bill Clinton - 1995

23 April, 1995, Olklahoma City, OK, USA

Thank you very much, Governor Keating and Mrs. Keating, Reverend Graham, to the families of those who have been lost and wounded, to the people of Oklahoma City, who have endured so much, and the people of this wonderful state, to all of you who are here as our fellow Americans.

I am honored to be here today to represent the American people. But I have to tell you that Hillary and I also come as parents, as husband and wife, as people who were your neighbors for some of the best years of our lives.

Today our nation joins with you in grief. We mourn with you. We share your hope against hope that some may still survive. We thank all those who have worked so heroically to save lives and to solve this crime -- those here in Oklahoma and those who are all across this great land, and many who left their own lives to come here to work hand in hand with you. We pledge to do all we can to help you heal the injured, to rebuild this city, and to bring to justice those who did this evil.

This terrible sin took the lives of our American family, innocent children in that building, only because their parents were trying to be good parents as well as good workers; citizens in the building going about their daily business; and many there who served the rest of us -- who worked to help the elderly and the disabled, who worked to support our farmers and our veterans, who worked to enforce our laws and to protect us. Let us say clearly, they served us well, and we are grateful.

But for so many of you they were also neighbors and friends. You saw them at church or the PTA meetings, at the civic clubs, at the ball park. You know them in ways that all the rest of America could not. And to all the members of the families here present who have suffered loss, though we share your grief, your pain is unimaginable, and we know that. We cannot undo it. That is God's work.

Our words seem small beside the loss you have endured. But I found a few I wanted to share today. I've received a lot of letters in these last terrible days. One stood out because it came from a young widow and a mother of three whose own husband was murdered with over 200 other Americans when Pan Am 103 was shot down. Here is what that woman said I should say to you today:

The anger you feel is valid, but you must not allow yourselves to be consumed by it. The hurt you feel must not be allowed to turn into hate, but instead into the search for justice. The loss you feel must not paralyze your own lives. Instead, you must try to pay tribute to your loved ones by continuing to do all the things they left undone, thus ensuring they did not die in vain.

Wise words from one who also knows.

You have lost too much, but you have not lost everything. And you have certainly not lost America, for we will stand with you for as many tomorrows as it takes.

If ever we needed evidence of that, I could only recall the words of Governor and Mrs. Keating:

If anybody thinks that Americans are mostly mean and selfish, they ought to come to Oklahoma. If anybody thinks Americans have lost the capacity for love and caring and courage, they ought to come to Oklahoma.

To all my fellow Americans beyond this hall, I say, one thing we owe those who have sacrificed is the duty to purge ourselves of the dark forces which gave rise to this evil. They are forces that threaten our common peace, our freedom, our way of life. Let us teach our children that the God of comfort is also the God of righteousness: Those who trouble their own house will inherit the wind.1 Justice will prevail.

Let us let our own children know that we will stand against the forces of fear. When there is talk of hatred, let us stand up and talk against it. When there is talk of violence, let us stand up and talk against it. In the face of death, let us honor life. As St. Paul admonished us, Let us "not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good."2

Yesterday, Hillary and I had the privilege of speaking with some children of other federal employees -- children like those who were lost here. And one little girl said something we will never forget. She said, "We should all plant a tree in memory of the children." So this morning before we got on the plane to come here, at the White House, we planted that tree in honor of the children of Oklahoma. It was a dogwood with its wonderful spring flower and its deep, enduring roots. It embodies the lesson of the Psalms -- that the life of a good person is like a tree whose leaf does not wither.³

My fellow Americans, a tree takes a long time to grow, and wounds take a long time to heal. But we must begin. Those who are lost now belong to God. Some day we will be with them. But until that happens, their legacy must be our lives.

Thank you all, and God bless you.