Spielberg, Obama, and Thomas Jefferson

Really, Philadelphia? 65% of us don't think President Obama deserves the Nobel Peace Prize?

Seriously, Thomas Friedman? It "dismays [you] that the most important prize in the world has been devalued this way?"

And Mr. President, even if you "do not feel that [you] deserve to be in the company of so many of the transformative figures who've been honored," don't you recognize why the Nobel Committee has placed you among them?

We suspect that Steven Spielberg does.

Last Thursday evening, underneath purple lights on a chilly night, Steven Spielberg accepted the Liberty Medal in a ceremony held on the National Constitution Center's front lawn. Earlier that hour, he had watched Constitution Center CEO Linda Johnson meander around the stage as her opening remarks attempted to define "freedom;" he had heard Mayor Nutter bestow lengthy praise on his career; and he had endured Governor Rendell's tale of Midge and her fear of sharks. Fortunately for the guest of honor and the crowd, these tributes were connected by a poignant montage of film clips, veteran recollections, and Holocaust survivor testimonies—a cinematic testament to Spielberg's humanitarian efforts (his Survivors of the Shoah Visual History Foundation archives the oral histories of survivors from both the Holocaust and the Rwandan genocide).

The ceremony, however, required neither this film sequence nor five speeches to introduce Mr. Spielberg, only the presence of violinist Nikki Chooi and pianist Jungeun Kim: the duo played the theme to Schindler's List, a magical performance that blessed the audience with a moment of reflection. In his acceptance speech, Spielberg indirectly spoke to the elements that make this melody so haunting. He referred to the artist as one whose responsibility was to "engage with the audience ... the self... history ... the imagination" by producing a text that "helps sharpen our language for progress." The Constitution, Spielberg said, is an art form because it reflects "the rhythm and language" of writers to whom "artistry of the text mattered." Such a vision has allowed, for example, students over the past 200 years to successfully memorize passages from the founding fathers' documents.

In her front page Inquirer piece last Sunday, Carrie Rickey called the Liberty Medal "America's equivalent of the Nobel Peace Prize." It should then make sense to reflect upon the acceptance speech of Mr. Spielberg when considering the selection of Barack Obama. Has not our President "sharpened our language for progress" by engaging "the audience," "history," and "the imagination?" By invigorating voters, rising on a platform of change, and becoming America's first African American president, has he not respected the "rhythm and language" of our founding fathers?

Whether or not Americans agree with the man, they cannot argue that the majority of the country desired a platform like Obama's, and believed in a figurehead like him, so that they could exercise the rights Thomas Jefferson discusses in the Preamble to the Declaration:

In his presidential acceptance speech, Barack Obama, the new American "guard," spoke to America's international audience:

This moment of promise, produced in America, was captured around the world. By allowing it to happen, were we not, as Americans, proud of ourselves for nominating this "new dawn of American leadership?" So, really, are we that surprised that our President—the representation of America's united call for change, the symbol of her loud and unprecedented exercise of constitutional rights—has won the Nobel Peace Prize?