Polk

James K. Polk

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James K. Polk and the U.S. Mexican War: A Policy Appraisal

A Conversation With David M. Pletcher
Indiana University

James K. Polk

Some people believe that President James K. Polk intentionally provoked the war with Mexico. What do you say about that?

What Polk wanted was to push Mexico into negotiating with the United States, and he was willing to create a threat of war to do this. If he had to fight, he wanted a short war and a quick victory. He never expected a long-drawn-out war. The Army was not ready for war and had never fought so far from home before. The country was divided. So Polk was taking a considerable risk in his bold stand toward Mexico.
Negotiations might have been possible if Polk had tried a different approach. Mexico had refused to recognize either the independence of Texas or its annexation by the United States, and when annexation occurred, broke relations and withdrew its minster from Washington. Polk rightly believed that he had to restore diplomatic relations, so he sent a special temporary envoy to Mexico. The Mexicans expected that envoy, John Slidell, would offer an indemnity to settle the Texas question, after which Mexico would receive him or someone else as permanent minister. Instead Polk made Slidell permanent minister and instructed him to open negotiations for the sale of California, ignoring Texas completely.
This did not suit the Mexicans at all. If they started by making a concession on Slidell’s status they would probably never get any settlement on Texas. Also Polk had backed up Slidell by sending troops to the Rio Grande, which Texans claimed was their proper boundary. The Mexican president, José Herrera, was newly in office and not very powerful. He did not dare receive Slidell for fear of being overthrown, as the opposition press was accusing him of planning to betray the country by selling Texas. Since he could not be received, Slidell left Mexico City for a town a few miles away, and Herrera sent troops to the Rio Grande to confront the Americans. Matters had reached an impasse.
Polk now needed an excuse to declare war, expecting at the most to fight a few skirmishes on the Rio Grande and then start negotiating. The Mexicans gave him the excuse he needed. The general commanding their troops on the Rio Grande sent a force across the river, and it ambushed a detachment of Americans and killed or captured all of them. The American general, Zachary Taylor, reported this action as a Mexican attack and concluded: "I presume this means the beginning of war." Polk and his cabinet prepared a declaration of war. Congress, badly divided between war and peace, had to support American soldiers under attack and voted to send supplies and reinforcements, whereupon Polk’s Democratic supporters convinced them that they might as well declare war altogether.
But Polk still did not expect the Mexicans to put up much of a fight. When his brother in Europe learned of what had happened, he wanted to come home and enlist, but Polk told him not to, as the war would soon be over.

How important was the Texan boundary controversy as a cause of the war?

For Polk it was more an excuse than a real cause. When he took office in 1845, the Texans occupied most of what is now east Texas, and San Antonio was only a frontier settlement. The Texans, like most American westerners, wanted to expand, and several years before Polk became president, they had sent a military expedition to take Santa Fe, to the west. The Mexicans beat them, so they had no claim to that part of the Rio Grande valley.
The Mexicans also tried to reconquer the rest of Texas but failed, so an uneasy balance remained. When the United States annexed Texas, Polk promised to protect the Texans from Mexico’s wrath and sent troops under Taylor to Corpus Christi. When Slidell went to Mexico, Taylor moved to the Rio Grande and built a temporary fort. Obviously the Texan boundary dispute was a proper subject for negotiation with Mexico, but Polk made it part of his strong stand.

Polk was negotiating with England at the same time over Oregon, wasn’t he? How did this affect his relations with Mexico?

Years before the U.S. and Britain had agreed to occupy the Oregon territory (modern Oregon, Washington state, and British Columbia) jointly as a temporary settlement. When Polk became president, negotiations had been reopened, and the states of the Middle West were clamoring for the U.S. to annex the whole territory.
Polk wanted to work out a compromise settlement without alienating the Western Senators and Congressmen, whose votes he needed for the rest of his legislative program. His idea was to stall until England took the initiative in offering a settlement. About the time Slidell went to Mexico he succeeded, and England showed a disposition to negotiate some sort of compromise. Up to that point Polk had been reluctant to force matters with Mexico. Fortunately for him, the British government became involved in a cabinet crisis of their own and did not want a quarrel with the U.S. Their more moderate attitude toward Oregon, in a sense, freed Pok to press Mexico harder. (After the war began, the U.S. and England split the Oregon territory along the line of the present U.S.-Canadian border. The Western politicians were dissatisfied but eventually accepted the settlement.)

Why did Polk try to bluff Mexico into negotiating instead of using persuasion?

Polk was very anxious to purchase California from Mexico, and he knew that Mexico would refuse to give it up. He thought there was no time to be lost, as he feared that England would seize it as a strong point on the Pacific. The London government had no such plans, for it had no claims on California as England did on Oregon. England was about to settle the Oregon controversy with the U.S. and was not likely to start another Anglo-American crisis over California.
But Polk’s stubborn, aggressive, self-confident personality was the underlying reason for his policy of taking a strong stand and bluffing his opponents — "stonewalling," as we might call if now. The characteristics he shared with his mentor and patron Andrew Jackson. He had grown up in the lower Mississippi valley during the last stages of the Spanish Empire and had learned to hate and mistrust the deceitful Spanish "dons," with whom he now identified the Mexicans. Their weak, fumbling government only aroused his contempt. Americans at that time generally respected the British for their strength, and so did Polk. But England, he thought, would take anything she could. In both cases, he felt, the wisest course was what we would now call "eyeball" diplomacy — staring hard at the opponent and expecting him to blink first. This technique was beginning to work with England, and Polk had no doubt that it would also work with Mexico.
Unfortunately, this was exactly the wrong tactic to employ against Mexico, for it offended the Mexicans sense of honor and made the Mexicans dig in their heels and fight harder, even in a losing cause. A British diplomat who was familiar with the Spanish temperament said, "A Spaniard is like a mule. If you are riding this mule along a precipice and you spur him too hard, it will back off the cliff with you and take you down the chasm with him."
A good diplomat has to alternate tenacity and pliability, as the situation requires. He also has to be able to see the negotiation from the viewpoint of his opponent, as well as his own. Polk could do neither of these things; indeed, I think he had an inward contempt for diplomatic solutions.

What were the effects of Polk’s errors in negotiation?

The most immediate and obvious effect was a war lasting a year and nine months. In this war nearly 13,000 American men lost their lives and the country incurred expenses amounting to about $100,000 million. As a result of the U.S.-Mexican War, the settlement of the Oregon boundary and the annexation of Texas, the U.S. gained about 1.2 million square miles of land, over one-third of its present territory. But it incurred a number of indirect effects from the war, and these cannot be ignored. On the positive side, it took a big step up toward becoming a great power, on a par with Britain, France, and Russia, for the older nations respected strength, and American generals and soldiers had displayed this in abundance, even against a weaker foe.
But on the negative side, the war exacted heavy intangible costs as well. Latin Americans have usually looked up to us as a model of a liberal, democratic society and a government. Now, after our attack on Mexico, there began to be talk of "the colossus of the North." The United States had always been known for distasteful boasting and loud talk; after the war this became louder, and the feats of the American army suggested that the world might expect more than talk in the future. Worst of all, the Texas question and even more the war itself created an open wound of sectionalism inside the country, and the spread of slavery rose to the top of the list of public problems demanding solution. The war trained a generation of soldiers for the civil strife to come; it also trained the minds of the public at large.
Polk might have avoided these mixed effects of the war with a different line of diplomacy as president.

Against Mexico

'Against Mexico' Documentary Explores Texas Secession Battle

By: Beth Summers

At first blush, a group reenactment of Texas' 1836 battle to secede from Mexico has little to do with today's political environment. But the notion of what it means to be an American is an issue that continues to stir up strong emotions, and resistance to a strong federal government can be seen in elections across the country.
Those emotions are underscored in a short documentary being highlighted by our partners at Latino Public Broadcasting. "Against Mexico: The Making of Heroes and Enemies" looks at the different ways in which Latinos and whites interpret the Texas Revolution, and the tensions between the two groups that continue to resonate 175 years later as Hispanic population growth accounted for 63.1 percent of all growth in Texas in the last decade.
"Against Mexico" delves into the Lone Star State's complicated history.
Watch the 12-minute film here or below.

Watch Against Mexico - The Making of Heroes and Enemies on PBS. See more from pbs.

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Myths of Mexico

Myths of Mexico published in Columbia Journalism Review

October 19, 2012 · by Director

Myths of Mexico/Columbia Journalism Review/Nov.-Dec. 2009

In 1891, my great-great-uncle, Catarino Garza, attempted to overthrow the Mexican dictator, Porfirio Díaz, by launching an armed revolution from my family’s south Texas ranch. One year into his campaign, Garza agreed to an interview with The New York Times to explain the reasons behind his insurrection. “The impression prevails that I and my followers are simply an organized band of border ruffians,” Garza told the reporter. “As nothing can be further from the truth, I rely on you to do me justice.”
Journalists of that era who covered the new and largely unknown southern territory drew heavily on U.S. military reports, which viewed Mexico through the prism of expansionism. The United States, eager to protect trade with Mexico and secure its new frontier, came to Díaz’s defense and deployed the Army, the Texas Rangers, and other law enforcement outfits to join Mexican federales in hunting Garza down. And on the front page of the Times, in keeping with the label assigned to Garza by the U.S. and Mexican governments, Garza was branded a “bandit.”
In Garza’s day, American press coverage of Mexico paid scant attention to the fledgling nation’s internal political dynamics or the views of its population at large. More than a century later, this remains too often true, as the story of Mexico in the U.S. press is mostly a one-dimensional account of the horrible “drug war.” I am no apologist for drug cartels, and I don’t place the revolutionaries of old on equal footing with drug kingpins. Rather, I detect enduring assumptions that govern our coverage of Mexico—what’s perceived as good for the U.S. is portrayed as good for Mexico. To wit, if the U.S. interest is clamping down on the supply of drugs reaching American streets and nightclubs, then calling out the military is a wise policy decision for Mexico. Such a simplistic calculus ignores the fact that narco-trafficking is a firmly entrenched and complex organism that exists for a range of economic, social, and political reasons.
The result is that with few exceptions the press has embraced the idea of unleashing tens of thousands of Mexican soldiers on a civilian population as an unquestionably good idea. And in the last three years, the Mexican government has deployed 45,000 troops, made anywhere from 24,000 to 60,000 arrests (depending on the source), and recorded roughly 12,000 dead in this “war.” The U.S. has supplied Mexico with training and military hardware to the tune of roughly $1.2 billion.
Credible voices of dissent—both in the U.S. and in Mexico—have been available to journalists. In the U.S., for instance, some in Congress expressed concern about a strategy modeled after the failed approach the U.S. has taken in Colombia. And in Mexico, historians and political commentators raised concerns about increasing the role of the military in civilian life and its effect on Mexico’s young democracy.
But with rare exceptions, their views have been relegated to the obligatory “balancing” paragraph or two. For the most part, the horror and gore of drug-cartel violence has seized the press’s attention. By December 2006, turf wars between cartels raged in some Mexican cities. At the time, Felipe Calderon was a new and embattled president with a tiny—.58 percent—margin of victory and protestors screaming “fraud” on the streets of Mexico City. Public-opinion polls reported 69 percent of Mexicans felt “very safe,” and that unemployment and poverty were their top concerns. Still, just days after assuming office, Calderon declared drug violence his top priority and deployed the military in an offensive against the narcos.
In the U.S., the Bush administration (and then the Obama administration) hailed a “brave” Calderon who was engaged in a “courageous” battle. This perspective was repeated in news articles and in editorials urging U.S. intervention:
“Mexican President Shows He Can Lead; Election Crisis Fades”—The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, March 25, 2007
“Mexican president Felipe Calderon has been brave enough to try to wrestle back control of his country”—San Francisco Chronicle, May 13, 2008
“U.S. Bolsters Security at Mexican Border”—The New York Times, March 25, 2009
“The United States has a vested interest in seeing Calderon succeed”—San Antonio Express-News, August 15, 2009
Now, after three years of this “drug war,” press reports have appeared in the U.S. citing the mounting criticism over human-rights abuses as well as the disenchantment among Mexican political insiders with the government’s tactics. But the dominant storyline—in print and on television—has been to depict the more sensational aspects of the drug violence, focusing on body counts and decapitations and ignoring a number of relevant questions that would have framed the story much differently.
For instance, did Calderon launch an internal war to legitimize his presidency? While Calderon was elected in 2006 with the support of the international community, and the church, the elite, and the business class within Mexico, he faced civil unrest in the southern state of Oaxaca and mounting economic problems. A solid half of the Mexican population qualifies as poor, and in the presidential race, a large number of those poor voters supported Calderon’s opponent, Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador.
When Calderon appeared in battle gear with the military in a spectacular January 2007 photo op, it indicated to Mexican political commentators that the president was attempting to bolster his weak position and shift the discourse from complex social issues to security. “The images and the way in which the press treats this topic creates an alliance with the most conservative class elite,” says Froylan Enciso, a Mexican historian and former journalist. “When all the coverage is around criminals, then you have an enemy and the Mexican government can have its war.”
What does victory in this “war” look like, and is it attainable? Is the objective to dismantle the cartels, reduce their size, end the violence, or disrupt drug shipments? Over the last three years, all four have been mentioned by the Mexican and U.S. governments as the goal.
Whatever the goal, is a military offensive the best strategy? In the 1970s, the U.S. funded a succession of drug interdiction programs in the coastal state of Sinaloa, where marijuana cultivation was (and remains) robust. The result: hundreds were arrested and tortured, and the traffickers morphed into today’s cartels. But the strongest reason to question a military-based strategy is the story of the U.S.’s effort to stamp out the cocaine industry in Colombia. Between 2000 and 2008, the U.S. poured some $6 billion into that “drug war.” Yet, according to a report last year by the U.S. Government Accountability Office, coca production increased by 15 percent over the first six years of this decade.
While American press reports have consistently suggested that Calderon’s deployment of the military is evidence of his commitment to the drug fight, Jorge Castaneda, a former Mexican foreign minister, noted in a piece in the May 2007 Newsweek International that the secretary of defense in the administration of Calderon’s predecessor, Vicente Fox, had refused to send his troops on the drug mission. “The Mexican military is not trained, equipped or enthusiastic about such chores,” Castaneda wrote.
Finally, are Mexico’s public institutions, many of which are notoriously weak and corrupt, prepared for a massive crackdown on drug traffickers? In 2008, for instance, after nearly two years of the “drug war,” Mexico approved a judicial reform package to address the country’s 30 percent conviction rate for alleged narco-traffickers and nearly 5 percent conviction rate in cases of murder and kidnapping.
Without an exploration of such questions, we are presented with a simplistic battle between good guys—macho soldiers with loads of ammo—and bad guys—the tattooed and sinister drug goons. Despite complaints by Mexican human-rights groups about alleged human-rights violations by the military and reports of altercations between civilians and soldiers from the outset of the offensive, rarely does the U.S. press coverage show citizens in confrontation with the Army or the experience of a civilian population under siege by cartel violence. Instead, detailed coverage is lavished on the exotic habits of the drug traffickers, their taste for ostrich-leather cowboy boots, and the romanticized presentation of “narcocultura.” Consider this representative passage from the February 21, 2009, edition of The Wall Street Journal: “Mexican drug gangs even have an unofficial religion: they worship La Santa Muerte, a Mexican version of the grim reaper.” The rising death toll, which doubled between 2007 and 2008, is explained simply by repeating Calderon’s logic: “Officials in both Washington and Mexico City also say the rising violence has a silver lining … the Mexican government is finally cracking down on the drug cartels … .”
Contrast this with Alma Guillermoprieto’s article, “Days of the Dead,” in the November 10, 2008, issue of The New Yorker, in which she too covers narcocultura and the violence, but her perspective is much broader. The article includes dissenting viewpoints and scrutiny of Calderon’s war, its origins, and its tactics, and it places the rise of the cartels in the context of the end of the one-party political system in Mexico.
Guillermoprieto’s piece delivers a sober report on an underground economy that has thrived for generations out of economic need and with tacit political approval. She approaches the story from a perspective within Mexico, rather than from the outside looking in. As a result, the reader is informed, rather than coerced by the implicit moral judgments found in articles that paint the cartels as “gangs” or “goons.”
Daily coverage cannot match the depth and nuance of a New Yorker piece, but there are examples of efforts by newspapers to break free of the narrow, simplistic storyline on the drug story. Consider the video series produced by Travis Fox for The Washington Post’s “Mexico at War” project. By making the experiences and perspectives of Mexican citizens the central focus, Fox blurs the easy distinctions between bad guys and good guys, explores the fear and distrust of the government, and explains the myriad reasons why the drug business thrives: a confluence of a lack of social services (education) and good-paying jobs, poor social mobility, and indifference on the part of the police. We meet one family trying to protect its little girl from the “war” outside, and then learn that many parents in the violence-ravaged town where this family lives work for the “narcos.”
Such deeper reporting of Mexico requires a critical perspective on U.S. policy—a perspective that doesn’t fit the simplistic good guy/bad guy paradigm. The drug issue is too often cast as a Mexican menace, with breathless stories of the looming “spillover” of violence along the border reinforcing the notion of the U.S. as a bystander to a Mexican problem. Sam Quinones, a Los Angeles Times reporter assigned to the paper’s “Mexico Under Siege” series, which began in June 2008 and is ongoing, says that without “continual coverage” of Mexico, “what you end up getting is big boom and bash, and you don’t get a lot of subtleties.” Despite the significance of Mexico as a trade partner and a neighbor with whom the U.S. shares a two-thousand-mile border, Quinones finds that among some readers there is “a lack of knowledge that we are part of the war, the drug demand, the guns, the money.”
Part of the reason, I would suggest, is articles like a May 31, 2009, piece in The New York Times, under the headline “In Heartland Death, Traces of Heroin’s Spread,” which linked the overdose death of an Ohio drug user to the rapacious tentacles of the drug cartels. This perspective reflects the U.S. government’s own war-on-drugs mentality, with its emphasis on punitive policies and on supply rather than demand.
When the Times interviewed my great-great-uncle, he introduced himself as a fellow journalist, the publisher of several Spanish-language newspapers. But the nterview was conducted in English because Garza understood that the media’s presentation of issues had considerable influence in shaping U.S. attitudes and policy toward its new neighbor. Today, language is less of a barrier to understanding. The problem is a distorted and invisible wall of perception, a wall the press must dismantle to truly see our neighbor—and ourselves.

Lincoln- La Pelicula

Lincoln

Carlos Bonfil

na de las decisiones más acertadas de Steven Spielberg al acometer un proyecto tan ambicioso como la película Lincoln, fue confiar el guión a la destreza y profesionalismo del dramaturgo neoyorquino Tony Kushner, premio Pulitzer por Ángeles en América (1991/2); más acertada aún fue la decisión que ambos tomaron de desechar el tratamiento original de 500 páginas y concentrarse tan sólo en una sexta parte del mismo. De modo similar a la estrategia narrativa del cineasta John Ford, quien había elegido en El joven Lincoln (Young Mr. Lincoln, 1939) ocuparse únicamente de los años mozos del abogado principiante y futuro presidente, en la bucólica atmósfera de su natal Kentucky, Spielberg opta hoy por concentrar su atención en el último año de su vida en Washington, y de modo especial en un solo mes, enero de 1865, momento histórico en el que el decimosexto presidente de Estados Unidos obtiene su mayor victoria política: la aprobación, in extremis, de la decimotercera Enmienda a la Constitución de ese país, por medio de la cual queda abolida la esclavitud en todo su territorio.

Lincoln no es una película biográfica ni un farragoso manual audiovisual de historia, sino un thriller político que coloca en primerísimo plano el papel que jugó el tema de la abolición de la esclavitud en una Guerra de Secesión que por lo común e interesadamente ha sido asociada a otro tipo de reivindicaciones (derechos de los estados, prerrogativas financieras, defensa de la especificidad cultural sureña). Es también una cinta que plantea el profundo dilema moral al que se enfrenta Abraham Lincoln (caracterización portentosa de Daniel-Day Lewis) cuando debe elegir entre facilitar el fin de una guerra civil desastrosa y poner con ello en riesgo la emancipación total de los esclavos o mantenerla viva y así ganar tiempo para que pueda aprobarse en el Congreso la enmienda liberadora.
La lucha del presidente republicano (en una época en que pertenecer al Partido Republicano era sinónimo de liberalismo y tolerancia) por superar en voces a los demócratas, defensores a ultranza de la causa de los confederados sureños, e incluso de sumar algunas de ellas (mediante coacción moral o compra de voluntades) en favor de la aprobación de su enmienda, es un alarde de inteligencia política. Lejos de la imagen tradicional de un Lincoln conciliador y bienintencionado, la película nos muestra a un presidente vigoroso y aguerrido, dando enérgicos manotazos sobre la mesa ante la indecisión o pusilanimidad de algunos colaboradores, y también al estratega capaz de contener los ímpetus del abolicionista republicano más radical, Thaddeus Stevens (un memorable Tommy Lee Jones).

Fotograma de la película de Steven SpielbergFoto Ap

Parte del guión está basado en el best seller de Doris Kearns Goodwin, Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln, y es de esa contienda política llena de marrullerías, golpes bajos y traiciones, y también heroicas lealtades, de lo que trata la cinta de Spielberg, como ilustración del arte de hacer política de cara a la adversidad, manteniendo imperturbable un mismo impulso libertario, finalmente triunfante. El republicano Stevens valora la estrategia y sus felices resultados, y de paso resalta la gran paradoja histórica: “La más grande reforma del siglo XIX obtenida, gracias a la corrupción, por el hombre más puro de Estados Unidos”.
La película de Spielberg toma distancias sorprendentes con la visión simplista y apolítica que suele tener Hollywood de que las grandes luchas sociales suponen la victoria de buenos ciudadanos sobre políticos malos. El ejemplo más notable de esta visión maniquea es Caballero sin espada (Mr. Smith goes to Washington, Frank Capra, 1940). Setenta y dos años después, aquella visión romántica, de cándido optimismo, ha sido derribada por las prácticas más cínicas de la política actual, a las que alude la cinta, de modo retrospectivo, en su pintoresco pugilismo parlamentario.
La colaboración del guionista Kushner es capital para recrear, a través de diálogos mordaces y naturalidad en la composición del personaje central, a un Lincoln muy humanizado, poseedor de un leve toque de malicia, afecto a desesperar a sus oyentes con anécdotas y parábolas, con figura encorvada y sin embargo recia, capaz de enfrentar estoicamente las exigencias y chantajes de su esposa Mary Todd (Sally Field, calculadamente acrimoniosa). Con todo ello, la complejidad dramática que propone el guionista Kushner, la sensible fotografía en sepias y claroscuros de Janusz Kaminski, y la partitura original de John Williams, terminan supeditándose a la visión totalizadora de un Steven Spielberg que aquí, como en tantas otras cintas suyas, recurre a una retórica sentimental y a una estética grandilocuente que concluye en cine-mausoleo lo que había iniciado como trepidante acción en el terreno de batalla y en el campo parlamentario. Una nueva paradoja en la carrera de un gran cineasta.
carlos.bonfil@gmail.com
Twitter: @CarlosBonfil1

Entre Lincoln y Roosevelt, de la historia a la política, la jura de Barack Obama

De 2009 a 2013, es el paso en Washington de la emoción del primer presidente negro a la refriega política de un Congreso en tensión por el presupuesto y las armas de fuego.

Si en 2009 la emoción desbordó Washington, en 2013 el desafío pesa sobre los hombros de un presidente cuyo legado final es incierto en momento de división política en el Capitolio. Barack Obama juró su cargo de forma sencilla en la Casa Blanca abriendo de forma oficial la segunda parte de su era que se cerrará el 20 de enero del 2017.
Al ser el 20 de enero domingo, Obama juró en la Casa Blanca sobre la Biblia de la familia de su esposa. Este lunes lo hará con las de Lincoln y Martin Luther King. A continuación, en el comienzo oficial de su mandato, y ante el Capitolio, Obama expondrá a la nación los nuevos desafíos y las metas que propone. Como siempre, Obama ha preparado este discurso de forma muy especial, en un momento en que pesa en el ánimo de la nación la terrible matanza de niños.
Entre la emoción de Abraham Lincoln -que retrató de forma magnífica Spielberg en relato pedagógico para las nuevas generaciones-, “con maldad hacia nadie y con caridad para todos”, y el deseo de Franklin D. Roosevelt de imponer su voluntad y coraje, y la fuerza del Estado, Obama tratará de buscar la vía media, los vericuetos de un Washington que le respeta tras su nueva victoria pero recela.
El acto sencillo en la Casa Blanca
Barack Obama juró el cargo de presidente de los Estados Unidos en una ceremonia privada en el Salón Azul de la Casa Blanca a las 11.55 horas (17.55 hora peninsular española) con la que dio comienzo su segundo y último mandato. La breve ceremonia se ha celebrado en el Blue Room de la Casa Blanca con la asistencia de Michelle Obama y sus hijas Malia y Sasha.
El presidente del Tribunal Supremo, John Roberts, tomó juramento a Obama. Roberts fue el protagonista de la primera toma de posesión de Obama, en 2009, cuando tuvo que repetirse el juramento en privado por un fallo suyo en la ceremonia oficial, en la que pronunció de memoria, y erróneamente las palabras que debía repetir el presidente.

La ceremonia tuvo que celebrarse porque la Constitución obliga al presidente electo a tomar posesión formal del cargo antes de las 12.00 horas del día 20 de enero, pero Obama repite este lunes su juramento en una ceremonia multitudinaria en el Capitolio, ya que tradicionalmente los actos de toma de posesión presidencial no se celebran en domingo.
Cuando Obama jure de nuevo el cargo este lunes habrá igualado el récord de juramentos del cargo, que ostenta Franklin Roosevelt, presidente entre 1933 y 1945 con sus cuatro mandatos. En el caso de Obama, en cambio, se debe a las dos dobles juras de cargo.
Todo el protagonismo para Obama
Llega la hora de la verdad para Obama. Difícilmente vamos a encontrar un nuevo presidente ya que el equilibrio, análisis ponderado de las circunstancias, por adversas que sean, y la búsqueda permanente de consensos, son sus muy particulares señas de identidad políticas. Sin embargo, los asesores más próximos al presidente le han advertido que si quiere dejar su huella y lograr todos sus objetivos, el pulso de este segundo mandato tendrá que ser audaz desde la primera hora. Es decir, ante un Partido Republicano con debate no cerrado entre el ala radical y el ala moderada, Obama deberá mostrar la fuerza de su autoridad y el poder de los votos que le catapultaron de nuevo a la Casa Blanca. Llega a este momento con un 51% de apoyo ciudadano según la última encuesta de The New York Times y CBS.
En su equipo no hay el brillo de Hillary Clinton y Robert Gates en la secretaría de Estado y de Defensa. Sin haber podido tener como secretaria de Estado a Susan Rice , Obama optó por John Kerry para la política exterior. Chuck Hagel en el Pentágono y John Brennan al frente de la CIA forman un equipo más próximo al presidente y a la vez un paso detrás de él. Jack Lew como nuevo secretario del Tesoro sucede a Tim Geithner.
Para Obama es el momento ahora de los grandes retos, de la defensa de sus convicciones, y de la firmeza. Los desafíos serán formidables y mostrarán de verdad, seguramente en toda su grandeza, la estatura política de Obama.