CURTIS DELIVERS MAIDEN SPEECH ON SENATE FLOOR

In an opinion piece published in the Deseret News prior to the speech, Senator Curtis invited constituents to share their own reflections on the four sites of his “listening tour.” The office received over 150 responses, including touching messages on the impact these sites had on individuals and families.

The full speech as prepared for delivery is below, and the video file can be downloaded here. 

Mr. President, having been a United States Senator for exactly 131 days, I am attempting to follow the advice of my great-grandmother, who was the first woman school board president of the Salt Lake City School District. Grandma Genevieve said, “Listen first, speak when it matters, and let your actions carry the weight.” That may sound radical in our social-media-driven world and DC politics—but I am committed to giving it a try. 

As I begin my service in the Senate, it matters to me that both what is said and what is done in this body will not just make noise, but will actually make a difference for the citizens of the nation. 

Ten days ago, I invited the citizens of Utah and the nation to join me in my preparations for this maiden floor speech today. 

I invited them to follow me, virtually, to places that speak to the heart and soul of the nation. I visited four places where our bedrock strength and enduring principles are found, and where I believe our bold future will begin. I have called it my “Think Before I Speak: A Pilgrimage to American Principles” tour.

I began my journey with a hike to Ensign Peak—a small hill just above the Utah Capitol that overlooks the Salt Lake Valley. It’s where we learn about pioneer values—and vision.

Just days after arriving in the Salt Lake Valley, my pioneer ancestors climbed that very peak. What they saw wasn’t what was—but what could be.

They looked out over a barren desert and imagined a thriving community, a home for faith and family, and a crossroads not just for the West but for the world.

President Gordon B. Hinckley, a pioneer descendant and Church leader, once reflected on that moment atop Ensign Peak. 

He said if a news reporter had been there that July morning in 1847, they would’ve scoffed at the idea. A ragtag group of exiles, driven from their homes, standing in worn-out boots, almost a thousand miles from the nearest settlement. They were in an untried climate. They had never raised a crop here. They had not built a structure of any kind. Such a grand vision would have seemed laughable. 

Well, those pioneers didn’t just dream. They came down from that peak and went to work.

Standing there at the summit a few days ago, a strong, steady wind blew against my face. I couldn’t help but think of my pioneer ancestors who faced the same winds, with far heavier burdens. I saw them, pushing forward with courage and faith, laying the foundation for the life we now enjoy.

From that height, much of the valley was hidden beneath a green canopy. But even though I couldn’t see it all—I knew the secret to Utah’s success. It’s not just in the buildings or the businesses. It’s in the people.

People known for their kindness. For their hard work, resilience, independence and for their deep and abiding belief in God.

The spirit that built this place is still alive. It calls us to be all that our pioneer ancestors need us to be—for the future generations they saw. 

We don’t get everything right in Utah, but we’ve built something remarkable—a strong economy, fiscally responsible government, educational opportunity, and real upward mobility. 

These aren’t accidents. Washington could use a little more Ensign Peak thinking—and a lot more pioneer doing.

My listening tour next took me to hallowed ground. 

When I visited Arlington National Cemetery. I found myself drawn to reading the words and names on the white stones. Korea, WWI, WWII, Vietnam—unknown, unknown, unknown, and occasionally on the back—names like Ruth, Ethel, Alta with the words—”His Wife.”

I paused to try and hear the voices of those laid to rest in that sacred place. What would they say to me—a U.S. Senator charged with safeguarding the Constitution and the freedoms they gave their lives to defend?

Sometimes their voices whispered gently; sometimes they spoke with striking clarity. But never, ever did they ask about my political party. 

Those honored dead don’t care if future generations have the latest gadgets or a life of ease—but they do care deeply that those generations have souls—souls with the strength forged by doing hard things. Souls that cherish freedom, pursue peace, and carry the moral courage to stand for what’s right.

They remind me that the Constitution was not just a clever document—it was, and remains, divinely inspired. 

President Ronald Reagan once said, “Freedom is one of the deepest and noblest aspirations of the human spirit.” 

Those who rest beneath the white stones at Arlington didn’t die just so Americans could live free—they died so that freedom could take root wherever the human spirit longs for it. 

Their legacy isn’t just national—it’s universal.

Their sacrifice calls us to something higher.

Two stones next to each other caught my attention. William W Kirby and William W Kirby Jr. The father had fought in WWI and lived 85 years. The son fought in World War II and died in combat, earning a purple heart, at age 20.

Family. I recognized that families fight for freedom.

As an American family we should all stand at Arlington as if we all had lost our son, our daughter, our spouse, our friend—because we have! Our honored dead are indeed our brothers and sisters. 

So, let’s remember, that we honor best those who have gone before by standing for freedom, today.

I walked into the Holocaust Museum alone, but I wasn’t alone. I was surrounded by thousands, mostly young Americans. I found myself wondering: Do they see what I’m seeing? Or do they “see without seeing, and hear without understanding”? This place forces us to confront the darkest chapters of human history—and asks whether we’ve truly learned the lessons.

As I walked the halls, I was struck by how easily a human life can be devalued. I kept asking, “How?”: 

• How did so many participate? 
• How did others stand by? 
• How did some serve to enable? 
• How have so many already forgotten?

The late Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks once identified both the problem and the solution when he warned: “When morality is outsourced to either the market or the state, society has no substance, only systems. And systems are not enough.” 

Today, we are outsourcing more than just governance: 

• We are outsourcing responsibility. 
• Congress outsources lawmaking to the executive branch. 
• Communities outsource compassion to agencies. 
• Parents outsource teaching values to institutions. 
• Citizens outsource critical thinking to curated social media feeds. 

And far too often, we outsource truth itself to voices that may be loud—but not always wise.

Rabbi Sacks also said, “Morality cannot be outsourced because it depends on each of us.” 

The Holocaust Museum reminds us that truth—like morality—must be studied, not streamed, learned, not assigned, and understood with the weight of history, not just the opinions of the moment.

The values our nation needs—moral clarity, historical understanding, a commitment to peace—can’t be manufactured by the government, or mass-produced by culture. They must be grown, like they always have been, in the cottage industries of family and community.

For my fourth, and final visit, I went to the National Museum of African American History and Culture. 

I did this because I believe unity begins with understanding. 

And like many Americans, I wasn’t raised with firsthand experience of the injustices faced by Black Americans, or Native Americans, or others who’ve endured the heavy burden of prejudice. 

I’ve come to understand that listening and learning are not one-time acts—they require humility, honesty, and a lifetime of commitment.

As I walked through the museum, I found myself thinking of—and hearing the voice of—my dear friend and former colleague, Congresswoman Mia Love. 

Mia broke barriers as the first Black Republican woman elected to Congress. She used her voice to lift and to call us to our better angels, and now Mia is one. At her funeral, her children read a final message she had written to the nation—words that deserve to be remembered.

Mia wrote: “Some have forgotten the math of America—whenever you divide, you diminish. The goodness and compassion of the American people is a multiplier that simply cannot be measured.”

She reminded us that America’s greatness doesn’t come from uniformity—it comes from unity. 

At a time when division too often drowns out decency, Mia’s words offer a roadmap back to our shared purpose—not based on race, status, or party, but on the simple truth that we are Americans.

My visit to the African American Museum also reaffirmed something I deeply believe: that as long as bigotry, discrimination, and unfair treatment still exist, we cannot claim to be united. 

To fully heal, somehow, America must learn the delicate dance of leaving things behind and at the same time never forgetting them. That is easy to say, hard to do—and together, we must do it.

For her courage and conviction, her voice, and vision for America—Mia absolutely belongs in the African American Museum—and even more, in the hearts of every American.

Thank you for joining me on that journey. We could spend days discussing the principles each of these sites contain. 

If we did—I would be on this floor longer than my friend and colleague, Senator Cory Booker. 

I do want to thank my Senate colleagues and the many citizens who have shared their lessons from these sacred places—your insights will guide me in my service.

In the short time I’ve had to travel my state since becoming a Senator, I’ve felt something clear and consistent—citizens want President Trump to be successful. Citizens also want Congress to work. Not just show up, not just argue—they want us to succeed. 

And I’ve said many times, I want both the President and this institution, the Senate, to be wildly successful. 

Sometimes, that desire requires us to be wildly honest—something that’s become all too rare in Washington. 

The way I see it, the odds of Congress delivering real results for the American people go up dramatically when we start telling each other the truth—not just behind closed doors, but out in the open, where the public can see, what I believe is their right to know.

Honest policy conversations on issues that are vital to the foundation of our future matter more than ever. 

I have spent most of my time in Congress focused on four major priorities that I believe deserve a fresh and honest look from all of us in the Senate.

1. Energy

So, let’s be honest—it’s time we talk more openly about the importance of clean energy. 

Consumers are asking for cleaner, more responsible energy choices. At the same time, we need to be realistic about the demands of powering a modern nation. Affordability matters. Reliability matters. And we must protect—not surrender—our energy independence.

President Trump has put America back on the right path when it comes to energy. 

I am convinced that a healthy economy and a healthier environment are not mutually exclusive—I actually believe they are compatible and inseparable.

The simple truth is that Americans want energy that is more affordable, reliable, and cleaner—and they deserve honest, common-sense policies that deliver all three. 

2. Local Communities

To my colleagues from the East, it may be hard to grasp just how deeply federal overreach affects daily life in Utah. 

In some counties, more than 90% of the land is owned and controlled—not by local leaders or communities—but by a distant federal government. 

That’s not theoretical; it’s the daily reality for much of the West.

I often say that the best environmentalists in the world are the farmers and ranchers of Utah. They hate it when I say that! But it is true because Utahns live closest to the land so we know it, we care for it, and we depend on it. 

We don’t want to be managed; we want to be trusted. We want stewardship, not control. 

I look forward to working with President Trump to restore local control and stewardship for the land we love.

3. China

For decades, we’ve operated under the hope that bringing China to the economic table—even as they stole intellectual property, cheated on labor practices, and manipulated trade—would lead them toward democracy.

Let’s be honest: it hasn’t. 

In fact, they’ve moved further away from our values. This isn’t just about trade or technology; it’s about national security, economic freedom, and a commitment to the rule of law. 

We need fact-based policies with meaningful and measurable consequences. It’s time to protect the American Dream—not subsidize the Chinese one.

4. Debt and Deficit

Here is some wildly honest, equal-opportunity offender talk: 

We—and I mean we, Democrats and Republicans—in this body are not being honest with the American people when we pretend that Social Security, Medicare, and Medicaid don’t need reform. 

And we are all equally dishonest when we weaponize fear—telling seniors that reform means abandonment. It doesn’t. It never has.

If we act now, we can protect those most in need, preserve these programs for future generations, and avoid the harsher consequences of doing nothing. It’s time to deliver sensible solutions and real results rather than just playing politics.

Utahns understand thrift, accountability, and the value of doing hard things.

It’s time Congress caught up with that wisdom. 

We can have an honest conversation about these challenges now—or we can be the ones who have to deliver the devastating, draconian, and harmful cuts that will inevitably come to our seniors if we don’t.

So, yes, I am convinced that honest conversations—received with humility—are what will make us truly successful as the United States Senate. 

And, our success as a nation depends on each of us—and all of us—in this chamber being unflinchingly honest and working together to make America wildly successful.

Fortunately, the Senate has provided each of us something to remind us of all the principles I have shared today.

The tradition of awarding pins to Members of the Senate began in 1965. 

At first glance, these pins may seem like little more than a way for security to wave us through buildings and checkpoints.

But as my colleague—the senior Senator from Utah—likes to joke, his pin is his “Sorry, Senator” pin. 

When Senator Lee was first elected, he looked more like a page than a senator. Whenever security stopped him, he’d simply point to his pin. The guard would inevitably reply, “Sorry, Senator—come on in.”

Maybe it’s my years in the jewelry business, but this little pin means much more. It’s crafted from 14K gold—the jeweler’s favorite. 

Pure gold, though beautiful, is too soft. It bends under pressure. 

But 14K gold strikes the right balance: beauty with strength and practicality. It’s a fitting symbol for our role here—strong, balanced, and practical.

Each morning, as I fasten it to my jacket, that gold reminds me of the standard we should uphold. 

And the tiny diamond? In the industry, we’d call it a “canardly diamond”—as in, you can hardly see it. 

But even the smallest diamond reflects light. That sparkle reminds me daily of our responsibility—to radiate the light of truth. We must be guided not by partisan squabbles, but by the simple truth.

I encourage my colleagues to occasionally pause and examine your pin. At its heart is the official Senate seal that is rich with symbolism—peace and strength, freedom protected by law, authority tempered by responsibility—all guided by the light of truth. 

The words ‘E Pluribus Unum’ on the pin remind us of unity, as well as that familiar image of sticks bound together. My grandmother Genevieve, by the way, established that bundle of sticks as the Curtis family’s pioneer symbol—a reminder that we are stronger when bound in unity. 

I hope that each of us as individual senators, and all of us collectively as the United States Senate, will strive to uphold the values reflected in this tiny yet powerful symbol—principles that have made Utah strong and America extraordinary.

Mr. President, with lessons learned from the principles found in important locations and sacred sites, let us commit to the values that unite us as a nation.

To my colleagues and friends, I hope you see these principles, not just in historic places, but in the spaces you walk and work in every day.

Together we can pursue a vision for America that continues to be as bold and audacious as our beginning—while delivering dignity, freedom, and opportunity for all.

Thank you, Mr. President. I yield back.

Background:

Courtesy of United States Senate:

From the Senate’s earliest days, new members have observed a tradition of remaining silent during floor debates for a period of time that ranged—depending on the era and the senator— from several months to several years. Bowing to this tradition, some senators believed that by waiting a respectful amount of time before giving their maiden speech they would earn the respect of senior members. Senior senators argued that the tradition taught junior colleagues the lesson of humility. Today, all that survives of this long-held Senate tradition is the special attention given to a member’s first major address. Typically, Senate leaders along with the senator’s senior colleague from his or her home state will be on hand to witness the speech, while the new senator’s family watches from the gallery. Maiden speeches remain an important milestone in Senate careers.