Thank you
all. Thank you so much. Let’s let our graduates rest themselves.
You’ve worked hard for those seats!
Let me
start by thanking President Johnson for that very gracious
introduction, and for awarding me with this honorary degree from an
extraordinary institution. I am proud to have this degree -- very
proud. Thank you. Thank you so much.
I want to
recognize Major General Williams; Congresswoman Sewell; Zachary;
Kalauna; to all of the trustees, the faculty, the staff here at
Tuskegee University. Thank you -- thank you so much for this warm
welcome, this tremendous hospitality. And I'm so glad to be here.
Before I
begin, I just want to say that my heart goes out to everyone who
knew and loved
Eric Marks, Jr. I understand he
was such a talented young man, a promising aerospace engineer who
was well on his way to achieving his dream of following in the
footsteps of the
Tuskegee Airmen. And Eric was
taken from us far too soon. And our thoughts and prayers will
continue to be with his family, his friends, and this entire
community.
I also have
to recognize the Concert Choir. Wow, you guys are good! Well done!
Beautiful song. And I have to join in recognizing all the
folks up in the stands -- the parents, siblings, friends -- so many
others who have poured their love and support into these graduates
every step of the way. Yeah, this is your day. Your day.
Now, on
this day before Mother’s Day, I’ve got to give a special shout-out
to all the moms here. Yay, moms! And I want you to consider
this as a public service announcement for anyone who hasn’t bought
the flowers or the cards or the gifts yet -- all right? I’m trying
to cover you. But remember that one rule is “keep mom
happy.” All right?
And
finally, most of all, I want to congratulate the men and women of
the
Tuskegee University Class of
2015! T-U!
Audience: You know!
First Lady Obama: I love that. We
can do that all day. I'm so proud of you all. And you
look good. Well done!
You all
have come here from all across the country to study, to learn, maybe
have a little fun along the way -- from freshman year in Adams or
Younge Hall -- to those late night food runs to The Coop. I did my research. To those mornings you woke up early
to get a spot under The Shed to watch the Golden Tigers play. Yeah! I've been watching! At the White House we have
all kinds of ways.
And whether
you played sports yourself, or sang in the choir, or played in the
band, or joined a fraternity or sorority -- after today, all of you
will take your spot in the long line of men and women who have come
here and distinguished themselves and this university.
You will
follow alums like many of your parents and grandparents, aunts and
uncles -- leaders like
Robert Robinson Taylor, a
groundbreaking architect and administrator here who was recently
honored on a postage stamp. You will follow heroes like
Dr.
Boynton Robinson -- who survived the billy clubs and the
tear gas of
Bloody Sunday in Selma. The story
of Tuskegee is full of stories like theirs -- men and women who came
to this city, seized their own futures, and wound up shaping the arc
of history for African Americans and all Americans.
And I’d
like to begin today by reflecting on that history -- starting back
at the time when the Army chose Tuskegee as the site of its airfield
and flight school for black pilots.
Back then,
black soldiers faced all kinds of obstacles. There were the
so-called scientific studies that said that black men’s brains were
smaller than white men’s. Official Army reports stated that black
soldiers were “childlike,” “shiftless,” “unmoral and untruthful,”
and as one quote stated, “if fed, loyal and compliant.”
So while
the Airmen selected for this program were actually highly educated
-- many already had college degrees and pilots licenses -- they were
presumed to be inferior. During training, they were often assigned
to menial tasks like housekeeping or landscaping. Many suffered
verbal abuse at the hands of their instructors. When they ventured
off base, the white sheriff here in town called them “boy” and
ticketed them for the most minor offenses. And when they finally
deployed overseas, white soldiers often wouldn’t even return their
salutes.
Just think
about what that must have been like for those young men. Here they
were, trained to operate some of the most complicated, high-tech
machines of their day -- flying at hundreds of miles an hour, with
the tips of their wings just six inches apart. Yet when they hit
the ground, folks treated them like they were nobody -- as if their
very existence meant nothing.
Now, those
Airmen could easily have let that experience clip their wings. But
as you all know, instead of being defined by the discrimination and
the doubts of those around them, they became one of the most
successful pursuit squadrons in our military. They went
on to show the world that if black folks and white folks could fight
together, and fly together, then surely -- surely -- they could eat
at a lunch counter together. Surely their kids could go to school
together.
You see,
those Airmen always understood that they had a “double duty” -- one
to their country and another to all the black folks who were
counting on them to pave the way forward. So for those
Airmen, the act of flying itself was a symbol of liberation for
themselves and for all African Americans.
One of
those first pilots, a man named
Charles DeBow, put it this way. He
said that a takeoff was -- in his words -- “a never-failing miracle”
where all “the bumps would smooth off… [you’re] in the air… out of
this world… free.”
And when he
was up in the sky, Charles sometimes looked down to see black folks
out in the cotton fields not far from here -- the same fields where
decades before, their ancestors as slaves. And he knew that he was
taking to the skies for them -- to give them and their children
something more to hope for, something to aspire to.
And in so
many ways, that never-failing miracle -- the constant work to rise
above the bumps in our path to greater freedom for our brothers and
sisters -- that has always been the story of African Americans here
at Tuskegee.
Just think
about the arc of this university’s history. Back in the late 1800s,
the school needed a new dormitory, but there was no money to pay for
it. So
Booker T. Washington pawned his
pocket watch to buy a kiln, and students used their bare hands to
make bricks to build that dorm -- and a few other buildings along
the way.
A few years
later, when George Washington Carver first came here for his
research, there was no laboratory. So he dug through trash piles
and collected old bottles, and tea cups, and fruit jars to use in
his first experiments.
Generation
after generation, students here have shown that same grit, that same
resilience to soar past obstacles and outrages -- past the threat of
countryside lynchings; past the humiliation of Jim Crow; past the
turmoil of the Civil Rights era. And then they went on to become
scientists, engineers, nurses and teachers in communities all across
the country -- and continued to lift others up along the way.
And while
the history of this campus isn’t perfect, the defining story of
Tuskegee is the story of rising hopes and fortunes for all African
Americans.
And now,
graduates, it’s your turn to take up that cause. And let me tell
you, you should feel so proud of making it to this day. And I hope
that you’re excited to get started on that next chapter. But I also
imagine that you might think about all that history, all those
heroes who came before you -- you might also feel a little pressure,
you know -- pressure to live up to the legacy of those who came
before you; pressure to meet the expectations of others.
And believe
me, I understand that kind of pressure. I’ve experienced a little
bit of it myself. You see, graduates, I didn’t start out as the
fully-formed First Lady who stands before you today. No, no, I had
my share of bumps along the way.
Back when
my husband first started campaigning for President, folks had all
sorts of questions of me: What kind of First Lady would I be? What
kinds of issues would I take on? Would I be more like Laura Bush,
or Hillary Clinton, or Nancy Reagan? And the truth is, those same
questions would have been posed to any candidate’s spouse. That’s
just the way the process works. But, as potentially the first
African American First Lady, I was also the focus of another set of
questions and speculations; conversations sometimes rooted in the
fears and misperceptions of others. Was I too loud, or too angry,
or too emasculating? Or was I too soft, too much of a mom, not
enough of a career woman?
Then there
was the first time I was on a magazine cover -- it was a cartoon
drawing of me with a huge afro and machine gun. Now, yeah, it was
satire, but if I’m really being honest, it knocked me back a bit.
It made me wonder, just how are people seeing me.
Or you
might remember the on-stage celebratory fist bump between me and my
husband after a primary win that was referred to as a “terrorist
fist jab.” And over the years, folks have used plenty of
interesting words to describe me. One said I exhibited “a little
bit of uppity-ism.“ Another noted that I was one of my husband’s
“cronies of color.” Cable news once charmingly referred to me as
“Obama’s Baby Mama.”
And of
course, Barack has endured his fair share of insults and slights.
Even today, there are still folks questioning
his citizenship.
And all of
this used to really get to me. Back in those days, I had a lot of
sleepless nights, worrying about what people thought of me,
wondering if I might be hurting my husband’s chances of winning his
election, fearing how my girls would feel if they found out what
some people were saying about their mom.
But
eventually, I realized that if I wanted to keep my sanity and not
let others define me, there was only one thing I could do, and that
was to have faith in God’s plan for me. I had to ignore
all of the noise and be true to myself -- and the rest would work
itself out.
So
throughout this journey, I have learned to block everything out and
focus on my truth. I had to answer some basic questions for
myself: Who am I? No, really, who am I? What do I care about?
And the
answers to those questions have resulted in the woman who stands
before you today. A woman who is, first and foremost, a
mom. Look, I love our daughters more than anything in
the world, more than life itself. And while that may not be the
first thing that some folks want to hear from an Ivy-league educated
lawyer, it is truly who I am. So for me, being
Mom-in-Chief is, and always will be, job number one.
Next, I’ve
always felt a deep sense of obligation to make the biggest impact
possible with this incredible platform. So I took on issues
that were personal to me -- issues like helping families raise
healthier kids, honoring the incredible military families I’d met on
the campaign trail, inspiring our young people to value their
education and finish college.
Now, some
folks criticized my choices for not being bold enough. But these
were my choices, my issues. And I decided to tackle them in the way
that felt most authentic to me -- in a way that was both substantive
and strategic, but also fun and, hopefully, inspiring.
So I
immersed myself in the policy details. I worked with Congress on
legislation, gave speeches to CEOs, military generals and Hollywood
executives. But I also worked to ensure that my efforts would
resonate with kids and families -- and that meant doing things in a
creative and unconventional way. So, yeah, I planted a garden, and
hula-hooped on the White House Lawn with kids. I did some Mom
Dancing on TV. I celebrated military kids with Kermit the Frog. I
asked folks across the country to wear their alma mater’s T-shirts
for College Signing Day.
And at the
end of the day, by staying true to the me I’ve always known, I found
that this journey has been incredibly freeing. Because no matter
what happened, I had the peace of mind of knowing that all of the
chatter, the name calling, the doubting -- all of it was just noise.
It did not define me. It didn’t change who I was. And most
importantly, it couldn’t hold me back. I have learned that as long
as I hold fast to my beliefs and values -- and follow my own moral
compass -- then the only expectations I need to live up to are my
own.
So,
graduates, that’s what I want for all of you. I want you all to
stay true to the most real, most sincere, most authentic parts of
yourselves. I want you to ask those basic questions: Who do you
want to be? What inspires you? How do you want to give back? And
then I want you to take a deep breath and trust yourselves to chart
your own course and make your mark on the world.
Maybe it
feels like you’re supposed to go to law school -- but what you
really want to do is to teach little kids. Maybe your parents are
expecting you to come back home after you graduate -- but you’re
feeling a pull to travel the world. I want you to listen to those
thoughts. I want you to act with both your mind, but also your
heart. And no matter what path you choose, I want you to make sure
it’s you choosing it, and not someone else.
Because
here’s the thing -- the road ahead is not going to be easy. It
never is, especially for folks like you and me. Because while we’ve
come so far, the truth is that those age-old problems are stubborn
and they haven’t fully gone away. So there will be times, just like
for those Airmen, when you feel like folks look right past you, or
they see just a fraction of who you really are.
The world
won’t always see you in those caps and gowns. They won’t know how
hard you worked and how much you sacrificed to make it to this day
-- the countless hours you spent studying to get this diploma, the
multiple jobs you worked to pay for school, the times you had to
drive home and take care of your grandma, the evenings you gave up
to volunteer at a food bank or organize a campus fundraiser. They
don't know that part of you.
Instead
they will make assumptions about who they think you are based on
their limited notion of the world. And my husband and I know how
frustrating that experience can be. We’ve both felt the sting of
those daily slights throughout our entire lives -- the folks who
crossed the street in fear of their safety; the clerks who kept a
close eye on us in all those department stores; the people at formal
events who assumed we were the “help” -- and those who have
questioned our intelligence, our honesty, even our love of this
country.
And I know
that these little indignities are obviously nothing compared to what
folks across the country are dealing with every single day -- those
nagging worries that you’re going to get stopped or pulled over for
absolutely no reason; the fear that your job application will be
overlooked because of the way your name sounds; the agony of sending
your kids to schools that may no longer be separate, but are far
from equal; the realization that no matter how far you rise in life,
how hard you work to be a good person, a good parent, a good citizen
-- for some folks, it will never be enough.
And all of
that is going to be a heavy burden to carry. It can feel
isolating. It can make you feel like your life somehow doesn’t
matter -- that you’re like the
Invisible Man that Tuskegee
grad
Ralph Ellison wrote about all those
years ago. And as we’ve seen over the past few years, those
feelings are real. They’re rooted in decades of structural
challenges that have made too many folks feel frustrated and
invisible. And those feelings are playing out in communities
like Baltimore and Ferguson and so many others across this country.
But,
graduates, today, I want to be very clear that those feelings are
not an excuse to just throw up our hands and give up. Not an excuse. They are not an excuse to lose hope. To succumb to
feelings of despair and anger only means that in the end, we lose.
But here’s
the thing -- our history provides us with a better story, a better
blueprint for how we can win. It teaches us that when we pull
ourselves out of those lowest emotional depths, and we channel our
frustrations into studying and organizing and banding together --
then we can build ourselves and our communities up. We can take on
those deep-rooted problems, and together -- together -- we can
overcome anything that stands in our way.
And the
first thing we have to do is vote. Hey, no, not just once in a
while. Not just when my husband or somebody you like is on the
ballot. But in every election at every level, all of the time.
Because here is the truth -- if you want to have a say in your
community, if you truly want the power to control your own destiny,
then you’ve got to be involved. You got to be at the table.
You’ve got to vote, vote, vote, vote. That’s it; that's the
way we move forward. That’s how we make progress for ourselves and
for our country.
That’s
what’s always happened here at Tuskegee. Think about those students
who made bricks with their bare hands. They did it so that others
could follow them and learn on this campus, too. Think about that
brilliant scientist who made his lab from a trash pile. He did it
because he ultimately wanted to help sharecroppers feed their
families. Those Airmen who rose above brutal discrimination -- they
did it so the whole world could see just how high black folks could
soar. That’s the spirit we’ve got to summon to take on the
challenges we face today.
And you
don’t have to be President of the United States to start addressing
things like poverty, and education, and lack of opportunity.
Graduates, today -- today, you can mentor a young person and make
sure he or she takes the right path. Today, you can volunteer at an
after-school program or food pantry. Today, you can help your
younger cousin fill out her college financial aid form so that she
could be sitting in those chairs one day. But just like
all those folks who came before us, you’ve got to do something to
lay the groundwork for future generations.
That pilot
I mentioned earlier -- Charles DeBow -- he didn’t rest on his
laurels after making history. Instead, after he left the Army, he
finished his education. He became a high school English teacher and
a college lecturer. He kept lifting other folks up through
education. He kept fulfilling his “double duty” long after he hung
up his uniform.
And,
graduates, that’s what we need from all of you. We need you to
channel the magic of Tuskegee toward the challenges of today. And
here’s what I really want you to know -- you have got everything you
need to do this. You’ve got it in you. Because even if you’re
nervous or unsure about what path to take in the years ahead, I want
you to realize that you’ve got everything you need right now to
succeed. You’ve got it.
You’ve got
the knowledge and the skills honed here on this hallowed campus.
You’ve got families up in the stands who will support you every step
of the way. And most of all, you’ve got yourselves -- and all of
the heart, and grit, and smarts that got you to this day.
And if you
rise above the noise and the pressures that surround you, if you
stay true to who you are and where you come from, if you have faith
in God’s plan for you, then you will keep fulfilling your duty to
people all across this country. And as the years pass, you’ll feel
the same freedom that Charles DeBow did when he was taking off in
that airplane. You will feel the bumps smooth off. You’ll take
part in that “never-failing miracle” of progress. And you’ll be
flying through the air, out of this world -- free.
God bless
you, graduates.
I can’t
wait to see how high you soar.
Love you
all. Very proud.
Thank you.
(Nguon: Americanrhetoric.com- E&J Cafe ST&TH)
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