their community. Even after the horror of Newtown, Congress appeared
determined to block any measure that could help keep guns out of the wrong
hands, with legislators more interested in collecting campaign donations from the
National Rifle Association than they were in protecting kids. Politics was a mess,
I said. On this front, I had nothing terribly uplifting or encouraging to say.
I went on, though, to make a different pitch, one that came directly from
my South Side self. Use school, I said.
These kids had just spent an hour telling me stories that were tragic and
unsettling, but I reminded them that those same stories also showed their
persistence, self-reliance, and ability to overcome. I assured them that they already
had what it would take to succeed. Here they were, sitting in a school that was
offering them a free education, I said, and there were a whole lot of committed
and caring adults inside that school who thought they mattered. About six weeks
later, thanks to donations from local businesspeople, a group of Harper students
would come to the White House, to visit with me and Barack personally, and
also spend time at Howard University, learning what college was about. I hoped
that they could see themselves getting there.
I will never pretend that words or hugs from a First Lady alone can turn
somebody’s life around or that there’s any easy path for students trying to
navigate everything that those kids at Harper were dealing with. No story is that
simple. And of course, every one of us sitting in the library that day knew this.
But I was there to push back against the old and damning narrative about being a
black urban kid in America, the one that foretold failure and then hastened its
arrival. If I could point out those students’ strengths and give them some glimpse
of a way forward, then I would always do it. It was a small difference I could
make.