When Becoming author Michelle Obama and her husband Barack are whisked into the White House following his first presidential election, they are thrust into a world of luxury, one-of-a-kind experiences, and the unique privileges afforded a first family. However, Michelle emphasizes that with this ease comes an immense amount of responsibility. Despite the fact that many of their day-to-day worries are taken care of, Michelle makes it a point to stay grounded and above all to understand the political obligation that her family has to the American people. Thus, Michelle makes the case that while power like her family’s brings with it a great degree of privilege, it also comes with the weight of vast responsibility.
Michelle describes the many advantages and luxuries that her family is afforded when they arrive at the White House, illustrating the intimate link between power and privilege. Living in the White House immediately propels the family into a degree of luxury that they’ve never had before. Michelle writes, “I understood how lucky we were to be living this way. The master suite in the residence was bigger than the entirety of the upstairs apartment my family had shared when I was growing up on Euclid Avenue.” In addition to the sheer abundance of space, the Obamas have access to previously inaccessible levels of lavishness: Monet and Degas paintings hang on the walls of the White House; they have private cars and private planes (though mostly for safety); they stay with royalty on foreign trips; and their favorite foods are stocked in the kitchens. Additionally, they suddenly have a great deal of personnel helping them: staff members cater to their every need, such as cooking, cleaning, and shopping. Michelle makes an effort to stay humble amidst this luxury by getting to know the White House staff as much as she is able, acknowledging that it is necessary not to become too separate from the average American—her family owes Americans the responsibility of leading the country and considering the needs of citizens.
In particular, Michelle acknowledges a large responsibility that comes with all this privilege: the responsibility of staying safe. The White House, with all its amenities, is designed to keep the first family safe so that Barack is able to run the country effectively. This constant need for safety limits the Obamas’ freedom of movement. Michelle understands the necessity of these limitations, and though she and Malia and Sasha sometimes try to get the Secret Service to bend their rules, they acknowledge their personal duty to err on the side of safety and caution.
Michelle also recognizes a different kind of responsibility that comes with presidential privilege: the political and emotional responsibility they owe to the American people. Michelle and Barack are quickly initiated into coping with unthinkable disasters. Michelle recounts several in quick succession: an earthquake in Haiti; an oil rig explosion in the Gulf of Mexico; revolution in Egypt. In each of these cases, Barack (and sometimes Michelle) have to face the nation, “absorbing and responding to whatever came our country’s way.” They are thus responsible for addressing these disasters quickly on both an emotional level and a political one. Perhaps this responsibility is clearest when a shooter walks into Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut in 2012, killing twenty first-graders and six teachers. Barack and Michelle are both deeply affected by these events: as Michelle puts it, “staying upright after Newtown was probably the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.” Still, Barack understands that it is his responsibility to console a grieving nation and take steps to prevent these kinds of events from ever happening again: he champions gun control measures in the following months (though Congress does not pass this legislature).
Michelle finds that much of the time, she shoulders a sense of responsibility that matches Barack’s. Over her years at the White House, Michelle visits military hospitals where American troops are recovering from war. She is awed by the “fortitude and loyalty” that she encounters from veterans and their families, even after they have been gravely wounded. When she visits one man whose body has been severely burned, he tries to get out of bed even though he is clearly in agony. Michelle realizes that he is trying to salute his commander in chief’s wife. Feeling a responsibility toward this man and the many others that she meets, Michelle starts a program called Joining Forces along with Jill Biden, to help support the military community through finding them job opportunities, aiding with mental health, and helping colleges and universities better understand the needs of military children. Throughout, Michelle understands that alongside the privileges that come with the White House, she and Barack have a responsibility to all of the American people to help improve their lives in tangible ways, and she suggests that all forms of significant power also come with this same combination of privilege and responsibility.
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Power, Privilege, and Responsibility Quotes in Becoming
The issue was that I wasn’t used to flawless. In fact, I’d never once in my life encountered it. My experience of the piano came entirely from Robbie’s […] less-than-perfect upright, with its honky-tonk patchwork of yellowed keys and its conveniently chipped middle C. To me, that’s what a piano was—the same way my neighborhood was my neighborhood, my dad was my dad, my life was my life. It was all I knew.
I understood how lucky we were to be living this way. The master suite in the residence was bigger than the entirety of the upstairs apartment my family had shared when I was growing up on Euclid Avenue. There was a Monet painting hanging outside my bedroom door and a bronze Degas sculpture in our dining room. I was a child of the South Side, now raising daughters who slept in rooms designed by a high-end interior decorator and who could custom order their breakfast from a chef.
There are pieces of public life, of giving up one’s privacy to become a walking, talking symbol of a nation, that can seem specifically designed to strip away part of your identity. But here, finally, speaking to those girls, I felt something completely different and pure—an alignment of my old self with this new role. Are you good enough? Yes, you are, all of you. I told the students of Elizabeth Garrett Anderson that they’d touched my heart. I told them that they were precious, because they truly were. And when my talk was over, I did what was instinctive. I hugged absolutely every single girl I could reach.
We were taking on a huge issue, but now I had the benefit of operating from a huge platform. I was beginning to realize that all the things that felt odd to me about my new existence—the strangeness of fame, the hawkeyed attention paid to my image, the vagueness of my job description—could be marshaled in service of real goals. I was energized. Here, finally, was a way to show my full self.
Later that day, Barack held a press conference downstairs, trying to put together words that might add up to something like solace. He wiped away tears as news cameras clicked furiously around him, understanding that truly there was no solace to be had. The best he could do was to offer his resolve—something he assumed would also get taken up by citizens and lawmakers around the country—to prevent more massacres by passing basic, sensible laws concerning how guns were sold.
For me, becoming isn’t about arriving somewhere or achieving a certain aim. I see it instead as forward motion, a means of evolving, a way to reach continuously toward a better self. The journey doesn’t end. I became a mother, but I still have a lot to learn from and give to my children. I became a wife, but I continue to adapt to and be humbled by what it means to truly love and make a life with another person. I have become, by certain measures, a person of power, and yet there are moments still when I feel insecure or unheard.
