I secretly want to be president. Well, at least my roommate thinks so—something to do with all the government courses I’m taking.

Of course, if he were right, I wouldn’t be alone. More than one politico running for Undergraduate Council last semester didn’t bother keeping their political ambitions secret. And the honest ones are just the tip of the iceberg. In an interview, UC president Andrea R. Flores ’10 said, “You ally yourself to people. It takes a year or so to reveal why they’re really doing it. We’re all doing it because we want to be senator and governor and president.”

Flores herself wants to be governor of New Mexico, and she’s not shy about it. She has no reason to be. Most of us are guilty of it—planning our college careers always with a mind toward that high-rise office or that Nobel Prize. It’s why we’re here, isn’t it?

Michelle Obama never thought so. The passion she has always exhibited for her work, regardless of the recognition it promises, is one that few politicians can match. For that reason, Michelle is more important than her quick-witted quips and J. Crew-clad deportment might suggest. She’s walking proof that our most important heroes often shun both the podium and the history books, working one day and one cause at a time.

At Princeton, she wanted to change the world just as much as any college liberal, but she didn’t run for student government. Instead, she spearheaded a literacy program for people in the local community. And, at Harvard, Michelle was never president of the Law Review, but, through a minority recruiting program, she did give numerous undergraduates the chance to study here.

“For her, politics wasn’t so much about being inspirational as it was being practical—about getting something specific done,” one of her former professors told Newsweek. “She was not trying to get ahead.”

But Michelle can be more than a role model for aspiring social activists. The President too has always described his wife as his “rock”: the one who insists staunchly that, in the midst of roaring crowds and political logrolling, he remain focused the principles he’s been fighting for. At the same time, she works hard to keep the rock-star-in-chief’s feet on the ground. After the startling loss in New Hampshire during the primaries, she reportedly remarked to the campaign team, “We need to send a message to all our supporters to not take a single thing for granted.”

Now that she’s first lady, I hope that Mrs. Obama can make the pragmatism that she had on the campaign trail contagious, reminding all Americans, as she does Barack, that high-flying oratory can only take us so far. The president is a powerful symbol, but he will not be the one to lift us out of the recession. To do that, we will need talent and shrewd leadership in thousands of places that are far from the spotlight.

Don’t get me wrong: America needs its fearless leaders, and Harvard graduates are justifiably trusted to fill the nation’s most influential positions. At the same time, more bids for power have been spurred by the desire for recognition than the drive to change people’s lives for the better. The result is a dearth of talent in the places where no prestige comes with it. To this end, Michelle Obama has been an inspiring example.

Michelle will neither relegate herself to a nonchalant homemaker nor presume to play the policymaker. Whatever balance she strikes between the two extremes, her lower-profile, more direct initiative is a welcome departure from the Armani-clad Harvard students who flock to the IOP’s liaison program, hoping to cultivate whatever connections might give them a rung up on the political ladder a few years down the road. No matter what cause she chooses to devote herself to, I hope that all Americans, especially Harvardians, pay special attention—sometimes the people most deserving of praise fly below the radar.


Sean R. Ouellette ’12, a Crimson editorial writer, lives in Straus Hall.