Michelle Obama: 'My Husband and I Are Proud of You - Very Proud!'

REMARKS BY THE FIRST LADY

AT THE MILITARY CHILD OF THE YEAR AWARD

Ritz Carlton Pentagon City

Arlington, Virginia

6:04 P.M. EDT

MRS. OBAMA: Thank you. Thank you so much. (Applause.) Thank you. Thank you all. Thank you so much. Please sit down. Thank you. And good evening, everyone. Let me tell you, it is a pleasure and an honor to be here tonight for the 2011 Military Child of the Year Award. These aren’t children, they’re young adults, but, you know, we know the difference.

I want to start by thanking Jim for that very kind introduction and for his leadership as CEO of Operation Homefront.

I also want to recognize the leaders from each of our services who are here tonight to present these awards: General Schwartz, General Dunford, Admiral Greenert, Lieutenant General William Troy, and Vice Admiral Sally Brice-O’Hara. Thank you all for your leadership and for your continued commitment to the families.

I also want to thank my partners in these efforts, some of them who are here: Deborah Mullen, Bonnie Amos, Susan Schwartz, and all of the other spouses who have been so supportive to me and to Jill. They have been partners with us every step of the way, and I love them like they are sisters. But I want to commend them for their championship, for their leadership for military families. Let’s give them a round of applause. (Applause.)

And finally, I want to thank everyone at Operation Homefront for the vital work that you all are doing for military families across the country, including hosting this beautiful event for the five outstanding young people that we’re honoring tonight.

As First Lady, I’ve had the privilege of welcoming the 2009 and 2010 Military Children of the Year Award recipients to the White House. I’ve had the chance to get to know those young people and to meet and know their families, and to be inspired by their sacrifice and their spirit and their strength.

And I’ve seen them up close. I’ve been proud to share their stories with people that I meet all across our country. And that’s why I wanted to be here tonight to be a part of honoring the five of you all, our 2011 Military Children of the Year.

Now, each of you young people already knows that your families are proud of you. You know that your communities are proud of you. Your parents’ services are proud of you. But tonight I want you to know that my husband and I are proud of you -- very proud.

We’re proud because we know about your strength and your resilience and your spirit. We know about your achievements in school -- they’re amazing. We know about the countless hours you’ve spent volunteering in your communities and caring for your families.

And I’m here tonight because I want our country to know about you all as well. I want our country to know about the five of you and about all the military kids and families all across this country.

Most folks in this country are already aware of the incredible sacrifices that your parents are making. We’re already in awe of our men and women in uniform. But we often lose sight of the fact that our Armed Forces is largely a force of families.

More than half of our active duty troops are married. And there are nearly 2 million American military children. And a lot of folks don’t realize that when our troops are called to serve, their families serve, too. A lot of folks simply don’t know the stories of our military families and their kids. They don’t know what it’s like to kiss Mom or Dad goodbye as they head off to war, and then have to go back to class, and do homework, and act like everything is fine.

They don’t know about all the missed soccer games and the missed prom nights and the missed shared daily moments -- the hugs, the bedtime stories, the meals with an empty seat at the table. They don’t know that every day, military kids are stepping up and helping to run the household and care for their families.

That’s what Nicole Goetz has been doing. When her little brother is feeling down, Nicole is the one who takes him to the movies and cheers him up. When he needs help with his homework, Nicole is the one who tutors him. And somehow, she’s managed to perform 500 hours of community service, earn a 4.0 GPA -- right about that? -- do all kinds of activities at school, and work a job as well. Sheesh. (Laughter.) You must be tired.

And I understand that Nicole’s dad, who I got to meet, Chief Master Sergeant Michael Goetz, has come all the way from Afghanistan to see Nicole get this award today. So let’s give him a round of applause. (Applause.)

And let’s remember that our military kids aren’t just shouldering extra responsibilities when their parents are deployed. They often continue to do so once Mom or Dad returns home, and everyone has to readjust and reconnect as a family figures out how to come together after those months away. And when a parent comes home wounded, the result can be a real role reversal. It can mean taking care of Mom or Dad who once took care of you; taking on responsibilities that would be overwhelming for most adults, let alone for most kids.

And that’s what Taylor Dahl-Sims -- Taylor, where’d you go? There you go. That’s what she did.

Now, Taylor already had plenty of experience with adult responsibilities. Her new baby brother was seriously injured at birth, and her house was flooded I think at the same time, all while her stepfather was on his fifth deployment.

So Taylor helped care for the baby. She helped clean up the house. And when her stepfather returned home with traumatic brain injury, going in and out of the hospital for most of that year, she stepped up again to help hold everything together.

So when we talk about service to our country, when we talk about all that sacrifice for a cause, when we talk about patriotism and courage and resilience, we’re not just talking about our troops and our veterans. We’re talking about our military families as well. We’re talking about military kids like the young people that we’re honoring here tonight. They play their own very unique role in keeping our country safe and preserving the freedoms that we all hold dear.

Their strength and support helps our troops serve and protect every last one of us. So I think it’s time for every last one of us to step up and show our gratitude for our military families. And that’s why, for the past two years, I’ve traveled this country meeting with military families and working to raise awareness of the incredible contributions that these families are making, and it’s why next week Jill Biden and I are launching a new nationwide campaign calling on every single American to honor, recognize, and support our military families. And our message is very clear: It’s that every American has the ability -- and the obligation -- to give something back to our military families.

Everybody can do something. Schools can work to better meet the needs of military kids. Businesses can make an effort to hire military spouses. Ordinary citizens can do something as simple as offering to shovel the snow, babysit, organize events in their communities to celebrate these families.

And in the coming months, Jill Biden and I will be traveling the country -- Jill’s a Blue Star mom herself -- and we’ll be highlighting the best businesses and nonprofits and community efforts, and we’re going to be doing everything that we can to tell the stories of our military families. And I think we could learn a thing or two from a couple of our honorees tonight.

Kyle Hoeye -- there’s Kyle right there, quite handsome young man -- (laughter) -- he’s taught hundreds of his peers how to make videos educating non-military kids about the challenges faced by military kids. He also speaks publicly about his own experiences as a military kid and works with his school’s Key Club to send personalized care packages to troops overseas.

Margaret Rochon -- Margaret, where did you go? There you go, there’s Margaret. She singlehandedly convinced six nationally recognized experts to come lead a seminar for teachers about the effects of PTSD on military families. And it was so successful that it’s now a yearly training requirement for all the teachers in her county. And by the way, Margaret also managed to find time to volunteer more than 500 hours in the community herself.

So when you think about everything that tonight’s honorees have done with their lives, you can’t help but begin to think twice about the title of this award, because while these five Military Children of the Year might be young people, they’ve each shown maturity and grace and wisdom far beyond their years.

And that’s certainly true of our last honoree, Melissa, Melissa Howland. There’s Melissa right there. Now, she was diagnosed with a serious blood disorder and hospitalized several times while her dad was deployed. And because of her illness, she had to quit the basketball team -- an activity that she loved. But instead of sitting around feeling sorry for herself, she decided -- and these are her words -- “You can’t go wrong giving back.” She then went on to volunteer nearly 500 hours for a dozen different causes.

So in the end, while our five honorees come from different places and they’ve taken different journeys to this moment, it’s clear that they share the same ethic of service that led their parents to enlist in our Armed Forces in the first place. It’s clear that they share the same desire to help others, to serve their country, and to do something meaningful with their time on this earth.

And tonight, let me tell you, I am proud and I am honored to be here to congratulate them and to thank them for all that they have contributed to their communities and to our nation. We are really, really amazed by everything you all are doing. And again, we want this country to know your stories. We want you to be shining examples to all other young people of how much you can get done with a little will, a little passion, and a little determination.

So you all keep doing what you’re doing, and we will keep supporting you. God bless you all. Thank you so much. (Applause.)

END 6:17 P.M. EDT

"Shelter Skelter"

The 30th Street Men's Shelter in lower Manhattan

Homeless Journalist Rips Bloomberg Over Abuse, Drugs & Rape in NYC Shelters

This article will shock and perhaps anger you. I truly hope that it does. I hope people will be so angry that they’ll finally wake up and realize that Mayor Michael Bloomberg, in his attempt to display New York City as “Emerald City”, is not only supporting the idea of one-way tickets for the homeless to get rid of them, he is blatantly ignoring dangerous situations and extremely unhealthy conditions within the city's shelter system. This is not hyperbole. This is a fact based on my decent into homelessness!

When explaining the Beatles classic song 'Helter Skelter', Sir Paul McCartney said he was using the symbol of a helter skelter to restructure the rock and roll sound. “It could be described as a ride from the top to the bottom—the rise and fall of the Roman Empire," said McCartney. Well, my fall began back in March of 2009. I was working a Staff Writer for “Felony Magazine” and as an account manager for a Brooklyn-based marketing and sales company called “Max Advance”. One day, completely out of the blue, both companies shut down without any warning, and I was left absolutely destitute. I didn’t even have time to look for another job before the axes fell. I couldn’t even file for unemployment because I hadn’t worked for either company long enough.

I scrambled to pick up gigs in and outside of journalism just to keep a roof over my head and food on the table, but the economic climate prevented that from ever happening. My family lives in different parts of the country and is having a tough time, too. Thus, living with them, even temporarily, was not an option. Dejected and embarrassed, I was forced onto the streets June 10 with no job prospects, no money and no hope.

I spent most nights walking from one end of uptown Manhattan to the other or riding the “A” or “E” train back and forth. Staying in one location for too long when you’re on the streets is dangerous, so I had to keep moving. I heard stories in the past about the city shelters, so I was a little reluctant to seek them out for assistance. Thus, I attempted to spend a few nights huddled in little, dark corners of buildings, particularly around 34^th Street and Penn Station. This is where the hell ride began.... and where I saw the worst in humanity.

In one example, a Port Authority (P.A.) police officer, who was of Asian decent, was cursing and threatening a frail, black woman who was clearly mentally ill and no more than 100 pounds soaking wet. “Get the fuck out of here before I put my foot in your ass”, said the officer, as the woman paced back and forth mumbling incoherently. The woman offered no resistance and continued to mumble as she made her way toward an exit. The officer, apparently not satisfied that she was moving fast enough, began to literally stalk her. The most alarming aspect was the fact that he put on his gloves and punched his palms as he followed her into a secluded section on the station. I have no idea what happened after that.

Another incident involved officers standing over sleeping vagrants and kicking them to wake them up. Some were grabbed, shoved and pushed into walls and told to exit the station. I would repeatedly pass groups of P.A. officers, who probably pegged me for homeless because of my knapsack and travel bags, and they’d glare at me as though I was a piece of shit. No “How are you, sir?” or anything in the way of a cordial response. One of them asked, “What are you looking at, asshole? Keep moving!” I just laughed and walked away. Now, I understand the Port Authority police have a job to do, but I couldn’t understand why people lacking their full mental capacity, or those like myself who were simply minding their own business, were treated so harshly or as though they were less than human.

After several days, I finally decided to go to a shelter because fatigue and hunger began to take a serious toll. I wearily made my way to 41^st Street and Ninth Avenue. The facility was called “The Open Door”, and the line of disheveled and displaced people, which consisted of military veterans, very young mothers and people recently released from prison or drug rehabilitation programs, seemed infinite. I was informed that all were waiting to be served dinner and that everyone would have to come back outside to line up and get a bed for the night. There was no guarantee you'd get a bed. The only guarantee was that the “bed line” would be three to four-times longer than the dinner line. That's what most of the veterans told me.

I sat on the ground watching young mothers nurse their children. Old men were nodding off as if in a drug-induced state, while others sold “loosie” cigarettes for fifty cents each. Tattooed gang-bangers brazenly stood in line making drug sales with police cars in close proximity. Watching them sell a myriad of drugs was one thing, but when the dealers and customers started “weeding up” in front of young children, that was more than I could take. I covered my nose, and one of the gang members took offense. “What? You got a problem, bitch? You got a fuckin' problem,” he yelled. “Yeah, I do. You need to smoke that somewhere away from these kids,” I proclaimed.” His homeboy walked over and said “My bad, son!” and they walked away.

There was no security to be found. I asked a man seated next to me about it, who happened to be wearing a U.S. Navy veteran cap, and he indicated there was never any security in front of the building. “They’re always inside. If you want to know the truth about it, they don’t and can’t protect anybody here,” he said. “You see that pregnant woman over there? Someone in the shelter raped her. That kind of thing happens all the time in these damn places. I’ve seen it, and it sickens me. All these young girls getting pregnant because they get raped,” the veteran continued. A 38-year-old woman seated a few feet away from us, who only wanted to be identified as “Cheena”, exhaled cigarette smoke and nodded in disgust and agreement.

“You got some crazy-ass, out of control people here, man. You got convicted murderers, gang members, mental patients, rapists and pedophiles mixed with members of the general population. That is a recipe for disaster,” said the man I dubbed “Old Navy”. “The shelters are the worst place for children because of what they see and what can happen to them. This is why people don’t want to go and would rather take their chances on the streets or subways,” he continued. It was at this point that the gang member returned and began to stare at me. Old Navy whispered in my ear. “Be careful, young man. Someone cut him in the food line two weeks ago, and he picked up one of those metal trashcans and hit the person in the head. Busted him wide open! The man needed 40 stitches to close the wound. I’m telling you, man. The shelters are a dangerous place. People have no idea.” The gang member walked over and deliberately brushed up against me. With 34 years of experience in Chinese martial arts, I confidently stated, “You touch me again and you’re going to the morgue.” He pulled out his cell phone and someone in line said, “Oh shit! It’s on now!” It was then that I realized horrid, tasteless, processed food the size of a “Lean Cuisine” meal wasn’t worth risking my life for, let alone a bed. I left The Open Door and never returned.

I spent several more nights on the trains before I ended up at the 30^th Street Men's Shelter on 29^th Street and First Avenue. Not surprisingly, the facility once served as Bellevue Psychiatric Hospital. Everything from the registration process to the administrators was in total disarray, and people would often spend 10 to 12 hours, usually crammed into a small room filled with the stench of bad hygiene and urine, just waiting to be processed or to receive what's known as an “overnight bed”. This is where I met “Eric”, a 21-year-old Caucasian and exceptionally gifted sketch artist from upstate New York struggling with substance abuse. “I came from a good family, man. My parents are wealthy as hell and gave me a lot of love. How I ended up on drugs and in a shit-hole like this is beyond me,” he said. In effort to clean himself up, he was making plans to regularly attend Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meetings.

“Joey”, 43, was an Italian construction worker and respected leader within one of the largest unions in the state. His manner of speaking made him seem as though he was straight out of “The Sopranos”. His wife, whom he always referred to as “the cunt”, had him arrested and banished him from their home after he drank a bottle of vodka and tried to attack her lover, a 23-year veteran of the New York City Police Department, with a machete. “That fuckin' cunt! She and that motherfucker are eating food I bought and having sex in my bed.... in a house that I'm still paying the fuckin' mortgage on. The cunt won't even let me talk to my 16-year-old daughter! It's fuckin' Father's Day, for Christ's sake,” he yelled. He, too, was making plans to go into rehab because he wanted to be able to spend quality time with his daughter and acquire work on a frequent basis.

“Black”, 28, was an electrician transplanted from the island of Jamaica. He was doing amateur porn films on the side to earn extra money after work dried up in his field. “I've made enough money to pay my way into the electrician's union. I did about five films, at $500 to $600 a pop, with some of the hottest female stars in the biz. I didn't fuck those bitches raw, though. I love to fuck, but I'm not stupid,” he said. “I'll be called for electrician's gigs in the coming weeks and I'll leave the porn biz. I just did it to make money to get into the union. Now, I'm out!” Several men inquired as to how they could take advantage of the offer, and Black provided them with an address and contact name for immediate work.

“Jim”, 51, was a former broker who lost everything in the Wall Street meltdown of AIG, Merrill Lynch and Bear-Sterns. Clinging tightly to his bags, he nervously looked around the room repeatedly, which was filled with black and Latino men. Someone broke into his locker during an overnight stay and stole his wallet. His clean-cut, Khaki pant, Bob Costas appearance completely jolted me because he didn't fit the description of those typically associated with homelessness. Then again, neither did I. The director of security indicated that they would do all they could to locate his property. Jim, apparently frustrated beyond words, wheeled his three suitcases through the front entrance and disappeared, while the director and members of his security team repeatedly joked about the situation and made fun of him.

“T-Rex”, 25, was a former member of the “The Bloods”. You could say he was born into it, since his father was a high-profile member and his mother swore allegiance to “The Latin Kings”. He was desperately trying to turn his life around by enrolling in the Doe Fund Inc's “Ready, Willing and Able” training and employment program. The shelter caseworkers provided referrals for the program, if they felt like it. T-Rex left the gang after fathering an infant daughter. He is expecting his second child soon. Thus, he plans to reunite with the mother of his children and provide a loving, safe and stable environment for his family.

I ultimately formed a unique bond with some of the men at the shelter, and it was from them, as well as frustrated and tenured shelter administrators, that I discovered many of the New York City shelters were just as appalling as the 30^th Street Men's Shelter: from the moldy, feces-smeared shower curtains and slimy, bacteria-filled shower floors....to the callous, rude and judgmental security personnel. To be honest, the security guards were in no position to judge anyone; not when they were openly using the word nigger and having sex with fellow guards and shelter residents! I literally saw male guards touching the breast, ass and vagina of the female guards. Now, let me stress that some of the guards understood that they were only one paycheck away from being in our position and had sympathy for us, but most of the wannabe cops acted like they were superior in every way to each homeless person they encountered, including me. I suspect they'll regret how they treated me and the others after this article goes public. Fuck'em!

Through it all, I constantly battled to keep my sanity. The countless restrictions that were enforced, such as not being able to use electrical outlets or appliances – even small radios or televisions - and 10 pm curfew created a prison-like atmosphere. Hardened criminals, murderers, gang-bangers and the mentally unstable were quick to confront you if you so much as looked at them the wrong way. This combustible cocktail was bad enough, but what made the situation worse was when the inner demons began ripping and devouring pieces of my self-esteem and faith in God. They often appeared at night to torment me. “You’re a sorry, worthless bastard! So what if you’ve helped hundreds of people with your news stories and features! So what if you've received commendations for journalism and community service from some of the most prominent government officials in the country! Look at you now! You’re a fuckin’ loser! Some of your closest friends have abandoned you because they’re embarrassed and ashamed of you. No woman will have your homeless, pathetic, broke ass!” These are some of the things the demons would say, but what kept me focused was the fact that I was going to have a major story to tell that thousands, if not millions, would want to hear once I left Bellevue, or, as I affectionately referred to it, “Hellview”. As I post this article, I pray that will still be the case.

After much procrastination and resistance, I filed for public assistance. They indicated they could find me decent housing through the New York City Housing Authority, but it wasn't guaranteed. There's an exceedingly long waiting list and single, “undomicled” men are not considered priority. I doubt they'll be in a hurry to find me anything after this article hits the Internet. I'll take my chances. I hated filing because I prefer to work, and I pray that I will be given an opportunity to expand my career in the field of journalism or scriptwriting. I don't want to be on public assistance or get caught up in its hellish system. I've been gainfully employed most of my adult life and feel as though I've taking a major step back for a man in his late 40’s. One of the employees at the Jamaica (Queens) Social Services office put everything in perspective for me after discovering I was a journalist and writer.

“This is only temporary, young man. I think God wants you to go through this. Who better to write about all this than a journalist? You’ve gone through the shelter and welfare system and have a mountain of evidence to prove it. The public needs to know these things are happening, and it's happening at facilities that provide these services nationwide. In New York, the Department of Social Services has reached a crisis point and we, as employees, have our hands tied,” she said. “We want to do so much more to help these people, but the system won't allow us to. Abuse is running rampant throughout the shelter system. I hear horror stories every single day. People are not safe! Bloomberg acts like everything is okay, but the fact is he and his people need to step up, stop doing so much for the wealthy and help those in need. Buying homeless people one-way tickets is not the answer,” she strongly proclaimed. “I don't expect him to fix everything in the shelter system, but I expect him to find ways to improve the system so people and families can feel safe and seek them out when they have no place else to go. Just imagine how many young, single mothers with babies are on the street right now because they fear the shelters! God willing, your story will force the mayor to open his damn eyes, set things in motion and implement some serious changes.”

I'm entering my seventh week of this ordeal, and I have no idea what fate awaits me in the coming days, weeks and months. I'm no longer at Hellview, but I'm still in a New York City shelter. The restrictions, as well as the asinine programs you're required to attend in order to qualify and maintain benefits through the Department of Social Services, are greatly affecting my ability to write and meet with people that could help me and my career. All I know is that I'm fighting a lonely battle to regain employment in or outside the profession I love, a place to call my own and a sense of peace. With that said, I would like to direct my closing statement to Mayor Michael Bloomberg and the members of his callous, oblivious and well-heeled administration.

Mr. Mayor, in many respects, you have been good for New York City. You now seek a third term, and while you have managed to gain quite a following in the city and abroad, now is the time to step up your ass up and prove that you are a mayor for all people and not just the wealthy. You cannot claim to be doing great things for the city of New York and all New Yorkers when people – particularly mothers with infant children – are forced to live among crack or heroin addicts....or raped and impregnated in your shelters. Cut the bullshit! You're a tough man, Mr. Mayor, but I seriously doubt you would be able to tolerate the streets, a city shelter or the E train for several nights. In fact, I'm issuing a public challenge for you to try living in a city shelter for three days, without any special treatment or assistance from your staffers, in order to have a complete understanding of what desperation and homelessness are all about. Do you have the billion-dollar balls to do it? It's hell, and it's no damn joke, Mr. Mayor. Take it from someone who has become the latest addition to the homeless population in “Bloom-Town”.

Photo credit: Flickr

Author: edenpictures