Being young and making an impact

My mom is a strong black woman

who raised her kids to have
the same sense of strength and pride.

This spirit was epitomized
by a single wall

in our small, two-bedroom apartment
on the South Side of Chicago.

Two pictures hung proudly:

one larger-than-life photo
of my siblings and I

and the other a picture of my mom

at 12 years old

staring into the eyes
of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

When I was younger,
I used to stand on my tippy-toes,

stare at that picture,

close my eyes tightly,
and just pretend that it was me

gazing up at the man who revolutionized
the Civil Rights Movement,

who marched on Washington
and who transformed a generation

by his words, "I have a dream."

But I did get to meet him.

Now, obviously, I didn't meet Dr. King,

but I met a man named Dr. Vincent Harding.

He worked with Dr. King from day one

and even wrote some of his
most iconic speeches.

You see, this was a really
important moment for me as a kid,

because it was the first time
that I realized

that it wasn't just Dr. King
who led this revolution,

but he was surrounded by a movement
made up of anonymous extraordinaries.

Anonymous extraordinaries are people
who work selflessly and vigorously

for what they believe in,

people who are motivated by conviction
and not recognition.

It took me a long time to realize
the significance of this moment,

until I was much older.

And like I said, I grew up in Chicago.

I grew up in a rough, poor neighborhood,

but it didn't really matter to me as kid

because I literally have
the most incredible family in the world.

Two things that I did
struggle with a lot

growing up was one --

that my dad has been sick my whole life.

He suffers from Parkinson's
and pancreatitis,

and as a kid, it was so hard
for me to watch my hero

in so much pain.

And my other issue was with me.

I guess you could say
I had an identity crisis.

I had to move four times
during high school,

and my freshman year I went
to an extremely racist high school.

Kids were so cruel.

They gave us hate letters,

wrote terrible things on our lockers

and because I'm biracial,
they would tell me,

"You can't be both.
You have to choose, black or white."

And in the end
I just resented being either.

And then all of a sudden,
my senior year rolls around, 2008,

and being mixed, being racially
ambiguous is this new cool fad,

like, "Natalie, now it's OK
for you to like you. You're pretty now."

I was over it. I was tired of caring
about what other people thought

and I just wanted to hurry up,

go through my classes,
whatever school I was going to be at next,

and graduate.

It wasn't until I was 17

and I saw a film
called "Invisible Children"

that something happened.

Child soldiers,

children as young as my nephews

being abducted,
given AK-47s and forced to kill,

not just anyone, but oftentimes
forced to kill their own parents,

their own siblings --

a rebel army committing mass murder
for no political or religious reason,

just because.

25 years.

25 years this conflict has been going on.

I'm 20 years old,

so that makes this conflict
five years older than me.

One man,

one man with one charismatic voice,

started this whole thing.

His name is Joseph Kony.

When I saw this film, something happened.

Something started
kind of stirring inside of me,

and I couldn't identify what it was.

I didn't know if it was rage,
if it was pity,

if I felt guilty
because this was the first time

I'd heard about a 25-year-long war.

I couldn't even give it a name.

All I knew is that it kicked me off my ass
and I started asking questions.

What do I do? What can one 17-year-old do?

You've got to give me something.

And they gave me something.

The founders and filmmakers
at Invisible Children told me

that there was this bill,

that if we could
just get this bill passed,

it would do two things:
one, it would apprehend Joseph Kony

and the top commanders in his rebel army,

and two, it would provide funding
for the recovery of these regions

that had been devastated
by 25 years of war.

And I was like, done. Let me at it.

I swear I will do whatever I can
to make this happen.

So myself and 99 other
idealistic 18- to 20-year-olds

hopped on a plane to intern
in San Diego with Invisible Children.

I was postponing college.
We weren't getting paid for this

and you could call it irresponsible
or crazy -- my parents did.

But for us, it would have been
insane not to go.

We all felt this urgency,
and we would do whatever it took

to pass this bill.

So we were given our first task.

We were going to plan an event called
the Rescue of Joseph Kony's Child Soldiers

where participants would come
in a hundred cities worldwide

and rally in their city center

until a celebrity or a political figure

came and used their voice
on behalf of these child soldiers,

and at that point each city was "rescued."

But the catch was, we weren't
leaving the cities until we were rescued.

I was given Chicago and nine other cities

and I told my bosses, I was like,

"If we're going for big-name people,
why not go for the queen bee? Right?

Why not go for Oprah Winfrey?"

They thought I was a little idealistic,
but I mean, we were trying to think big.

We were doing an impossible thing,

so why not try to reach
more impossible things?

And so we had from January
to April to get this done.

This is the number of hours
that I spent on logistics,

from getting permits
to rallying participants

and finding venues.

This is the number of times
that I was rejected

by celebrities' agents
or politicians' secretaries.

That is amount of money
that I spent personally

on Red Bull and Diet Coke
to stay awake during this movement.

(Laughter)

You can judge me if you want to.

That is my hospital bill
from the kidney infection I got

from an overconsumption of caffeine
due to this event.

(Laughter)

These were just some
of the ridiculous things that we did

to try and pull this event off.

And so April 21 rolls around
and the event begins.

A hundred cities around the world.
They were beautiful.

Six days later, all the cities
were rescued but one:

Chicago.

So we were waiting in the city.

People started coming
from all over the world,

all over the country to be reinforcements

and join their voice with ours.

And finally, on May 1,

we wrapped ourselves around Oprah's studio

and we got her attention.

This is a clip from a film
called "Together We Are Free"

documenting the rescue event
and my attempt to get Oprah.

(Video) Oprah Winfrey:
When I drove into the office,

there was a giant -- when you came in,
was there a group outside?

Crowd: Yes.

OW: Holding up signs
asking if I would talk to them

for just five minutes,

so I was happy to do so.

And they are with a group
called "Invisible Children,"

and I told this group outside

that I'd give them a minute
to state their case.

Man: Oprah, thank you
so much for having us.

Basically, these folks out here
have seen the story of 30,000 children

abducted by a rebel leader
named Joseph Kony.

And they're out here in solidarity,

and they have been out here for six days.

This started 100,000 people worldwide.

Now it's down to 500 standing strong

so that you can raise
the profile of this issue

and we can end the longest-running
war in Africa and rescue those kids

that are child soldiers
still in East Africa.

Oprah, I have to say
this girl Natalie here,

she's 18 years old.

She was an intern for us this year,

and she said, "My one goal
is to get Oprah."

She had 2,000 people come out on Saturday,

but it rained.

She stood here in the rain with 50 people.

When they heard she was here,
hundreds started coming.

People are here from Mexico, Australia.

Natalie's 18.

Don't think you're too young.

You can change the world any day.

Start now.

Start today.

(Cheers)

Man: Was it worth it?

Crowd: Yeah!

Natalie! Natalie! Natalie!

(Music)

Together we are free!
Together we are free!

(Applause)

So you would think
that this is the moment in my life,

the pinnacle that
made me an extraordinary.

And it was an awesome moment.

I mean, I was on top of the world.

Ten million people
watched the "Oprah Winfrey Show."

But looking back, that wasn't it.

Don't get me wrong.

Like I said, it was great moment.

It made for a heck of a profile picture
on Facebook for a week.

(Laughter)

But I had been extraordinary all along,

and I wasn't alone.

You see, even though
my story was featured in this film,

I was just one of a hundred interns

who worked their tails off
to make this happen.

I'm up in the air,

but the guy that I'm sitting
on his shoulders,

he's my best friend.

His name is Johannes Oberman

and Johannes worked with me
from day one in Chicago,

just as long hours,
just as many sleepless nights as I did.

The girl on the right,
her name's Bethany Bylsma.

Bethany planned New York City and Boston,

and they were seriously
the most beautiful events that we held.

The girl on the left, her name's Colleen.

Colleen moved to Mexico,

moved, for three months,

to plan five events there,

only to be kicked out
the day before the events

because of the swine flu.

And then there was this family.

This family, they didn't
get to come to the rescue.

They couldn't make it out,

but they ordered
a hundred boxes of pizza for us,

delivered them to the corner
of Michigan and Randolph

where we were all silently protesting.

You see, it was people like this
doing whatever they could,

simultaneously, single-mindedly,

without a care to who was watching,

that made this happen.

It wasn't about us getting on Oprah,

because when I got down
from their shoulders,

the war hadn't ended.

It was about that bill.

Oprah was just a checkpoint
on the way to that bill.

That bill was the point.

That bill is what we had
our eyes set on from day one.

That was going to help us
end Africa's longest-running war.

And that is what brought
a hundred thousand people

out to the rescue event
from around the world.

And it paid off:

10 days after we were on Oprah,

the bill was introduced into Congress.

A year after that, it got unanimously

267 cosponsors in Congress.

And then one week after that,

President Obama signed our bill into law.

(Applause)

And none of us interns got to be there.

We didn't get to be there in this moment.

Our founders were there.

They're the guys
cheesing in the background.

But that moment right there
is what made all of it worth it.

It's what a hundred thousand
anonymous extraordinaries

worked for so hard to make that happen.

You know, the Oprah moments,

they prove that the supposedly
impossible can be done.

They inspire us.
They boost our confidence.

But the moment isn't a movement.

Even a lot of those moments
strung together don't fuel a movement.

What fuels a movement are
the anonymous extraordinaries behind it.

You know, for me, what kept me
pushing on through the rescue

was the thought of those child soldiers.

It became personal.
I was able to go to Africa at one point.

I met these incredible people.

I have friends that have been
living in this conflict their entire life,

and it was personal to me.

But that doesn't have to be
what drives you.

You know, you may want
to be the next Shepard Fairey

or the next JK Rowling

or the next whoever.

It doesn't matter, but whatever you want,

chase after it
with everything that you have --

not because of the fame or the fortune,

but solely because
that's what you believe in,

because that's what makes your heart sing.

That's what your dance is.

That's what is going
to define our generation,

when we start chasing and fighting
after the things that we love

and that we want to fight for.

I cared too much in high school
about what people thought about me.

That's what so awesome
about this conference,

is so many of you are so young.

Find that thing that inspires you
that you love, and just chase after it.

You know, fight for that,

because that is what
is going to change this world

and that is what defines us.

Despite what people think,

my Oprah moments,
my being on TED, doesn't define me,

because if you were
to follow me home to LA,

you would see me waiting tables
and nannying to pay the bills

as I chase after my dream
of becoming a filmmaker.

In the small, anonymous, monotonous

every-single-day acts,

I have to remind myself
to be extraordinary.

And believe me, when the door
is closed and the cameras are off,

it's tough.

But if there's one thing
that I want to drive home to you,

one thing that I can say,
not just to you but to myself,

is that it is the acts
that make us extraordinary,

not the Oprah moments. Thank you.