Graduates Acting Badly

In the past week Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice and Senator John McCain were invited to be commencement speakers at prestigious universities. They were both treated badly by the assembled graduates. They were heckled and subjected to juvenile acts of vanity by the students who are widely praised as the best and brightest among us. As the press coverage roiled I was brought back to my own personal experiences at a graduation last week. Two-time Academy Award winner Jodie Foster gave the commencement speech for the 250th graduating class of the University of Pennsylvania. In her speech, which she read, she touched on the nature of academic elitism and rolled into the political part of her statements. On a blustery, rainy day at Franklin Field, I suffered through the party line of squandered world sympathy after 9/11, and the 20/20 vision of the mistakes made in Iraq. I considered it par for the course. I was moved to action though when she focused on the aftermath of Katrina. As she began a Kanye West-like version of events I rose from my seat and made my exit from Franklin Field. I hurled no epithets, or angry gestures at the dais. I simply excused myself to those seated near me and removed myself from the offending remarks.

Secretary of State Rice and Senator McCain were, no doubt, bothered by the actions to which they were subjected. I have been in the presence of both of them and have found them to be careful, considerate individuals. I am sure that they were both given pause by the ridiculous antics of those whom take themselves too seriously. I am certain, however, that neither lost any sleep over the unpleasant encounters. Secretary Rice grew up in a segregated South and was acquainted with the little girls incinerated in a Birmingham church bombing. That reprehensible act of racism formed and shaped her desire to achieve, and achieve she did. She is an accomplished pianist, a PhD holder and former Provost of Stanford, among other things. Her struggle to rise to her present position could not have been easy, and one can only imagine that the silly tactics she endured while speaking must have seemed trivial compared to a barefoot childhood spent in a pre-Civil Rights Alabama.

Senator McCain was subjected to imprisonment and torture in the vilest of places, the infamous Hanoi Hilton. Daily he, and his fellow POWs, withstood beatings and deprivations so callus and nefariously vulgar that most of us cannot even imagine the strength needed simply to draw breath. In a place of no honor, and less humanity, then Commander McCain exemplified both. When, after years of such treatment, he was offered a release by his captors due to his father's position he chose to allow another to leave in his place saying, "We go out in the order we came in." Who among us could summon the fortitude required to make such a decision?

I did not think of either of these people as I left Penn's graduation ceremony. I did think, however, of the friend I was there to support. A friend of whom I am immensely proud. I pictured her sitting in the rain in her cap and gown, dreaming of a bright future, aglow with pride for her none too easy accomplishments. I thought of Ms Foster's so glibly delivered remarks about a situation she only knows via a, no doubt very nice, television. I then allowed my anger to burn at the thought of my friends and family fleeing headlong from the wrath of a killer storm. I remembered how powerless I felt at not being able to contact any of them for days and, in several cases, weeks. I remembered a 30 hour drive to the disaster area in a truck laden with bottled water, my then 11 month old daughter belted in the back. I remembered the emotion I felt when I hugged my brother who then thought he had lost everything. I remembered the look in the eyes of strangers who hugged me with thanks for the trip, and the woman who collapsed tearfully into my arms in a rest area in Tennessee.

It takes no courage to heckle and taunt from the safety of a crowd, nor is it in anyway gritty or heroic to address such statements from the refuge of a dais. It is, in fact, quite the opposite. Courageous, heroic, stalwart and brave are words that are all too often these days bandied about by those who trumpet positions that make them popular in coffee houses and dorm rooms. These words are used to describe actors who hold forth on complex geopolitical issues, while surrounded by sycophants and the adoring masses. True courage comes from making calm, nuanced arguments and statements when those around you will try to forcefully yell you down. True heroism comes from registering to vote in a district scarred by sectarian violence. True stalwartness comes from walking a street in that same sectarian, scarred district as a scared soldier thousands of miles from home because the mission demands it. True bravery comes from knowing that the way to effect change is to be the best person you can be, always, regardless of what those about you say. So, as I stomped out of the ceremony last week I did not hurl curses or rain scorn upon Ms Foster. In fact, my only comment came when a security guard asked me where I was going. "Where are you from?" I asked. "West Philly," came the prideful reply, followed by a somewhat scornful "Where you from?" Standing up a little straighter I looked him in the eye and simply said, "New Orleans." Keeping me in his eyeline, he turned slightly to look at Ms Foster, looked back at me, nodded at Foster and said, "She don't know nothin'." And, Madam Secretary and Senator, neither did those who offered taunts. We can only hope that somehow that changes.