Rocking on my feet and shooting jealous glances at the part of the crowd situated in the shade, I rehearsed the speech in my head for what felt like the thousandth time.
I was one of the couple dozen high school graduates of my Ukrainian hometown, Ivano-Frankivsk, who would be awarded gold medals for getting excellent grades in all 20 some subjects. The hot weather and the absence of a public agenda were similarly excruciating, and enjoying the awards ceremony seemed more or less impossible. And yet, I had to stay and listen carefully: at any moment, I could be invited to give my speech.
As the ceremony went on, I grew more and more excited to get on the podium. Every single speaker praised us for the achievement of getting the medal, and nobody was coming anywhere near talking about its real meaning.
I, on the other hand, was going to be a revolutionary: half of my speech was an unsweetened critique of the gold medal as a goal and an achievement in itself, which was the prevailing message both at the ceremony and in society at large. The other half of the speech was an inspiring shift of focus to the priceless skills we all evidently gained in the process of getting to this point: primarily, the ability to adapt to any class, any teacher, and anything that is expected of us. I was calling upon my peers to do some self-reflection, step away from the widespread rhetoric, and reimagine their success as a triumph of adaptability and compliance—wonderful skills to gain in high school. This was going to blow their minds. I couldn't stand still from impatience.
This summer, when I got the email inviting me to the Sarah and James ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾ Day Ceremony we're holding today, I got the wave of that familiar warm feeling of getting a gold star. But it barely lasted, and I found myself dealing with the tight knot of guilt instead. The news caught me in a basement back in Ukraine. It was the first day of the summer school I was helping organize as part of my internship, and we barely managed to get the first day going when the air raid alert went off, meaning all 130 middle schoolers and their teachers had to go down to the dark and dusty basement for shelter. Crammed into two rooms were a bunch of desks and chairs so everyone could sit down, but it was impossible to hold any classes. The entire day had to be reimagined. Of course, there was a plan B for precisely this situation—it was more likely to happen than not—but no matter how well you plan, there's nothing you can do with the anxiety hanging in the air from both the shelling and the confined space.
Amidst all that, the award just didn't feel good. Instead, it was an indicator—telling me I spent hundreds of hours keeping up my reputation of being a model student by figuring out what exactly each professor wanted: that is, being adaptable and compliant. And unlike three years ago, this message did not spark joy.
I'm not trying to say our education is meaningless, by no means. Without a doubt, lots of skills I've learned during my two years at an American boarding school and in my first year at ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾ have been extremely useful: three years ago, I had no idea what a good essay or a solid lab report was, couldn't use a single citation format, and would’ve never survived the demands of an average ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾ weekday. I have learned to think hard, put in real effort, and communicate with clarity. And for that, I'm immensely grateful.
And yet, I came to recognize something entirely else to be my education’s main achievement: the fact that I wasn't completely happy reading the award email. The last three years made my doubt the value of getting gold stars and pleasing everyone, me included, by doing just the expected thing. Sitting in that basement, listening to the overstimulating chatter of middle schoolers, made me feel at the right place more than I'd ever felt while doing schoolwork. I cemented the link between my devotion to a career in education and the tears that without fail appear in my eyes every time I think about the millions of children dealing with the trauma of war at this very moment. I cherish that I get to be in places that reveal the ugly side of humanity, get to come back to the comfortable and comforting ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾ campus, and get to bring some of that pain along as it nests in my heart and keeps me connected. I welcomed the guilt of that email: it showed me that something was off. That the time spent chasing the As was not entirely justified. That I had to reroute more of it into a cause that matters—into the common good, in ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾-speak—the value we all signed a commitment to, and the one many of us push into the background as we go about chasing excellence.
I don't intend to spoil this celebration. On the contrary, I wholeheartedly congratulate all of you: consistently studying well is a highly demanding undertaking, and you are all stellar. Never stop striving for excellence, thinking wide and deep, and holding yourself to high standards—these things make you great. Doing all of this while facing all the pain, anger, and confusion that the world bestows you with makes you extraordinary humas. And with that, I invite you all to again and again lean into this other kind of hard work: figuring out the messed up something that you care about from the very bottom of your heart and doing whatever you can to fix it. And yes, that does include studying hard to become an expert and have a powerful impact in the future. But it also includes whatever influence is available to you right now. Because you're already amazing, and you can already change the world, so maybe sometimes it's worth getting an B instead of an A.
I was never called to give that speech three years ago, and my most robust theory is that I was censored for being too "disrespectful." Today, however, I get to speak my truth, with its rebelliousness, confusion, and all. To me, it's just another proof: here, at ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾ we get both the freedom and the tools to be whatever we want to be. So let us stick together and stay grounded in the reality we all are part of, with its pains and joys, let us choose contribution along with studiousness, and let us be remarkable at both.
