The Privilege and Responsibility of a College Education

Adapted from Morgan Hubbard ’18’s Senior Commencement Address.

Higher education is a privilege. Although we are all gathered here today in the same gowns, the paths that got us here look very different. For some, growing up, college was an expectation, not an exception. For others, the fight for admission was grueling and was followed by a fight for the security to accept. I was fortunate to fall into the category of children who knew college was in their future. What I hadn’t given much thought however, was that someday college would be in my past. That day has come, and it is a bittersweet one.

I have spent four years of my life amongst all of you, whether or not you’ve known my name before just now. You have impacted my academic pursuits, my confidence, and my future. Perhaps not every impact was a good one, but every collision shaped me a little more.

I was able to come back to campus to see the commencement of the previous two graduating classes. I watched the student speakers stand here under these great banners and speak to the Gettysburg experience. Peter Rosenberger of 2016 cited an undercurrent of love, a heartbeat that connected the people who surround this campus. Haya Mohanna who stood here only a year ago reminded us of the hands that have been extended toward us when we’ve fallen; the hands that have helped us get back up.

I think Peter and Haya were on to something with their anatomical metaphors, and not simply because I am a biology student turned writer.

Our body does not exist in a vacuum. It stands in a world where hate is rampant, where political differences have divided us, and where trust has become a limited resource. Our body is often in conflict. Although we are whole, we are assembled with parts from all over the world, that come from different backgrounds and experience our body much much differently.

As we were assembled, so will we depart. Our paths to get here were varied, and our paths from here will likely look just as eclectic. Wherever our paths lead, one thing will bind us. On every resume, as an answer to interview questions, hopefully on some Wikipedia pages or prestigious bios, and forever in our memories will be the words Gettysburg College.

We owe it to the people at Gettysburg that made the privilege of a higher education possible, to those who made us feel it was impossible, and to ourselves, the ones who relied on support and spoke against restraint, to build our own bodies, share our heartbeats, and lend our hands to those who are like us and those who are our opposites.

In January, I was fortunate enough to take part in an immersion project through the center for public service to study immigration on our southern border. Myself, seven other students, and a psychology professor traveled to El Paso, Texas, a city neighbored by Ciudad Juárez in the state of Chihuahua, Mexico. Every day, people commute across the border both ways for endless reasons. Our group was able to speak with several individuals and families living here in the United States without documentation. Many of their stories were heart wrenching and contradictory of the narrative we often hear of immigrants. I was struck by their resilience.

I realize that opinions of immigration among us are varied and that this is a speech to celebrate our commencement. However, that variation in opinion is something I thought much about while I was in Texas and when reflecting on my time here. The purpose of the project was to learn more about the experience of immigrants and think critically about what the privilege of citizenship means. I thought about my citizenship, and more importantly I thought of our school’s mission to create responsible citizens, to educate us about topics that span beyond the walls of a classroom and prepare us to contribute to a community. I thought about what those contributions have looked like.

Just as I am grateful for the peaceful moments we’ve shared in our four years here, I am equally grateful for the times we’ve challenged one another. I thought about the hateful posters I have seen on this campus. I thought about the students who tore them down. I thought about our panels, our speakers, and our protests. I thought about a lot of things, but if my four years here have taught me anything, it is that thoughts are the seeds of action. A firing synapse is the only way to move the body, our body, forward.

For many of us, it is one that we now add to a long list of privileges. For others, perhaps it is one that will give you momentum. As we leave Gettysburg, I ask that you consider the advice I received from a mentor of mine here. She told me to listen, to believe, and to share the stories of those who do not have the power to share for themselves. In that vein, I would like to ask that we live our lives in the pursuit of a world where the privilege we have is no longer a privilege, but a right; a world where anyone with the desire can walk across this stage and others like it.

I am hopeful that we will all part from our student body knowing the value of our degrees, not just for what is written on the paper, but for what is written in our histories. We are unique in our understanding of the history of Gettysburg for more than a battle, but for a long network of people learning and leading progress beyond this town. I hope that we will value Gettysburg for its good and its bad, work to change the latter, and promote the power of education in creating social change, even in times when fear seems our closest companion. I would like to thank every one of the graduating members of the class of 2018 for being a part of this body, of this movement. I am proud of all of us and wish you all the best of luck. Thank you.

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