You have navigated a world—and, at times, a campus—fractured by pain and divisive conflict. You’ve felt the sharp edges of a political climate that has, at times, made some of you feel like your values and very identities were under attack.

And then came December 13. A day that shattered our sense of peace and took from us two members of our family.

I know there were days when the weight of it all may have felt like too much to carry. Times when uncertainty about the future made ‘what comes next’ feel less like a promise and more like a question you weren’t yet ready to answer.

But here is why—despite all of this—I am optimistic about the future—your futures.  And here is why you should be, too.

We saw something remarkable happen in the shadows of those moments. We didn’t see a community retreat; we saw a community reach out. We saw you show up for one another—across lines of faith, nationality, and identity—not because it was easy, but because it was necessary.

Resilience isn’t just the ability to bounce back; it is the refusal to let go of each other. You sustained each other through dark times, yes—but you also reached for the light.

I think of the students who organized and performed in the “Thank You PVD” concert to support local nonprofits after the tragedy, and who wrote notes of thanks to local merchants who sheltered students.

I think of the athletes who wowed us in competition, turning grit into inspiration.

I think of our orchestra students, whose recent performance at Carnegie Hall reminded us that harmony is something we must create together.

I think of the flash mob that took over the Main Green just a few weeks ago—a sudden, beautiful burst of spontaneous joy that reminded us all how to breathe again.

You practiced the hardest kind of citizenship there is: the kind that stays at the table when the conversation is painful, and the kind that holds a friend’s hand when the world feels dark.

The world you are walking into is loud, and it is complicated. It is in desperate need of all that you’ve learned here—the skills of critical thinking, open inquiry, and dialogue. And, it is in desperate need of the specific kind of grace you have practiced at Brown.

The world needs people who know that community isn’t something you find but something you build—sometimes with tired hands and broken hearts. It needs people who have seen the worst of a December afternoon and responded with the best of human kindness.

So, here is my final charge to the class of 2026:

Do not let the friction of the last four years turn you into cynical people. Let it turn you into courageous people. Carry the memory of the friends who sat with you in dark times, and be that light for someone else. Be the ones who refuse to look away from suffering, and the ones who refuse to give up on the possibility of peace.

So, go and check out the ‘shopping period’ of the world. Find the causes worth fighting for, the people worth holding on to, and the joy that you have so deeply earned. And come back, as often as possible, to the campus that will always be your home.