Category: Speeches & Writings Page 1 of 8

Good afternoon to the great Class of 2029! On behalf of the administration, faculty, and staff, I’m delighted to welcome you to Duke University.

It’s been just over a week since we gathered right here in Cameron for the Family Farewell. 

I hope you’ve now begun to settle in on East Campus, including getting to know the wonderful staff of the Marketplace over in the Wall Center. 

I also hope that you’ve made some new friends; explored interesting topics and activities during Experiential Orientation; and are now excited to formally begin your academic careers at Duke.  

We’re certainly excited for you. A lot of people—staff, faculty, and your fellow students—have been hard at work helping you get oriented.  

But I’m guessing that, notwithstanding their best efforts, and your best efforts at ExO, you may still be feeling a little disoriented.

That’s completely understandable. This is still a new place, with new people, and new routines.  

Nothing is quite where it used to be in your life. It’s a lot easier to get lost, and to lose things. 

You have this strange new person sharing your room. Strange in the “don’t-really-know-them-yet” way, I hope, rather than in the “just-plain-strange” way.   

Making things even more disorienting, you’re getting to know two campuses, east and west, and the bus lines connecting them. 

And to double down on the disorientation, we’ve turned a fair amount of both campuses into construction zones, just for you.

I’m guessing you are probably hoping to be thoroughly oriented as quickly as possible, maybe craving that sense of deep familiarity with your surroundings, that confidence in knowing your way around all these people and places and routines like they were second-nature. 

But my message to you today is that you should instead treasure this profound disorientation.  

And you should try very hard to hold onto it.

I say this for three reasons.

First, unfamiliarity makes us unusually alert to our surroundings. When you don’t know what you’re looking at, your mind works a little harder, your eye detects things that might otherwise escape notice. In your struggles to make things out, you really see.  

On the other hand, once you understand what you’re looking at, you don’t have to look at it very hard, because you recognize it. And thereafter, you see what you recognize—not necessarily all that is actually there to be seen. 

This process is natural. It’s efficient. It helps us minimize the work that goes into our daily lives. But it comes at a cost. In a very real way, it dulls the senses.

When you’re disoriented—feeling like a stranger in a strange land—life can be uncomfortable and confusing at times. But that state of being confused also gives you a kind of observational super-power.  

And if you can relax enough to embrace your confusion, if you can translate it into curiosity—then your mind is ready to learn. You are ready to grow. 

Scientists refer to this as neuroplasticity, the ability of our brains to build novel connections—to re-wire ourselves, as it were. Neuroplasticity is at its peak in early childhood, in part because of physical brain development, but also because in childhood our lack of experience forces us to make sense of a whirl of completely novel situations. Everything is new. The rules of sensemaking are not yet developed.  

As every parent has experienced, life with a child is an unending conversation about why. And unbridled, childlike human curiosity, while at times truly exhausting for everybody involved, is one of the great wonders of life.

Well, in your disoriented state as a new Duke student, you have an opportunity to reclaim that unbridled curiosity, but now with a much keener intellect and a larger, if not yet fully expansive, fund of personal experience.  

This new place, these new friends, these new courses and projects, and new explorations in art and science alike: they are ready for your sensemaking, and, I hope, another series of conversations, profound conversations, about why.  

In your disoriented state, you should take a break from making personal statements—you already gave us those, in your application. Now is the time for personal questions.

The second reason you should treasure disorientation is that it makes you less confident. I know that sounds bad, but let me explain.

When you’re a stranger in a strange land, you’re less likely to take things for granted. Because you can’t confidently trust that you know your surroundings, you tend to be more reflective, checking and double-checking what you’re thinking and doing. And that lack of certainty about your new surroundings generates, at least if you will let it, an openness. A willingness to listen. A posture of humility.

Intellectual humility and willingness to listen are, sadly, becoming lost arts in our society. People today feel far too confident that they know best—not only what’s best for them, but best for everybody else as well.  

The world today suffers from a problematic excess of self-confidence and its close relative, judgmentalism.  

This judgmental attitude could stem from myriad sources. 

Maybe it’s in reaction to the insecurities fostered by such rapid social, economic, and technological changes. 

Perhaps it’s related to our over-reliance on social media, which seem to have extended the kind of social ostracism once confined to middle school well into adulthood. 

Or maybe it’s part of a cultural tendency to politicize most every aspect of everyday life—something the academy has probably had a hand in propagating. 

For whatever reasons, we are so sure of the righteousness of our ways that we reflexively condemn rather than engage those who disagree with us, or even those we imagine to be disagreeable. 

Well, this disorienting moment, if it helps you to lower your guard, is a real gift to you. It’s an opportunity to check your own knowledge enough to get to know and understand people whose life experiences, perspectives, opinions and beliefs are different from yours.  

Please accept that gift, with sincere humility.

Now, I’m not suggesting that in your state of disorientation, you should lose your confidence; but I am suggesting that you redirect it: away from being so confident that you’re right, and toward being confident that, if you see past yourself, if you pay close attention to others and give them a chance to speak, and if you listen and engage respectfully with what they say, you will move closer to the truth. 

You may not agree with what others have to say, but in granting that they might just be right, and that you just might be wrong, you’ll see things you missed; your own views will become better grounded, more fulsome, less prone to over-simplification and error.

In today’s world of pathological over-confidence and judgmental certainty, we’d all do well to bring it down a notch or two, or three. Please allow yourself to wander around a bit in your confusion. Try new ideas on for size.  Dive into those classes and people and activities that seem most strange to you—because that’s how you will maximize your potential for learning.

The third reason to embrace disorientation is that it tends to make us a bit more careful. 

Being a stranger in a strange land can at times feel isolating and turn our attention inward as we try to figure out our place in this new world. And in a world that gives us less and less room for peace and quiet, being a bit more contemplative is actually not a bad thing.

Our contemporary society valorizes engagement and activism. The time elapsed between having an idea to firing off a petition has probably never been shorter in human history. There’s a lot to be said for engagement and action. As you know, one of Duke’s signature programs is DukeEngage.  

But action should not come at the expense of contemplation—especially skeptical contemplation.  

There is a “care-as-caution” angle to being disoriented in a new place, and it shouldn’t be overlooked. It’s for good reason that, when children are being taught to cross the road, they’re encouraged to “stop; look; and listen.”  

That remains good advice in a world that has nearly mastered the art of attracting, keeping, and selling your attention—usually by inciting strong emotional responses—and then channeling those responses into a behavior of some kind: buying this product, joining that cause. Our world seems to be implicitly suggesting you should “leap before you look.”  

And there is another angle as well: slowing down enough to take care of yourself, and each other. My advice to you is: Slow down, please.

Don’t give all your time to everyone else; instead, take some time—make some time—for yourself. This is the “care-as-well-being” angle.

This new place is exciting, as it should be. And I’ve no doubt you will be engaged in many new activities and pursuits, as you should. But I also want you to savor those quiet moments of reflection in Duke Chapel or the Duke Gardens, those moments in the library lost in a new book—if not actually lost in the stacks somewhere. Get out for a run or a walk. In the morning, notice the birdsong—it’s beautiful here in North Carolina.

And perhaps most importantly, please be sure to get some sleep. 

As I’ve said to every entering class, the surest way to be our best is to get some rest. So, turn off those phones. We all need enough sleep to keep our minds alert and our hearts open.

I’m confident you will make the most of your time here. We—the staff and faculty, and your fellow students—are here to help in any ways we can. So don’t hesitate to ask.  

Soon, you’ll know this Duke campus like the back of your hand, and you inevitably will settle into routines and patterns that make your days more comfortable and efficient. You’ll be ready to help next year’s new class get oriented by showing them the ropes.

But I hope you’ll find ways to hold onto a little disorientation. It will keep you at your sharpest and most primed for growth and learning. 

Class of 2029, I am thrilled you are here, and I can’t wait to see the many ways you will embrace the opportunities ahead.

Welcome to Duke!

Hello, and thanks for all you do to support the Duke University community.

While our campus is much quieter now as we swing into the summer, the world of higher education continues to be noisy, and complicated.  

We’re working every day to sort out many significant federal policy changes—and proposals for additional changes—that have quite dire implications for the University.

Federal funding threats affect all areas of our work, and include:

• severe cuts to research funding; 
• dramatic increases to university tax payments, and threats to our non-profit status; 
• restrictions on international education;
• losses of federal financial aid and loan programs;
• and changes to government-funded healthcare programs. 

I expect you share my grave concern about what these dramatic policy changes mean for our work at Duke. And I want you to know that we are advocating, in every way possible, at both the state and federal levels, to:

• maintain funding for our mission; 
• to protect jobs and economic vitality here in Durham and across North Carolina; 
• to support international students and scholars; 
• and to keep education and healthcare accessible to all. 

I am personally engaged in this work on a daily basis, along with many other Duke leaders. 

I also serve on the board of the Association of American Universities, or AAU, through which we are working collectively with America’s leading research universities to demonstrate powerfully, and advocate strenuously, for the transformative power of education, research, and innovation.

Though we still don’t know the full degree to which Duke’s financial resources will ultimately be affected, the considerable reductions we’ve already experienced—along with the scale of the additional losses we could face—mean that there is, sadly, no scenario in which Duke can or will avoid incurring substantial losses of funding due to these policy changes. 

As I announced in March, this spring we began planning a university-wide strategic realignment and cost-reduction process to prepare us for the road ahead. 

And now, like many other organizations around the country, we are being forced to reduce  the scope of our activities and spending in order to sustain excellence in our core missions.  

The leadership of every school and unit at Duke has had to think carefully about how to do critical work with fewer resources, while developing strategic plans for moving forward. 

This involves making incredibly difficult decisions and painful choices about reducing the scope of our work. I know our leadership teams have felt the weight of those decisions, and their implications, throughout this process.

As you are likely aware, we’ve taken several steps: 

• we’ve frozen most staff and faculty hiring; 
• we’ve suspended capital spending on new projects; 
• we’ve limited non-essential spending; 
• and we’re making some tough decisions about our work and how to do it most efficiently.

We will, for the foreseeable future, have to be smaller—and do our work with fewer people. 

I sincerely wish that were not the case, but the harsh reality is that reducing our spending by the scale required means that Duke will have to employ fewer people. 

It is likely we’ll come to a point where we’ll need to engage in involuntary reductions in staff; but first we are trying to do as much as possible through a voluntary process, one that provides generous separation benefits to eligible staff at all levels of the university.  

Within this landscape of significantly reduced funding, academic leaders will also need to give thought to the future shape of our faculty. 

In the coming weeks, eligible faculty members will receive information from their schools about new, again voluntary, retirement incentives that are being offered across the university.

Each of you has made a major contribution to our mission over the years, and this process highlights the value of those contributions.

As with all personnel matters, voluntary separation and retirement offers extended to colleagues are confidential, and I trust that our community will be thoughtful and respectful regarding decisions others may be weighing about their futures. 

I’m confident that the steps we are taking now will position the university for continued success in the years ahead. But none of this will be easy, and I’m especially aware of the impact these changes will have on valued colleagues and their families. 

I hope that if you have questions or concerns, you will discuss those with your supervisors, reach out to your unit HR professionals and other Duke resources for support, and consult the updates.duke.edu website for more information. 

Yes, these are challenging times. Yet our recent Centennial celebration reminds us that the Duke community has faced and overcome many challenges over the past one hundred years. 

I’m incredibly proud to be part of this community as we enter Duke’s second century, and I thank you for your ongoing commitment and support for each other, and for our mission. 

This morning’s Commencement ceremony is both a celebration of the Class of 2025, and the continuation of a cherished academic tradition that connects Duke students and alumni across class years and generations.

And today’s ceremony is special in this regard, as we honor the 100th anniversary of the first Duke University Commencement, held just months after James B. Duke’s indenture of trust sparked the transformation of Trinity College into Duke University.

As we conclude our formal celebration of this centennial year, we are also looking ahead to the pivotal roles Duke students, faculty, staff and alumni will play in addressing the tremendous opportunities and challenges of the next 100 years. 

In doing so, we may find helpful perspective in the life experiences of the class of 1925.

In June of 1925, the first students to graduate from the newly named Duke University gathered in Craven Memorial Hall on East Campus, where they were addressed by Curtis D. Wilbur, the Secretary of the Navy. 

Among the 187 members of the Class of 1925 were several individuals of note, including:

• Yasuko Ueno, the first Asian woman to graduate from our university;
• Graduate student Mike Bradshaw Jr., who was one of the Chronicle writers credited with first referring to our athletics teams as the Blue Devils;
• And Charles E. Jordan, who received his Law degree that day, and whose lifetime of service to Duke and Durham would later be recognized in the naming of Durham’s Jordan High School, located just a few miles from here.

They and their classmates would go on to pursue lives of purpose and principle in a variety of settings that would have made our benefactor James B. Duke proud. 

Indeed, at the time of their graduation, the majority of the class reported an intention to pursue teaching, business, medicine or religious work, paths that aligned very well with the fields Mr. Duke considered best positioned, in his words, to “uplift mankind.” 

The class of 1925 emerged from Duke during the Jazz Age, a dynamic period in American history. Optimism was high thanks to strong prosperity and seemingly lasting peace following World War I.

But the graduates would soon be forced to wrestle with rising social, economic and political tensions, and a general tenor of uncertainty that may seem familiar today.

• Just a month after that graduation, the Scopes Monkey Trial, held 400 miles west of here in Dayton, Tennessee, would draw the world’s attention to questions of evolution and religion, and their place in public schools.
• Some four years later, the Great Depression would result in heartbreaking family hardships and widespread economic devastation with generational consequences.
• And of course, a decade after the Great Depression, the outbreak of World War II would signal the beginning of some of humanity’s darkest days. 

However, in their lifetimes, the class of 1925 also enjoyed an era of enormous innovation and nearly unimaginable progress. 

Consider—if you will—some of the wonders they would experience: 

• The life-saving discovery of penicillin, in 1928, which would revolutionize treatment of bacterial infections. 
• The unprecedented economic growth and prosperity that followed the end of World War II.
• The advent of home televisions, of commercial aviation, and other technologies that facilitated the flow of information, ideas, and people. 
• And the significant movement—albeit sometimes slow, and sometimes uneven—toward equal rights and broader distribution of opportunity in society.

The class of 1925 was part of what came to be known as “The Greatest Generation.” Shaped by hardships—and fueled by resilience, honor, and an industrious spirit—their generation went on to make possible the many remarkable achievements of the 20th century.  

Class of 2025, in your relatively short lifetimes the world has already seen transformative developments, including:

• breakthroughs in artificial intelligence;
• a revolution in media and information sharing; 
• and the introduction of life-changing technologies, including the iPhone and electric vehicles

… to say nothing of the air fryer—not exactly revolutionary, but a big step forward for making homemade chips.

Just as Duke’s very first Blue Devils, those members of the greatest generation who commenced into their unpredictable, changing world 100 years ago, today you commence into yours.  

This changing world will bring challenges, I assure you, including many we cannot foresee today. These will test your resilience, your honor, and your industrious spirit. 

But it will also bring opportunities for innovation and human progress, perhaps as never before. 

And your generation of Blue Devils will discover and develop the breakthroughs that will define the 21st century. In that transformative, life-improving and life-saving work, as alumni of this university you will carry on Mr. Duke’s bold vision for uplifting mankind.  

In this century to come, may you come to be known as the even greater generation.

Congratulations, Class of 2025.