Ruth J. Simmons delivered Wellesley’s 2026 commencement address
President Johnson, Chair of the Board Gunter, honored guests, rightfully proud families, and, finally, beautiful graduates of the class of 2026, I come to you today immensely grateful for the place that I stand. Humbled by the invitation to address you, I speak today acknowledging the privilege of celebrating this important milestone with you. In the words of Martinique poet Aimé Césaire, my heart is “bruissant de souvenirs”—shivering with memories. Many poets write about such returns, but Césaire and French poet du Bellay’s powerfully evoke to me what I am feeling today. “Heureuse,” suggests du Bellay, is the one who, like Odysseus, returns full of experience and wisdom to the place that inspired their journey.
Before I turn today to my personal reflections about the import of this moment, let me express my heartfelt respect for the history of this storied institution, home over so many years to some of the most brilliant, innovative, and courageous women in the history of our country and the world. Those of you who mark the end of your time here can hardly appreciate at this moment the full impact of the Wellesley experience, but I can assure you that, in myriad ways over the coming years, no matter where you go or what you experience, drawing upon your experience here will continue to inspire you and guide your steps.
I know that because after but one year at Wellesley, followed by six decades of living and striving to understand fully my place in the world, what I experienced on this campus in that brief moment has been with me through every phase of my life and career, and in every moment when I considered anew the improbability of my journey.
Let me start at the beginning. I was born in a small house perched atop a knoll overlooking cotton fields far from the nearest commercial center. I lived on the Murray Farm, a massive plantation on which my large family of 12 children lived in an unprepossessing shack from which we ventured out daily to work the fields on the property. This was the setting that marked my early life and that, I now find, shaped me in so many ways. Surrounded by a large and loving family, the most prominent aspect of my early life was the security of their presence, making me a happy and determined child intent on proving my mettle to my 11 older siblings in the family. You see, I didn’t matter very much in a context in which every bit of physical toil was vital to the survival of our family. The backbreaking and sun-searing work of picking cotton was the obligation of my parents and older siblings. I was too small for such labor. I wondered what I could do to equal the importance of my siblings, whose stature seemed greatly elevated by punishing field work.
Pondering how my efforts could match the importance of their work, I did not really have the answer until I walked into my first grade classroom, when my teacher, Miss Ida Mae Henderson, had me understand that the work of the mind was as important, as useful, and as powerful as physical labor. From that moment, I was consumed by the effort to learn as much as possible, to demonstrate my own value. But it wasn’t merely competition with my siblings that drove me to be captivated by what learning offered. It was also the omnipresent assertion in the 1940s and ’50s that, because I was Black, I possessed less intelligence, less imagination, less creativity, and, of course, fewer rights, than whites, that no doubt prompted my interest in proving my intelligence.
While the validity of the rationale for such race-based assertions of inferiority has been disproved and exposed as vital to justifying the brutal and inhumane exploitation of others, at the age of 7, there was no way for me to understand the motivation for such a hostile regard. Still, I wanted to learn for myself whether my mind and character could prove me equal to others. Not certain that I could convincingly demonstrate my ability to others, I began by trying to demonstrate it to myself. Each of us, in order to be at peace with who we are, should recognize that our personal standards are more important by far than any others try to impose upon us. Embracing the task of establishing and nurturing our own values, understanding our intrinsic worth as human beings, and working to deepen our commitment to self-improvement inspires and fortifies us for life’s journey. That very motivation was the central force and organizing principle in my decisions about what goals to pursue and in my determination to remain in education for all of my career.
After spending my youth in a segregated learning environment, followed by two years at an HBCU, I had the good fortune to begin to learn about the wider world. Idealistic and progressive faculty whom I admired at Dillard demonstrated convincingly to me how study of the humanities could lead to enlightenment and self-improvement. (I love how you celebrate your faculty here. You must do that. You owe them so much, and you’ll see more and more in life how much you will learn from them.) I leaned into humanistic study with a vengeance: literatures, languages, philosophy, theater, and history seemed to offer a compelling way not only to know the world from which I was barred during segregation but, especially, to gain an understanding of the many cultures and peoples who inhabit the world. My small world gradually began to open upon a rich and diverse array of peoples and places. In me was born a growing determination not just to study this wider world but to be an engaged participant in it.
So, in 1965, with little warning and, initially, quite unhappily, I was selected by my college to spend my junior year at Wellesley. Oh, don’t misunderstand me; because I was so grateful for the education afforded me at Dillard, I didn’t see a need to go so far away to a new campus, not one in the North, which is cold. But when the Dillard president asked me to represent the college as a participant in a junior year at Wellesley program, I did not think I could refuse. Coming to Wellesley as a junior meant leaving the familiar all-Black environment of a southern college for a virtually all-white northern women’s college where I knew no one. I pondered the immensity of such an adventure for someone who had little previous exposure to different races. Yet, as a dutiful and compliant daughter of southern Black culture, I knew that I had to comply with the president’s decision and work faithfully not to embarrass him in any way.
So, I determined to bring an open mind and involve myself fully in taking advantage of this opportunity. I could never, never have imagined the ultimate impact that this year would have on me as one shaped by segregation and racism, as one conditioned to hide the full extent of my intellectual ability, for at that time, as history has amply shown, it was dangerous to be smart in the 1940 and ’50s if you were Black. I had lived my life with neither a true understanding of the extent of my abilities nor the courage to aspire to anything beyond what had been ordained for one of my race, class, and gender.
You see, I was supposed to become a maid, I was supposed to stay in my place, I was supposed to raise a family, and be satisfied with that.
As I look out upon you graduates today while recalling that period of my life, I am more astonished and appreciative than ever for the door that opened for me when I landed at Wellesley. To have been given the opportunity to develop in an unfettered environment in which I was encouraged to be the best of who I could be without denigrating labels attached is a privilege that far too few, even today, experience. Indeed, the very idea of unfettered self-expression is again under attack by those intent on restraining how we move about and protect our cherished freedoms in a democratic society. Humanistic ideals long evolved from and shaped by the lessons of human history are being challenged, and policies and laws are being enacted to ensure that such an embrace of God-given human rights is forever suppressed. Institutions like Wellesley, at the vanguard of freedom and equality for women, must continue to protect the ability of young people today to find their way to unfettered learning and authentic self-expression. Wellesley afforded me that gift, and I am certain that you will find in the coming years that it will have done the same for you. So I urge you to embrace your obligation as a Wellesley graduate to uphold these rights for others. I urge you to demonstrate an open mind, eschew demagoguery, and spurn the guarantee of comfort caused by wealth and upward mobility in exchange for turning back the rights of others. Remaining true to the Wellesley ideals will surely continue to propel you to a new and rich awareness of what it can mean to be a fully empowered human being unafraid to embrace the full humanity of others.
Wellesley, above all, was a place where I came to accept my role in the world. Not a limited version of it. Not the one ordained by the strict masculine hierarchy of my community. An extraordinary unshackling from the legacy of hopelessness, passivity, and narrowness of vision enabled me to see and believe, finally, in the equality of women. You may take that for granted today, but in 1965, such a thought was nearly heretical. To arrive here and see a college led by women transformed my thinking about what I might do with my own life. I began to consider how I could best contribute to my community and the world. I had no thought of becoming a leader, but I dared dream of being of use in changing and improving the world so that the -isms that afflicted my forebears would not be visited upon others. This thinking may sound falsely grandiose today, but it was in every sense the shock that I needed to awaken me from a somnolent passivity. In that year, I found my way to my ambition, a practical idealism, and a determination to embrace my full rights as a human being.
It was also here that I began to appreciate fully how important the encounter with difference is to one’s intellectual and personal growth. To study alongside women of different backgrounds opened my mind to the narrowness of my own world and my own imagination. I began to appreciate how important it was to resist embracing narrow racial, political, and other grievances. That determination to remain open to differences of perspective has endured and greatly enriched my life as my journey took me to foreign settings. Although I struggled at first with how to be comfortable in my own clan while welcoming new ideas and peoples, I soon recognized that getting that balance right would be a lifelong task. You will all return to your families, communities, and perhaps of enclaves of thought, but I would caution you not to be so seduced by the desire to belong that you abandon what your Wellesley education has shown you. Fidelity to Wellesley calls on you to be capacious in your regard of others and to seek out the company of those who manifest a profound respect for the benefit of diversity.
Finally, my year at Wellesley introduced me to failure, from which I would learn perhaps the greatest lesson. I did not know if I would be able to manage the demanding courses at Wellesley, so it was no surprise when I found myself in trouble in a French class. [Audience laughs.] Oh, does that ring true for you too? Discouraged by the difficulty, I informed the professor that I needed to drop the course. Rejecting my request, he seemed to me at the time the cruelest of instructors. In great distress I asked, “What shall I do, since I am lost and unable to understand anything in this class?” His curt response stunned and disappointed me. “Just work harder,” he said. That day, I longed to drop out of college, and I have to say, if I had money to go home, I almost surely would have dropped out of college. But lacking the resources to return home, I did the only thing I could: I deepened my efforts, increasing my visits to the language lab.
Today, I am grateful for this pivotal encounter with my sense of failure and resignation. Overcoming my conviction that I could not master this subject had a surprising result. I learned to love French and, after Wellesley, decided to pursue a Ph.D. in Romance languages and literatures. From the day I learned that I could conquer my fear, dig deeply, and provide my own rescue from failure, I lost all fear of undertaking challenging tasks. Today, when asked why I have led with what many presume to be courage, I relate this story about how this experience at Wellesley allowed me to shed the sense of inferiority imposed upon me during my childhood. I have led with an understanding that failure is tragic only if our efforts lack the intensity worthy of the goal we pursue.
Do not run from engagements that elevate your humanity, that sharpen your understanding and point you to rewarding work that can change your life forever. I am today defined by the lesson of the French course that I wanted to drop. Always leave room for lessons taken from failure. Learn to call yourself back from the precipice when you are prepared to abandon difficult work that can change your life and make a difference for others. It happens that great success and happiness often arise from failures and disappointments that our imagination magnifies to tragic status. They are often not tragic at all but merely setbacks offering the learning, growth, and resilience that we are privileged to enjoy as humans.
Yes, I am grateful for the unique circumstances afforded me at every port in my educational journey. That includes the rudimentary classroom where I first began my education. That includes the segregated classrooms of my youth. My knowledge of these diverse settings is reflected in my career choices: from a women’s college to an Ivy League institution to an HBCU. I happily chose these settings because I came to understand that human potential develops not from attending certain schools or coming from certain rungs of society, but from having access to an environment in which the full measure of one’s promise is respected.
I am more persuaded than ever that access to educational excellence for every child is the key to the healthy flourishing of individuals and essential to the continuous improvement of a democratic society. As you now move about the world, your character and intelligence, your focus and commitment, and your concern for and embrace of others will help those you encounter understand better what John Adams meant when he wrote about the need for “fitness” for the times. If Wellesley has made you uniquely fit for these troubled times, make plain wherever you go and however you lead that your education derives from the privilege of academic rigor in the context of personal and academic freedom. Help others flourish by supporting the same for every child.
Congratulations!