President Bergeron offers remarks on  A Whole New Way of Listening  to the Class of 2016

Bergeron, Katherine

English

DigitalCommons@Connecticut College

Connecticut CollegeDigital Commons @ Connecticut CollegeCommencement Addresses Office of CommunicationsSpring 5-21-2017President Bergeron's 99th CommencementAddressKatherine BergeronConnecticut CollegeFollow this and additional works at: http://digitalcommons.conncoll.edu/commencePart of the Arts and Humanities Commons, Higher Education Commons, Life SciencesCommons, Social and Behavioral Sciences Commons, and the Social and Philosophical Foundationsof Education CommonsThis Speech is brought to you for free and open access by the Office of Communications at Digital Commons @ Connecticut College. It has beenaccepted for inclusion in Commencement Addresses by an authorized administrator of Digital Commons @ Connecticut College. For moreinformation, please contact bpancier@conncoll.edu.The views expressed in this paper are solely those of the author.Recommended CitationBergeron, Katherine, "President Bergeron's 99th Commencement Address" (2017). Commencement Addresses. 41.http://digitalcommons.conncoll.edu/commence/41 “Making it Last” Remarks to the Class of 2017  by President Katherine Bergeron 99th Commencement, Sunday, May 21, 2017 Members of the Board of Trustees both past and present; distinguished honorees and guests; colleagues in the Alumni Association and in the senior administration; faculty and staff, parents, family members, and friends; and, especially, all you soon-to-be graduates of the beautiful class of 2017, it is a pleasure to see you all here this morning; a privilege to welcome you to this much-awaited day; and a great honor to declare the 99th commencement exercises of Connecticut College now open! Class of 2017, I have been thinking a lot in the past weeks about all that we have experienced together since I first visited this campus, as president-elect, in the fall of 2013. There have been buoyant beginnings and tragic endings; historic firsts and major milestones; renovations, reparations, and at least one dramatically ambitious reform. In your first year, we witnessed the grand opening of Zachs Hillel House, the first building dedicated to the flourishing of Jewish life on this campus. In your second year, we rejoiced at the grand re-opening of the Shain Library as a vibrant new space for collaborative learning. We cheered on the very first NESCAC championship in our history. And we celebrated the announcement of the largest gift this College has ever received in support of athletics, career education, and much-needed financial aid. But we also lived through some hard times. We mourned together the loss of a beloved colleague and friend, Anique Ashraf, whose memory we will honor later in this ceremony with a posthumous degree. We struggled together through what I think of as a great campus awakening that helped us, as a community, begin to address the persistent histories of racial injustice that prevent us from living out our most fervent educational ideals. And then we labored together on an ambitious new curriculum that places full participation at the very center of our aspirations for this College. In all these ways, you have made a difference; you have renewed our community; you have strengthened our future. And for that, class of 2017, I will always be grateful. And now you sit here, with all this and more behind you—with the competitions done, the medals won, the papers published, the finals finished, the theses defended, the research presented, the shows mounted. And I'm sure that some of you wish it were not ending. So I must ask you this: What will you do with all this experience? How will you take it into your lives beyond Connecticut College? How, simply put, will you make it last? Some of you, I know, have already thought about this question. Others of you may be avoiding it. Either way, I want to pause to consider a possible response by doing two things with you: first, reflecting on something I heard in a talk here just a few weeks ago; and second (because I am a historian), telling a brief history that I hope will not only provide some perspective on where you are right now but also influence, for the better, where you could end up in the future. The talk I'm referring to was by the Muslim interfaith activist Eboo Patel, who came to Conn at the end of April to deliver the second annual President's Distinguished Lecture. Patel, as you may know, is the founder of the Chicago-based Interfaith Youth Core, a now 15-year-old international organization dedicated to promoting greater tolerance and understanding across the globe through engaging young people in the study of faith and religious difference. His talk was autobiographical, organized around a few of the influential figures—or "guiding lights," as he put it—who had illuminated the path toward his calling. He invoked great religious leaders like Dr. Martin Luther King and Mahatma Ghandi; he spoke about Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker's movement; and then, to my surprise, he put up a slide of another historical figure who looked a bit like my maternal grandmother, someone who had inspired him in a directly personal way: it was Jane Addams. That's right, the person we know affectionately on this campus as "JA." So who was she and what was she doing in his talk? To answer that will require a small digression, so indulge me for a moment with what will be perhaps the very last history lesson of your Conn career. I am sure you have wondered about this name, too, which adorns the residence hall behind you to your left, on the southwest corner of the campus. Unlike Harkness, or Plant, or Smith, or Freeman, or Emily Abby, all named for various benefactors, Jane Addams had no direct connection to this College. She likely had more of a connection to Eboo Patel, with her ties to the city of Chicago and her support of what might be considered the first intentional interfaith community in the United States. She was, in fact, the founder of Hull House, a settlement that she opened in 1889, when she was just 29 years old, in an abandoned mansion on the west side of Chicago. The idea was simple. Chicago had seen a huge influx of European immigrants seeking work in urban factories and mills at the end of the 19th century. These underserved populations needed education, healthcare, childcare, and other vital services. Affluent women like Addams were poised to make a difference through a focus on what she called the three R's: residence, research, and reform. The residents of the settlement committed not just to sharing their wealth but to living with and learning from the people they sought to help; to deepening their own knowledge of social problems and root causes through rigorous sociological inquiry; and to achieving systemic changes through political organization and legislative action. If Addams had begun Hull House as a scholar who believed that the liberal arts could enrich the lives of a broader spectrum of society, she ended as an activist who fought for women's rights, children's rights, immigrant rights, fair labor standards, and social welfare reform. Jane Addams died in 1935, at the age of 75, still at the settlement in the West Side of Chicago where she had been living for over 40 years. The very next year, in 1936, Connecticut College named its newest residence hall after her. By that point, Addams was something of a household name, and Hull House a well-respected community institution occupying an entire city block and boasting Chicago's first public playground, public gymnasium, public pool, and public kitchens, as well as a thriving community theater and day-care center. Addams herself had evolved from a young woman who believed in the transformative power of the liberal arts into a committed political figure with a national profile. By the 1930s, she had won the Nobel Peace Prize and become a founding member of the American Civil Liberties Union and the NAACP. No wonder Katharine Blunt, the president of Connecticut College at the time, called her "one of the country's greatest citizens." Jane Adams would be a guiding light for all those women seeking to make a difference with their education in the 1930s. Could she be that same light for us now, in 2017? It seems so. In fact, I have to tell you: the very same day that Eboo Patel came to speak on this campus, David Brooks ran an opinion piece in the New York Times extolling the virtues of none other than Jane Addams. Brooks began by noting that "many of the social problems we face today—the fraying social fabric, widening inequality, anxieties over immigration, concentrated poverty—are the same problems she faced 130 years ago."1 And he went on to suggest that her creative approach to those problems was far more thoughtful and nuanced than the bureaucratic solutions we often see deployed today. Patel was making a similar point, in a way. But what struck me most in his account of Addams was not so much the historical analogy; or the fact that she had immersed herself in the communities she sought to support; or that she had created one of the first interfaith organizations in the country; or even that she had committed her considerable wealth to the common good. All of these things were, of course, exemplary and important. What struck me most was his simple observation that Addams, who as a woman in her twenties wanted to change the world, was still working at it 46 years later. In the end, he noted, Jane Addams didn't just follow her passion. She had made something that lasted. And that, I believe, is something you, too, should think about as you imagine the lives you will lead beyond this hill. In an era of twitter activism and disposable conviction; of infinitely divided attention and fragmented social networks: how will you make something that lasts? How will you make something that lasts? People may tell you that it's all about setting goals: "Think about where you want to end up and keep your eyes on the prize." And that may even be good advice. But, to be honest, I do not think that is how it really works, or, at least, how it worked for Addams. Her success, paradoxically, was less about looking far into the future than about staying rooted in the present. For her, the prize was not the national platform she eventually built but the vision of a new community closer to home that she had conceived so many years before, in an effort to address the social inequities of her time and to put her education into action. Her genius, you could say, was in her attention span: she spent the rest of her life learning how to do it better. In 1936, when JA opened at this College, a plaque mounted in the living room bore a quote from Addams that offers some perspective on her success. The plaque is still there. "To make progress," it says, "requires great patience, freedom from any spirit of hate or revenge, and the unremitting and never ending search for the truth"...Just three things, my friends: patience, love, and truth. I would like to offer these words as a guiding light to you on this morning of your commencement. Your education at Connecticut College has prepared you well to do as Addams did: to put your education into action; to make the change that you envision; to make something that lasts. So stay the course. Be steadfast in your conviction. And never stop learning how to do it better. Class of 2017, we love you, we are proud of you, we know you will go on to make a difference in the world with patience and humility. Thank you for bringing your talent, your passion, and your idealism to this special place. I wish you great happiness and success in your life after Connecticut College, and I look forward to seeing you back here often and welcoming you home. (Remarks as prepared by President Katherine Bergeron.)  1David Brooks, "The Jane Addams Model," New York Times, April 25, 2017  

President Bergeron\u27s 99th Commencement Address

Connecticut CollegeDigital Commons @ Connecticut CollegeOffice of the President Office of the PresidentSpring 5-22-2016President Bergeron's 98th CommencementAddressKatherine BergeronConnecticut CollegeFollow this and additional works at: http://digitalcommons.conncoll.edu/prespubPart of the Arts and Humanities Commons, Higher Education Commons, and the Social andBehavioral Sciences CommonsThis Article is brought to you for free and open access by the Office of the President at Digital Commons @ Connecticut College. It has been acceptedfor inclusion in Office of the President by an authorized administrator of Digital Commons @ Connecticut College. For more information, pleasecontact bpancier@conncoll.edu.The views expressed in this paper are solely those of the author.Recommended CitationBergeron, Katherine, "President Bergeron's 98th Commencement Address" (2016). Office of the President. 4.http://digitalcommons.conncoll.edu/prespub/4 A Whole New Way of Listening Remarks to the Class of 2016 by President Katherine Bergeron  98th Commencement Sunday  May 22, 2016 Members of the Board of Trustees both past and present; distinguished honorees and guests; colleagues in the alumni association and in the senior administration; faculty and staff; parents, family members, and friends; and, especially, the soon-to-be graduates of the remarkable class of 2016: it a pleasure to see you all on this important day; it is a privilege to welcome you to this ceremony; and it is a great honor to be able to stand before you and declare the 98th Commencement exercises of Connecticut College now open. Today’s ceremony includes a number of highlights, including an address delivered by a member of the class of 2016; the presentation of two end-of-year prizes; the conferring of an honorary doctor of letters on our distinguished commencement speaker; and, finally, the awarding of 4 master’s degrees and 429 baccalaureate degrees to this year’s graduates. All of this follows our usual conventions, but we have one more surprise saved for the very end. So this 98th commencement is going to be a little bit different: a unique ceremony for a uniquely talented group of graduates: the beautiful and unconventional class of 2016. I was reflecting: the interval of your four years here has also been somewhat unconventional, in a sense. Since your arrival in the summer of 2012, your class has witnessed the beginnings of a slow evolution at this College. For one thing, you have watched the physical renewal of our campus in one of the more active periods of rebuilding in recent history. The newly renovated Science Center in New London Hall opened during your first semester. And a transformed Shain Library was ready for your final year. In between, the 	 2	Zachs Hillel House sprang up on North Campus — the first new stand-alone building this College has seen in 50 years. But your four years here have been a significant period of knowledge building, as well. Since 2012, your faculty has together produced more than 60 books, 450 articles, and mounted more than 200 exhibitions and performances. The College has acquired almost 20 million dollars in funding to support teaching, research, and creative activity. Some of you have been directly involved in this work as research assistants and even as co-authors on papers. Even more impressive, with your arrival, this same faculty undertook a project to renovate our whole approach to liberal education — an effort that resulted in a pioneering new curriculum that many of you helped inspire. And now we are poised to complete a new strategic plan that, again, you all helped to shape, a plan that will ensure that the Connecticut College you have known will not only maintain its vitality but also become an even more vibrant institution in its second century. But just as you have watched the evolution of this College, so have we watched you evolve. And now here we are, at your commencement, celebrating that evolution. I was speaking with a colleague recently who commented that commencement is almost unique among rituals in its focus on the here and now. So many other ceremonial occasions either look back over past accomplishments, or look ahead toward future potential. A commencement certainly touches on these things, but its main purpose is to linger on the present moment, to mark your success in achieving a degree that represents not just a significant academic attainment but also (dare I say it?) a rite of passage into adulthood. For me, the unqualified pleasure that comes with this rite of passage has to do with seeing what has happened to all of you. You were just sophomores when I arrived at Conn, and it’s astonishing to see how much you have grown during that time. This year, as we were watching you in your thesis defenses, or during the presentations of your senior integrated projects, or at poster sessions, or in the community-based initiatives or the startups you developed, or in the classrooms where you did student teaching, or in your last athletic 	 3	playoffs, or during your Fulbright interviews or your TEDx talks, or at the senior art show, or in your culminating recitals or screenings or theatrical performances, or in the very last Eclipse of your Conn career. . . . we were all sitting there marveling at the competent, thoughtful, articulate, and compassionate people you have become. It’s something that the faculty and I — and of course your family members — perceive even more than you do right now. But I can tell you this: seeing that transformation is the whole reason we are here; it’s one of truly great rewards of the academic life; and it’s what we’re celebrating today. A couple of weeks ago I saw a documentary, made by a student filmmaker at Conn, that featured several members of the class of 2016 reflecting on their experiences. In one sequence, the filmmaker asks: “if you had the chance to do it all over again, would you?” and most replied unequivocally, “yes.” The question I want to ask you all now is not would you do it again but what did you do it for? What larger purpose will this education serve? A number of you, I know, are headed into service professions like teaching or medicine; others of you plan to start your own businesses or give back in other ways, by pursuing your art or writing or doing research; I know at least one who is planning to seek public office; and most of you, from what I’ve seen, have thought hard about changing the world. Whatever your path, it is my fervent hope that the same passion and purpose will stay with you long after you leave this hillside and bring deeper meaning to all the things you choose to do. And you will need it. You are entering a world of unimaginable complexity and challenge, during a time when the resolution of age-old conflicts seems more remote than ever. Just this past year, you have watched vast migrations of people seeking asylum from violence and oppression. You have seen great and emerging powers confront each other in nearly every corner of the globe. You have witnessed the specter of terror loom up from Paris to Beirut to Brussels to San Bernardino. And you have experienced it all in a fractious political climate where those aspiring to lead instead curry favor by appealing to our baser instincts rather than to our common humanity or the common good. 	 4	And yet, even as I say that, I have to acknowledge that this was also a year in which the Pope came to remind us again of our responsibility to each other and to the planet, and — for the first time in history — doing so in the context of addressing climate change. That was big. This was also a year in which a team of physicists from around the world proved the existence of gravitational waves, thereby confirming a major part of Einstein’s 100-year-old theory of general relativity and fundamentally changing our understanding of the cosmos. That was bigger. And perhaps more important, like the Pope’s message, it was hopeful. In fact, in all the dense astrophysical discussion that accompanied the news, I was struck by a comment from Dr. Alberto Vecchio — one of the participating researchers —describing the deeper meaning and purpose of the discovery. This is what he said: “We have opened a whole new way of listening that will allow us to discover phenomena we have never seen before.” Think about that for a moment. A whole new way of listening. Leading us to things we have never seen before. This strikes me not just as good news for science. It may also be one of the most important lessons for our time: a new way of listening that has the power to change the world as we know it. That idea makes me think about a talk that Bryan Stevenson delivered on this campus at the beginning of April. The talk was about how you can change the world, and its main points are worth recalling here. Stevenson, as you may know, is a highly acclaimed public interest attorney and founder of the Equal Justice Initiative in Montgomery, Alabama — and he has spent his life defending people on death row. He’s written about his life’s work in a powerful book called “Just Mercy,” which some of you may have read. There were four things he said you have to do to change the world. The first thing he said was you have to GET PROXIMATE. You can’t make a difference without getting close to the people or places you want to affect. Second, he said, you have to work to CHANGE THE NARRATIVE. The way you represent the world has a lot to do with how you can change it. Third, he said, you have to HOLD ONTO YOUR HOPE. No positive movement ever came out of despair. But at the same time, he said, you have to be willing to BE 	 5	UNCOMFORTABLE. No progress or growth is going to be possible without your personal discomfort. And it occurs to me, as I think back on this talk, that all of these actions, in some fundamental way, have to do with listening. It’s listening that allows you to get proximate. Listening is always the first step to changing the narrative. It’s by the effort of listening that you open yourself to new possibilities that bring hope. And, of course, by listening, really listening, you will experience discomfort, the noise and discord of those things you don’t recognize or understand. You can’t change the world, in other words, without cultivating a whole new way of listening. And we are counting on all of you graduates of this great class to do just that: to open your ears and your hearts, to keep pushing the limits, in order to show us those things that we did not believe were possible. Class of 2016, we love you and we are proud of you. I know you will listen well as you move forward in the world. Thank you for bringing your eyes, your ears, and your passion to this special place. I wish you great happiness and success in your life after Connecticut College, and I look forward to seeing you back here often and welcoming you home. (Remarks as prepared by President Katherine Bergeron.)  

President Bergeron\u27s 98th Commencement Address

Connecticut CollegeDigital Commons @ Connecticut CollegeCommencement Addresses Office of Communications2016President Bergeron's 98th CommencementAddressKatherine BergeronFollow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.conncoll.edu/commencePart of the Arts and Humanities CommonsThis Speech is brought to you for free and open access by the Office of Communications at Digital Commons @ Connecticut College. It has beenaccepted for inclusion in Commencement Addresses by an authorized administrator of Digital Commons @ Connecticut College. For moreinformation, please contact bpancier@conncoll.edu.The views expressed in this paper are solely those of the author.A Whole New Way of Listening Remarks to the Class of 2016 by President Katherine Bergeron  98th Commencement Sunday  May 22, 2016 Members of the Board of Trustees both past and present; distinguished honorees and guests; colleagues in the alumni association and in the senior administration; faculty and staff; parents, family members, and friends; and, especially, the soon-to-be graduates of the remarkable class of 2016: it a pleasure to see you all on this important day; it is a privilege to welcome you to this ceremony; and it is a great honor to be able to stand before you and declare the 98th Commencement exercises of Connecticut College now open. Today’s ceremony includes a number of highlights, including an address delivered by a member of the class of 2016; the presentation of two end-of-year prizes; the conferring of an honorary doctor of letters on our distinguished commencement speaker; and, finally, the awarding of 4 master’s degrees and 429 baccalaureate degrees to this year’s graduates. All of this follows our usual conventions, but we have one more surprise saved for the very end. So this 98th commencement is going to be a little bit different: a unique ceremony for a uniquely talented group of graduates: the beautiful and unconventional class of 2016. I was reflecting: the interval of your four years here has also been somewhat unconventional, in a sense. Since your arrival in the summer of 2012, your class has witnessed the beginnings of a slow evolution at this College. For one thing, you have watched the physical renewal of our campus in one of the more active periods of rebuilding in recent history. The newly renovated Science Center in New London Hall opened during your first semester. And a transformed Shain Library was ready for your final year. In between, the Zachs Hillel House sprang up on North Campus — the first new stand-alone building this College has seen in 50 years. But your four years here have been a significant period of knowledge building, as well. Since 2012, your faculty has together produced more than 60 books, 450 articles, and mounted more than 200 exhibitions and performances. The College has acquired almost 20 million dollars in funding to support teaching, research, and creative activity. Some of you have been directly involved in this work as research assistants and even as co-authors on papers. Even more impressive, with your arrival, this same faculty undertook a project to renovate our whole approach to liberal education — an effort that resulted in a pioneering new curriculum that many of you helped inspire. And now we are poised to complete a new strategic plan that, again, you all helped to shape, a plan that will ensure that the Connecticut College you have known will not only maintain its vitality but also become an even more vibrant institution in its second century. But just as you have watched the evolution of this College, so have we watched you evolve. And now here we are, at your commencement, celebrating that evolution. I was speaking with a colleague recently who commented that commencement is almost unique among rituals in its focus on the here and now. So many other ceremonial occasions either look back over past accomplishments, or look ahead toward future potential. A commencement certainly touches on these things, but its main purpose is to linger on the present moment, to mark your success in achieving a degree that represents not just a significant academic attainment but also (dare I say it?) a rite of passage into adulthood. For me, the unqualified pleasure that comes with this rite of passage has to do with seeing what has happened to all of you. You were just sophomores when I arrived at Conn, and it’s astonishing to see how much you have grown during that time. This year, as we were watching you in your thesis defenses, or during the presentations of your senior integrated projects, or at poster sessions, or in the community-based initiatives or the startups you developed, or in the classrooms where you did student teaching, or in your last athletic playoffs, or during your Fulbright interviews or your TEDx talks, or at the senior art show, or in your culminating recitals or screenings or theatrical performances, or in the very last Eclipse of your Conn career. . . . we were all sitting there marveling at the competent, thoughtful, articulate, and compassionate people you have become. It’s something that the faculty and I — and of course your family members — perceive even more than you do right now. But I can tell you this: seeing that transformation is the whole reason we are here; it’s one of truly great rewards of the academic life; and it’s what we’re celebrating today. A couple of weeks ago I saw a documentary, made by a student filmmaker at Conn, that featured several members of the class of 2016 reflecting on their experiences. In one sequence, the filmmaker asks: “if you had the chance to do it all over again, would you?” and most replied unequivocally, “yes.” The question I want to ask you all now is not would you do it again but what did you do it for? What larger purpose will this education serve? A number of you, I know, are headed into service professions like teaching or medicine; others of you plan to start your own businesses or give back in other ways, by pursuing your art or writing or doing research; I know at least one who is planning to seek public office; and most of you, from what I’ve seen, have thought hard about changing the world. Whatever your path, it is my fervent hope that the same passion and purpose will stay with you long after you leave this hillside and bring deeper meaning to all the things you choose to do. And you will need it. You are entering a world of unimaginable complexity and challenge, during a time when the resolution of age-old conflicts seems more remote than ever. Just this past year, you have watched vast migrations of people seeking asylum from violence and oppression. You have seen great and emerging powers confront each other in nearly every corner of the globe. You have witnessed the specter of terror loom up from Paris to Beirut to Brussels to San Bernardino. And you have experienced it all in a fractious political climate where those aspiring to lead instead curry favor by appealing to our baser instincts rather than to our common humanity or the common good. And yet, even as I say that, I have to acknowledge that this was also a year in which the Pope came to remind us again of our responsibility to each other and to the planet, and — for the first time in history — doing so in the context of addressing climate change. That was big. This was also a year in which a team of physicists from around the world proved the existence of gravitational waves, thereby confirming a major part of Einstein’s 100-year-old theory of general relativity and fundamentally changing our understanding of the cosmos. That was bigger. And perhaps more important, like the Pope’s message, it was hopeful. In fact, in all the dense astrophysical discussion that accompanied the news, I was struck by a comment from Dr. Alberto Vecchio — one of the participating researchers —describing the deeper meaning and purpose of the discovery. This is what he said: “We have opened a whole new way of listening that will allow us to discover phenomena we have never seen before.” Think about that for a moment. A whole new way of listening. Leading us to things we have never seen before. This strikes me not just as good news for science. It may also be one of the most important lessons for our time: a new way of listening that has the power to change the world as we know it. That idea makes me think about a talk that Bryan Stevenson delivered on this campus at the beginning of April. The talk was about how you can change the world, and its main points are worth recalling here. Stevenson, as you may know, is a highly acclaimed public interest attorney and founder of the Equal Justice Initiative in Montgomery, Alabama — and he has spent his life defending people on death row. He’s written about his life’s work in a powerful book called “Just Mercy,” which some of you may have read. There were four things he said you have to do to change the world. The first thing he said was you have to GET PROXIMATE. You can’t make a difference without getting close to the people or places you want to affect. Second, he said, you have to work to CHANGE THE NARRATIVE. The way you represent the world has a lot to do with how you can change it. Third, he said, you have to HOLD ONTO YOUR HOPE. No positive movement ever came out of despair. But at the same time, he said, you have to be willing to BE UNCOMFORTABLE. No progress or growth is going to be possible without your personal discomfort. And it occurs to me, as I think back on this talk, that all of these actions, in some fundamental way, have to do with listening. It’s listening that allows you to get proximate. Listening is always the first step to changing the narrative. It’s by the effort of listening that you open yourself to new possibilities that bring hope. And, of course, by listening, really listening, you will experience discomfort, the noise and discord of those things you don’t recognize or understand. You can’t change the world, in other words, without cultivating a whole new way of listening. And we are counting on all of you graduates of this great class to do just that: to open your ears and your hearts, to keep pushing the limits, in order to show us those things that we did not believe were possible. Class of 2016, we love you and we are proud of you. I know you will listen well as you move forward in the world. Thank you for bringing your eyes, your ears, and your passion to this special place. I wish you great happiness and success in your life after Connecticut College, and I look forward to seeing you back here often and welcoming you home. (Remarks as prepared by President Katherine Bergeron.)  

https://digitalcommons.conncoll.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1003&amp;context=prespub

President Bergeron\u27s 99th Commencement Address

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