University  of  Northern  Colorado  Graduate  Commencement  Address    
By  Dr.  Fred  Mednick,  Founder,  Teachers  Without  Borders    
May  6,  2011    
 
Thank  you,  President  Norton  for  your  very  kind  introduction.    

Salutations  to  you  all  –  Doctor  Lewis;  Trustees;  Recipients  of  special  honors;  Faculty;  Mr.  Parker,  
for  the  Star  Spangled  Banner  -­‐  a  true  symbol  of  resilience,  imperishable  hope,  and  the  elegance  
and  promise  of  baseball.    Salutations,  especially,  to  you  happy,  proud,  caffeinated  parents  and  
exhausted  and  exhilarated  graduates.      To  the  mothers,  grandmothers  and  great  grandmothers  
here,  Happy  Mother’s  Day  tomorrow.    

It  is  an  honor  to  be  here  at  Northern  Colorado  University  and  at  a  school  that  lives  and  breathes  
its  motto:  “bringing  education  to  life.”    My  entire  life,  I  have  worked  in  the  service  of  the  mirror  
image  of  that  motto  –  bringing  lives  to  education  –and,  for  over  a  decade,  have  been  playing  a  
small  part  in  gathering  teachers  from  some  of  the  most  intractable  and  marginalized  parts  of  the  
world  in  order  to  bring  thirsty  minds  to  the  cool,  clean,  replenishable  drinking  fountain  of  ideas.      
So,  for  me,  today  feels  like  a  match.    Again,  thank  you.  

Now  I’m  on  the  short  side,  an  obvious  fact  made  particularly  ironic  here,  today,  at  these  
commencement  exercises  being  held  in  a  basketball  arena.    I  always  assumed  that,  being  short,  
my  speeches  should  be  brief.      I’ll  do  my  best.    In  fact,  even  as  I  am  speaking  to  you,  some  of  you  
may  be  tweeting  or  texting  or  updating  your  status  with  a  message  like:    I’m  a  graduate,  man!  
Whoo  hoo!,  BRB,  LOL,  or  any  number  of  acronyms  or  running  commentaries,  a  good  percentage  
of  which  might  be  inappropriate  for  at  least  this  next  hour.    

So,  as  one  of  many  spokespersons  for  the  notion  of  bringing  lives  to  education,  this  is  an  occasion  
for  stories  –  heartbreaking  and  hopeful  stories  –  of  people  you  are  most  likely  never  going  to  
meet  but  who,  like  everyone  around  you,  have  something  profound  to  share.  

University  of  Northern  Colorado  commencement  speech:  Dr.  Fred  Mednick   1  

May  6,  2011  
Let’s  truly  fast-­‐forward  a  bit.    4  months  from  now,  you  may  be  polishing  that  resume  or  settling  
in  a  new  job  or  helping  some  3rd  grader  glue  Popsicle  sticks  together  for  a  social-­‐studies  project.      

4  months  from  now,  I  have  a  pretty  good  idea  about  what  I’ll  be  doing.    4  months  and  5  days  from  
now  –  128  days  from  now  –  to  be  exact:    September  11,  2011.      

At  around  9:30  in  the  morning  on  that  day,  I’ll  take  a  moment  and  reflect  on  the  last  ten  years.    
I’ll  probably  think  about  who  I  am  and  where  I  am,  about  our  nation  and  where  it’s  going.    I’ll  call  
my  wife  and  my  two  daughters  and  tell  them  that  I  love  them.    It  should  be  a  very  interesting  
moment  because  I  have  plans  to  be  in  Port  au  Prince,  Haiti.    I’ll  most  likely  be  sitting  outside  on  
some  un-­‐cleared  rubble.    It  will  be  hot  and  humid  and  dusty.    Open  jeeps  and  colorful  buses  will  
speed  past.  It  will  smell  of  peppers,  plantains  and  cabbage,  mixed  with  burnt  plastic  bottles.    
Children  will  be  playing  soccer  with  a  ball  of  taped  debris.    Competing  radios,  each  with  a  long-­‐
tail  extension  cord  snaking  up  a  wall  into  an  apartment,  will  play  upbeat  music  punctuated  by  
honking  horns  and  street  life.    A  young  boy  across  the  street  will  probably  wonder  what  I  am  
doing  there.  

I’ll  sit  there  for  a  moment  and  attempt  to  make  some  connection  between  the  collapse  of  the  
twin  towers,  Osama  bin  Laden’s  death  this  week  and,  like  so  many  others,  try  to  sort  out  
complicated  feelings  ranging  from  a  sudden  fresh  wave  of  trauma  to  the  stoic  satisfaction  of  
justice  or  retribution.    I’ll  recall  the  images  of  inferno  marking  the  egregious,  defamatory  assault  
on  humanity  on  September  11th  2001,  that  barbaric  attack  on  the  sanctity  of  life  itself,  that  
insidious  and  premeditated  sin  of  commission.      

From  my  makeshift  chair  of  unreinforced  concrete  in  Haiti,  I  will  also  think  about  a  colossal  sin  
of  omission  caused  by  the  failure  of  the  world  to  come  to  the  preventative  aid  of  a  country  
warned  two  years  prior  that  its  dense  population  living  and  learning  in  poorly-­‐constructed  
buildings  on  top  of  a  shallow  earthquake  fault-­‐line  could  result  in  disaster.    

I’ll  think  about  buildings  brought  down  by  entirely  unrelated  forces,  and  though  I  have  long  ago  
given  up  on  rushing  to  sweeping  conclusions  about  any  two  events,  I  will  –  nonetheless  –  
attempt  to  make  sense  of  these  lost  structures  and  lives.    I  may  even  have  a  poetic  or  existential  

University  of  Northern  Colorado  commencement  speech:  Dr.  Fred  Mednick   2  

May  6,  2011  
moment  there,  wondering  about  the  fragility  of  lives  attacked  on  the  outside  or  imploded  from  
the  inside.      

But  one  thing  is  certain;  I  will  think  about  bringing  education  to  life  and  life  to  education.      I  ask  
you,  too,  to  make  connections  between  sins  of  commission  and  sins  of  omission,  to  make  
connections  between  crisis  and  opportunity,  to  make  connections  between  the  past  and  the  
present,  between  events  and  their  consequences.    

Here  are  some  examples  from  the  field.    Let  them  sink  in  for  a  moment.    

In  South  Africa,  picture  a  classroom  made  of  mud  and  sheltered  by  a  corrugated  rusted  tin  roof.    
This  classroom  houses  60  children  -­‐  ten  rows  of  six  students  each.    Every  other  row  of  children  
must  bend  over  (for  a  half  hour)  so  that  the  children  behind  them  can  use  their  backs  as  a  desk.  
Then  they  switch,  a  new  group  turning  themselves  into  human  desks.    The  room  is  an  oven  of  
adobe.    Inside,  real  thinking  is  going  on.  Lives  brought  to  education.    Connections  being  made.  

In  China,  my  organization  had  been  working  in  Sichuan  Province,  teaching  science-­‐inquiry  
methods  to  middle-­‐school  and  high-­‐school  teachers.    Picture  the  cheery  exchange  of  ideas,  
teachers  in  teams  using  toys  and  bicycle  parts  to  demonstrate  scientific  principles.    And  then,  
two  years  later  on  May  12th,  2008  at  2:38  pm,  picture  that  same  area  flattened  by  the  earthquake.    
Lost  students  and  teachers.    Collapsed  buildings.      

Immobilized  and  devastated,  I  returned  to  China  and  met  with  the  local  Minister  of  Education.    
Through  his  tears  he  said:    “Connect  earthquake  preparedness  and  planning  with  inquiry  
science.    Help  the  teachers  and  the  community  learn  -­‐  the  why  and  the  how  of  science  and  
safety.”    Today,  that  program  is  connected  throughout  the  region,  and  has  now  jumped  borders  
to  Haiti  and  Central  Asia.    He  paid  attention.    Once  again,  he  made  connections.  

In  India,  picture  a  classroom  where  women  who  didn’t  even  know  their  names  were  learning  
how  to  read.    Here,  the  teachers  made  it  clear  that  success  would  be  measured  only  when  every  
one  of  the  students  received  20  out  of  20  on  the  test.    I  am  sitting  in  the  back,  watching  these  
women  use  real  slate  and  chalk  -­‐  no  iPads  here.    Their  incentive  for  learning  was  clear:    if  I  help  

University  of  Northern  Colorado  commencement  speech:  Dr.  Fred  Mednick   3  

May  6,  2011  
you,  you  will  help  me.    For  them,  learning  was  not  a  competitive  sport  of  winners  and  losers,  but  
the  connective  tissue  between  one’s  own  achievement  and  the  achievement  of  others.    

In  Afghanistan,  picture  a  newly  established  computer  lab  in  Kabul  for  women.    They  enter  the  
room,  having  never  laid  eyes  on  a  computer,  no  less  having  touched  a  keyboard.    The  lessons  had  
been  going  exceedingly  well,  beginning  with  explaining  the  parts  of  the  computer  and  what  
computers  could  do.    We  wrote  letters.    We  painted  pictures.    We  kept  records.    Many  stayed  late  
to  practice.    After  class,  I  remember  preparing  my  lesson  for  the  next  day,  but  something  wasn’t  
working.    I  kept  getting  error  and  corrupt  file  messages  at  just  the  moment  when  I  was  shutting  
down  the  computer.    Clearly  anxious,  I  entered  into  the  technology  phase  of  insanity  many  of  us  
know  all  too  well  –  doing  the  same  action  again  and  again,  expecting  a  different  result  each  time.    

I  hadn’t  noticed  that  two  of  the  women  in  my  class  were  hovering  close  by.    In  a  combination  of  
English  and  Farsi,  one  asserted  herself:    “Excuse  me,  Doctor  Fred.”    I  looked  up,  drained  and  a  bit  
panicked.    “Dr.  Fred,  I  think  you  need  to  right-­‐click,  scroll  to  eject  your  device,  and  wait  just  one  
more  second  until  it  says  it’s  okay.”      I  was  flushed  with  embarrassment  and  joy.    Though  she  had  
never  used  a  thumb  drive,  she  had  read  the  instructions  and  was  ready  to  pass  her  knowledge  
on.  

In  every  corner  of  the  earth  I  travel,  those  seemingly  inconsolable  and  desperate  places  written  
off  as  beyond  hope  or  labeled  as  “failed  states,”  I  see  the  same  thing:    brains  evenly  distributed,  
people  making  connections,  however  long  it  takes…people  who  take  care  of  themselves  and  
others,  people  with  an  insatiable  appetite  for  learning,  people  who  ask  questions,  people  willing  
to  take  risks  for  an  idea.    

These  are  stories  of  people  who  have  brought  lives  to  education.  These  are  people  more  
interested  in  what  others  have  to  say  than  in  being  interesting  themselves.    These  are  people  
who  embody  those  human  qualities  of  leadership  we  still  struggle  to  define  and  may  even  
mistrust,  yet  represent  a  symbol  of  character  we  recognize  immediately.  

Many  of  those  children  in  South  Africa  –  their  backs  as  desks  –  understand  the  leadership  of  
sacrifice;  in  earthquake-­‐devastated  China,  teacher  leaders  turn  crisis  into  opportunity;  in  India,  

University  of  Northern  Colorado  commencement  speech:  Dr.  Fred  Mednick   4  

May  6,  2011  
farming  women  teach  us  the  leadership  of  collaboration;    in  Afghanistan,  women  learning  
computers  for  the  first  time  teach  about  the  leadership  of  problem-­‐solving.      

Regardless  of  where  they  come  from  or  what  obstacles  they  face,  their  motivation  comes  from  
the  inside.  All  of  them  know  that  they  have  to  keep  learning.  It's  as  if  they  operate  with  a  
different  kind  of  currency  beyond  money,  beyond  the  currency  of  influence  or  frequent  flyer  
miles,  barter  or  work-­‐study,  credit  cards  or  sweat  equity.  

Theirs  is  a  currency  of  human  and  intellectual  connection.    Theirs  is  an  electric  currency  of  
human  agency,  reciprocity,  and  love.    Their  currency  begins  every  interaction  with  hospitality  
and  ends  it  with  gratitude.  Their  currency  is  nothing  short  of  an  active  (yet  invisible)  faith  in  the  
power  of  human  beings,  anywhere,  to  make  change.    It  is  a  currency  more  of  the  compass  than  
the  roadmap.    It  is  a  currency  that  works  beyond  class  distinction,  beyond  race  hatred,  beyond  
artificial  borders.      

These  leaders  aren’t  born  or  made;  they  just  show  up.    They  hear  and  answer  a  humming  sound  
in  the  distance  calling  them  to  rectify  the  indignity  wrought  by  sins  of  omission  or  sins  of  
commission.  They  hear  the  sound  of  the  world  straining  to  rise  each  morning  and  rotate  on  its  
axis,  pleading  with  us  to  Atlas-­‐up  for  a  moment  and  share  the  burden.    Some  may  hear  the  
melody  of  faith  from  above,  and  others  may  hear  the  steady  drum-­‐beat  of  their  own  hearts.      In  
the  end,  it  doesn’t  really  matter.    They  all  share  a  call  of  human  dignity  because  they  simply  
cannot  accept  anything  less.    

For  many  of  us,  this  sound  can  be  a  distraction,  even  an  annoyance,  like  the  sound  of  a  ballast  
about  to  go,  cutting  off  the  lights,  or  pitched  too  high  like  a  dog's  whistle.    After  all,  the  tyranny  of  
the  urgent  always  feels  like  an  unstoppable  force:    making  a  buck,  providing  for  our  families,  
handling  the  nitty-­‐gritty  realities  of  life.    Fair  enough.  It  may  not  be  a  sound  we  can  hear  or  wish  
to  hear  right  now.    

But  the  sound  is  still  ringing.  And  those  leaders?    They  hear  that  hum  and  that  call  every  day.    I  
am  asking  you  to  do  the  same.    It  need  not  be  heroic,  but  we  do  need  your  strong  shoulders  to  
carry  just  a  bit  more  and  your  strong  minds  to  pay  attention  a  just  a  bit  longer  so  that  those  

University  of  Northern  Colorado  commencement  speech:  Dr.  Fred  Mednick   5  

May  6,  2011  
around  you  can  hear  that  hum  of  dignity  too.  And  if  you  do  hear  it,  more  often  than  not,  your  life  
–  all  of  our  lives  –  will  sound  like  music.  

Look,  I  can’t  tell  you  when  the  time  will  be  right,  but  you’ll  know  it  when  you  see  it.    One  last  
story  shall  give  you  a  sense  of  this  message:  

The  chair  of  my  doctoral  committee  once  told  a  story  of  a  doctor  at  a  teaching  hospital.    The  
doctor  began  to  explain  a  particular  kind  of  heart  operation  to  his  medical  students  gathered  on  
a  second-­‐floor  observation  perch.    At  one  point,  the  doctor  looked  up  at  his  students  and,  as  if  
staring  into  each  one  of  their  souls,  said:    “This  next  phase  is  delicate  and  crucial.    You  need  to  
connect  x  part  with  y  part.    Do  you  see  that  everyone?    Good.    OK.    Now,  you  need  to  complete  this  
next  phase  of  the  operation  in  under  30  seconds  or  the  patient  will  die.”    I  can  just  imagine  the  
look  on  their  faces.    As  the  story  goes,  the  doctor  then  said:    “So  take  your  time.”      He  didn’t  ask  
them  to  rush.    He  asked  them  to  know  what  they  were  doing,  to  pay  attention,  and  to  make  that  
connection.    

For  us  here,  today,  this  is  a  call  and  a  challenge  to  rise  from  the  rubble  and  construct  a  society  
that  brings  education  to  life  and  life  to  education.    And  if  you  do  that,  you’ll  hear  that  song.    You  
can  listen  to  that  song  whenever  you  like  -­‐  when  you’re  alone  or  in  a  crowd.  Let  that  music  be  
your  sound  track,  even  as  you  tuck  your  diploma  under  your  arm  and  drink  something  cold  and  
frosty.      

Graduates,  I  wish  you  the  very  best  song  of  celebration  you  so,  so,  so  much  deserve.      

Godspeed.  

 
 
 

University  of  Northern  Colorado  commencement  speech:  Dr.  Fred  Mednick   6  

May  6,  2011