And at 16, I stumbled across another opportunity, and I earned my first acting role in a film. I can hardly find the words to describe the peace I felt when I was acting. My dysfunctional self could actually plug in to another self, not my own, and it felt so good.It was the first time that I existed inside a fully-functioning self -- one that I controlled, that I steered, that I gave life to. But the shooting day would end, and I'd return to my gnarly, awkward self.By 19, I was a fully-fledged movie actor, but still searching for definition. I applied to read anthropology at university. Dr. Phyllis Lee gave me my interview, and she asked me, "How would you define race? "Well, I thought I had the answer to that one, and I said, "Skin color." "So biology, genetics?" she said. "Because, Thandie, that's not accurate. Because there's actually more genetic difference between a black Kenyan and a black Ugandan than there is between a black Kenyan and, say, a white Norwegian.
Because we all stem from Africa. So in Africa, there's been more time to create genetic diversity." In other words, race has no basis in biological or scientific fact. On the one hand, result. Right? On the other hand, my definition of self just lost a huge chunk of its credibility. But what was credible, what is biological and scientific fact, is that we all stem from Africa -- in fact, from a woman called Mitochondrial Eve who lived 160,000 years ago. And race is an illegitimate concept which our selves have created based on fear and ignorance.Strangely, these revelations didn't cure my low self-esteem, that feeling of otherness. My desire to disappear was still very powerful. I had a degree from Cambridge; I had a thriving career, but my self was a car crashand I wound up with bulimia and on a therapist's couch. And of course I did. I still believed my self was all I was. I still valued self-worth above all other worth, and what was there to suggest otherwise?
We've created entire value systems and a physical reality to support the worth of self. Look at the industry for self-image and the jobs it creates, the revenue it turns over. We'd be right in assuming that the self is an actual living thing. But it's not. It's a projection which our clever brains create in order to cheat ourselves from the reality of death.But there is something that can give the self ultimate and infinite connection -- and that thing is oneness, our essence. The self's struggle for authenticity and definition will never end unless it's connected to its creator -- to you and to me. And that can happen with awareness -- awareness of the reality of oneness and the projection of self-hood.For a start, we can think about all the times when we do lose ourselves. It happens when I dance, when I'm acting. I'm earthed in my essence, and my self is suspended. In those moments, I'm connected to everything --
Today, I believe that we are living in a similar moment. And once again, we’ll be counting on MIT graduates – all of you – to lead us.
But this time, our most important and pressing mission – your generation’s mission – is not to explore deep space and reach faraway places. It is to save our own planet, the one that we’re living on, from climate change. And unlike 1962, the primary challenge before you is not scientific or technological. It is political.
The fact is we’ve already pioneered the technology to tackle climate change. We know how to power buildings using sun and wind. We know how to power vehicles using batteries charged with renewable energy. We know how to power factories and industries using hydrogen and fuel cells. And we know that these innovations don’t require us to sacrifice financially or economically. Just the opposite, these investments, on balance, create jobs and save money.
Yes, all of those power sources need to be brought to scale – and that will require further scientific innovation, which we need you to help lead. But the question isn’t how to tackle climate change. We’ve known how to do that for many years. The question is: why the hell are we moving so slowly?
The race we are in is against time, and we are losing. And with each passing year, it becomes clearer just how far behind we’ve fallen, and how fast the situation is deteriorating, and how tragic the results can be.
Embracing otherness. When I first heard this theme, I thought, well, embracing otherness is embracing myself. And the journey to that place of understanding and acceptance has been an interesting one for me, and it's given me an insight into the whole notion of self, which I think is worth sharing with you today.We each have a self, but I don't think that we're born with one.You know how newborn babies believe they're part of everything; they're not separate? Well that fundamental sense of oneness is lost on us very quickly. It's like that initial stage is over -- oneness: infancy, unformed, primitive. It's no longer valid or real. What is real is separateness, and at some point in early babyhood, the idea of self starts to form.
I really want to live in a world where disability is not the exception, but the norm. I want to live in a world where a 15-year-old girl sitting in her bedroom watching "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" isn't referred to as achieving anything because she's doing it sitting down. I want to live in a world where we don't have such low expectations of disabled people that we are congratulated for getting out of bed and remembering our own names in the morning. I want to live in a world where we value genuine achievement for disabled people, and I want to live in a world where a kid in year 11 in a Melbourne high school is not one bit surprised that his new teacher is a wheelchair user. Disability doesn't make you exceptional, but questioning what you think you know about it does. Thank you.
Taken together, these four elements of Beyond Carbon will be the largest coordinated assault on the climate crisis that our country has ever undertaken.
Thank you. We will work to empower and expand the volunteers and activists fighting these battles community by community, state by state. It’s a process that our foundation and I have proved can succeed. After all, this isn’t the first time we’ve done an end run around Washington.
A decade ago, no one would have believed that we could take on the coal industry and close half of all U.S. plants, but we have.
A decade ago, no one would have believed we could take on the NRA and pass stronger gun safety laws in states like Florida, Colorado, and Nevada, but we have.
Two decades ago, no one would have believed that we could take on the tobacco industry and spread New York City’s smoking ban to most of America and to countries around the world, but we have.
And now, we will take on the fossil fuel industry to accelerate the transition to a clean energy economy. I believe we will succeed again – but only if one thing happens, and that is: you have to help lead the way by raising your voices, by joining an advocacy group, by knocking on doors, by calling your elected officials, by voting, and getting your friends and family to join you.
Back in the 1960s, when scientists here at MIT were racing to the moon, there was a populist saying that went: if you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem. Today, Washington is a very, very big part of the problem.
And I know what you're thinking. You know, I'm up here bagging out inspiration, and you're thinking, "Jeez, Stella, aren't you inspired sometimes by some things?" And the thing is, I am. I learn from other disabled people all the time. I'm learning not that I am luckier than them, though. I am learning that it's a genius idea to use a pair of barbecue tongs to pick up things that you dropped. (Laughter) I'm learning that nifty trick where you can charge your mobile phone battery from your chair battery. Genius. We are learning from each others' strength and endurance, not against our bodies and our diagnoses, but against a world that exceptionalizes and objectifies us. I really think that this lie that we've been sold about disability is the greatest injustice. It makes life hard for us. And that quote, "The only disability in life is a bad attitude," the reason that that's bullshit is because it's just not true, because of the social model of disability. No amount of smiling at a flight of stairs has ever made it turn into a ramp. Never. (Laughter) (Applause) Smiling at a television screen isn't going to make closed captions appear for people who are deaf. No amount of standing in the middle of a bookshop and radiating a positive attitude is going to turn all those books into braille. It's just not going to happen.
But in retrospect, the destruction of my self was so repetitive that I started to see a pattern. The self changed, got affected, broken, destroyed, but another one would evolve -- sometimes stronger, sometimes hateful, sometimes not wanting to be there at all.The self was not constant. And how many times would my self have to die before I realized that it was never alive in the first place?I grew up on the coast of England in the '70s. My dad is white from Cornwall, and my mom is black from Zimbabwe. Even the idea of us as a family was challenging to most people. But nature had its wicked way, and brown babies were born. But from about the age of five, I was aware that I didn't fit. I was the black atheist kid in the all-white Catholic school run by nuns.I was an anomaly, and my self was rooting around for definition and trying to plug in. Because the self likes to fit, to see itself replicated, to belong. That confirms its existence and its importance. And it is important.
the ground, the air, the sounds, the energy from the audience. All my senses are alert and alive in much the same way as an infant might feel -- that feeling of oneness.And when I'm acting a role, I inhabit another self, and I give it life for awhile, because when the self is suspended so is divisiveness and judgment. And I've played everything from a vengeful ghost in the time of slavery to Secretary of State in 20xx. And no matter how other these selves might be, they're all related in me. And I honestly believe the key to my success as an actor and my progress as a person has been the very lack of self that used to make me feel so anxious and insecure.I always wondered why I could feel others' pain so deeply, why I could recognize the somebody in the nobody. It's because I didn't have a self to get in the way. I thought I lacked substance, and the fact that I could feel others' meant that I had nothing of myself to feel.
Our little portion of oneness is given a name, is told all kinds of things about itself, and these details, opinions and ideas become facts, which go towards building ourselves, our identity. And that self becomes the vehicle for navigating our social world. But the self is a projection based on other people's projections. Is it who we really are? Or who we really want to be, or should be?So this whole interaction with self and identity was a very difficult one for me growing up. The self that I attempted to take out into the world was rejected over and over again. And my panic at not having a self that fit, and the confusion that came from my self being rejected, created anxiety, shame and hopelessness, which kind of defined me for a long time.
It has an extremely important function. Without it, we literally can't interface with others. We can't hatch plans and climb that stairway of popularity, of successBut my skin color wasn't right. My hair wasn't right. My history wasn't right. My self became defined by otherness, which meant that, in that social world, I didn't really exist. And I was "other" before being anything else -- even before being a girl. I was a noticeable nobody.Another world was opening up around this time: performance and dancing. That nagging dread of self-hood didn't exist when I was dancing. I'd literally lose myself. And I was a really good dancer. I would put all my emotional expression into my dancing. I could be in the movement in a way that I wasn't able to be in my real life, in myself.
Strength is a big part of the Boilermaker mystique. And it comes in forms more important than the physical strength of our terrific athletes or those of you I see at the Co-Rec and on our intramural fields. Purdue has always been known for sending into the world young men and women who are strong and ready in all the ways that matter in adult life. That’s never been more important, or a bigger advantage, than right now.
By making it to this hall today, you have proven that you are strong intellectually. Your university has never believed in participation trophies. Your parents can rest assured that, in the words of a long-ago commercial they will remember, you got your diploma the old-fashioned way. “You earned it.”
I can testify that you are strong in character. In each of your years here, our campus was rated among the safest in the country, in large part because of fewer incidents of student misconduct. Each year on our big event weekends, police calls here are a small fraction of those at nearby universities of similar size. Naming no names.
You have not just behaved yourselves well, you have demanded it of others. Bystander actions and reports that prevent harm to other students have risen sharply in recent years.
And your heart for others is truly inspiring. We watch with admiration your dance marathons and countless other charity projects demonstrating the ethic of service and selflessness that we associate with great character.