Dare to Disturb the Universe

Following is the address delivered by Lisa Shannon at the Senior Banquet for the graduating class of 2016. An award-winning author and activist, Lisa has spent nearly a decade mobilizing grassroots women to address extreme threats to women’s security, aiding and empowering more than 100,000 women and children in Africa. Through launching several mass movements, her study as a fellow with Harvard’s Center for Public Leadership, and extensive interviews with grassroots women leaders around the world, Lisa has emerged an inspiring voice in the international women’s movement and expert on women’s leadership. 

What an honor to be here today celebrating your commencement, class of 2016— with all of the families, friends, faculty, Michael & Joy, and a special thanks to Dawn Marley, who has worked so hard to create this 3 day celebration.

 

I discovered Thacher through two of my very best friends, two of my favorite people on Earth, both of whom graduated 25 years ago: Rukmini Callimachi, power-house terrorism reporter for the New York Times, and Andrew Shakman, die-hard environmental activist dedicated to curbing climate change through food waste prevention.

 

Through the years, as I’ve tagged along to many Thacher events—gymkhana, reunions, board meetings—I’ve recognized it was no happy accident that two of my dearest friends had emerged from this place. I recognized that like Rukmini and Andrew, like so many of you here tonight, I, too, have strived to live those core Thacher values: Honor. Fairness. Kindness. Truth.

 

Today, I’d like to share some of my own experiments with these values. And in honor of your graduation, I’d like to add one. We’ll get to that.

 

But first, well start with the obvious. I’m a human rights activist, so my experiments in kindness.

 

My grandest credential beginning my service on behalf of women survivors of war was “ordinary TV watcher.” I learned about the war in Congo watching Oprah.

 

In 2005, it was eight years into the deadliest war since World War II, the worst sexual violence on the planet, and there was no movement for Congo in this country.

 

I wanted to do something to help. Something generous. Something kind.

 

I decided to do a lone, 30-mile trail run. The major snag being that I had never done any fundraising, organizing, speaking…and I was a wimpy runner. I’ve had grandmas and their fat dogs walk past me on the trail. Once, I tried to train for a marathon. 10 miles into my first 14-mile training run, I called a cab to drive me back to my car, ending my marathon ambitions. Yet, for Congo I did the 30-mile run, and raised $28,000, supporting 80 Congolese women through Women for Women International.

 

When other women contacted me wanting to run, I decided to take it on the road.

 

Cut to, one year later:  It’s  six a.m., still dark. I’m in Manhattan’s Riverside Park for the first New York Run for Congo Women- in gale force winds. The storm was so bad, the park service called the night before, suggesting we cancel. My response:  When women in Congo sleep in the forest in the rain, their kids get sick and die. No, we’re not going to cancel.

 

In short, I had flipped on my empathy switch. I was feeling with Congolese women.

 

Here’s the thing: Kindness without empathy risks becoming pity. Pity separates us. It allows us to one- up the object of our kindness. And the little ego boost that comes with it is a quick burn. We flicker out in like 10 seconds.

 

But empathy is straight soul fuel.

 

Standing there in lightweight jogging shorts, in wind and icy rain, I knew no one would show up. By our 8am start, one registered runner show up. We ran.

 

But one woman who didn’t show up that day became an organizer the next year. We had 100 runners, the next 300, the next 500. Today, thousands of people have participated in Run for Congo Women, and with related media, we’ve raised more than fifteen million dollars, aiding more than 90,000 Congolese women and children.

 

But how could I have known that on that morning in New York? To say I trusted running that day would make a difference would be gross overstatement. I hoped it would.

 

Yet, in that moment, we staked out a movement.

 

So, the empathy switch: Flip it on. Keep it on. It will fuel you through the threshold of doubt and fear and discomfort to practice kindness.

 

But what happens when values kindness and truth seem to come into direct conflict?

 

That has come up in a big way for me when I’ve experimented with truth.

 

When I went to Congo, I spoke with hundreds of women, “sisters.” At great risk, they told me their stories. All said the same thing: Help end the violence.

 

A tall order. But a few years later, an opportunity presented itself.  

 

A bit of background: Congo is one of the most resource-rich countries on the planet, and the violence there has been largely funded through “conflict minerals” like tin, tantalum, and tungsten- found in all of our consumer electronics products. In 2010, Congress was ushering through a bipartisan bill to regulate conflict minerals, our first real shot at legislation addressing one of the core drivers of the violence.

 

I learned tech lobbies, behind closed doors, were trying to gut the bill, calling it “burdensome to industry.” Such an interesting word choice in the face of what women in Congo have lived. This “burden,” according to tech industry lobbyists, was estimated at less than one penny per electronics product.

 

To me, that was like nails on chalkboard. Even slave owners in 1860 valued human life at more than a penny. I didn’t know what to do, but I couldn’t just stand by.

 

So, I called my mom. At the time, 45,000 people died every month as a result of the Congo conflict. So we got 45,000 pennies and drove to Silicon Valley, with a simple message. “We’ll pay the extra penny, Congolese lives are worth it.”

 

At a tech conference, I faced thousands of guys lined up around the block, with zero interest in Congo. One told me to put my sign down because the word “rape” made him uncomfortable.

 

I want to be clear: Corporate campaigning is not my thing. I don’t like the confrontation. I didn’t want to be there.

 

Now, my mom in a recent interview was asked her how she liked this kind of campaigning. She leaned in and said, “I frickin’ loved it.”

 

Not so for me.

 

When it comes to truth—especially when speaking to people who don’t want to hear it— (and I especially want the young women here to hear this) being kind is not the same as being nice.

 

There’s an inner battle that plays out in moments like these. On one hand, there is this inner voice saying, “Uh, oh. I can’t abide.” But on the other hand, you’re thinking, “Who am I to speak up?”  To quote TS Eliot, you wonder, “Do I dare?” “Do I dare disturb the universe?” 

 

In these protests, speaking the unwelcome truth, I found the fuel was the same: Empathy. I was able to cross the comfort threshold for one reason: my “sisters.” They risked their lives to speak to me… and this was asked of me in return.

 

In a confrontation with a public relations lady at Apple headquarters, my voice shook I was so nervous, yet I couldn’t hold back this tidal wave of passion, I told her, “Apple has known for years you purchase conflict minerals. Your industry has taken for granted there is no movement for Congo. Those days are over. It’s gonna be HUGE!” 

 

….And it’s just me and my mom and this woman Diane we met on Facebook.…we were completely faking it. All we had was our message: we can’t stop tech or Congress from gutting the bill. But if you do, we will scream from the rooftops you do not value African lives at more than a penny.

 

Within 6 weeks, our protests were in the New York Times and on National Public Radio, Steve Jobs himself spoke out on conflict minerals, and despite millions spent by tech, jewelry, manufacturing, and retail lobbies, the legislation passed intact.

 

Some people talk about compassion fatigue, like empathy wears you down. I’ve found the opposite. I’ve found empathy to function more like a muscle. The more you exercise it, the more power it gives. The more reflexive it becomes.  It’s not that it makes practicing these values is more comfortable; it’s just that comfort becomes less relevant in the face of empathy override.

 

Which brings us to fairness.

 

Nothing makes my soul storm quite so much as any group of human beings simply being written off, tortured, left to die. The utter lack fairness. That’s what took me to Mogadishu, the capital of Somalia, often termed “the most dangerous place on earth.”  Nowhere on earth had been more written off than Somalia. And no one in Somalia had been more written off than women.

 

So, in 2011, I went to Mogadishu to launch the first sexual violence crisis center there, which I cofounded with an amazing Somali woman activist. Yes, Black Hawk Down Somalia, “the world’s most failed state,” terrorized by war lords and Islamic militants.

 

I spent months making security arrangements: Flack jackets. Eight armed guards. Secure place to stay, inside the African Union compound.

 

But my flight was late. Even though you can’t stay in one place longer than 2 hours without risking suicide bombers, I got wrapped up in long conversations with survivors, like 17 year old “Amina.” She watched her best friend stoned to death, and herself was gang raped. She had to face her al-Shabaab rapists every day. She was scared to even leave her hut to go to the bathroom. Yet she traveled to speak with us.

 

How do you cut that conversation short?

 

So, we went long. We were late. The African Union had closed their gates for the night. There was no way the African Union would let our Somali security within a 100 meters of their compound.

 

To make a long story short, I ended up standing alone, in the middle of a wide-open dusty field, arms in the air. Empty, bombed-out buildings all around, wide open to would-be hostile snipers. Men with guns behind me, African Union guns aimed at me yelling, threatening to shoot.

 

Now I tend to have a high threshold for risk, but that was decidedly “beyond my comfort zone.”

 

Clearly one of the scariest moments of my life. Yet, I chose it. And for Somali women, I would not have traded it. This moment, to me, epitomizes the threshold to an extraordinary life. If you choose to boldly pursue what is kind, what is fair, what is true, in a world that does not hold these values as you do, you will find yourself in that metaphorical field, hands in the air. Guns in front, guns behind. You are not authorized. You are exposed.

 

You can’t know the reverberations of that choice. And yet, when you practice fairness and kindness and truth in despite the risk, despite the exposure, these moments become seeds for true change. That choice is true leadership.

 

Our center started with 30 women pledging then dollars per month. Within a year and a half, we made the cover of the NY Times, and reached thousands of Somali women. Most importantly, the center catalyzed a major culture shift on the ground in Somalia away from silence and toward women’s rights.

 

So, next up, honor. It’s a tricky one, since it means so many different things to people: Reputation, Dignity.

 

I think of it more as an act. What and who we honor with our actions. For whom or for what would we stand in that field. Exposed.

 

From today onward, you will be faced with these choices, from what you study to who you choose as your life partner. What, whom will you honor? For what, for whom will you risk, lay it all on the line?

 

Those choices will define your life.

 

For me, it’s human rights. Violence against women is by far the most widespread violation of human rights on earth. One out of three women worldwide are survivors.  One out of three.

 

Yet the evidence is clear: We can stop this.

 

So, I’ve devoted myself to advancing global treaty to prevent violence against women and girls.

 

That is very much about honor: Yes, honoring every woman and girl on earth, their right to safety and equality. But also honoring boys and men as capable of grasping basics we expect of two-year-olds, like “no hitting” and “ask nicely”.

 

My friend Rukmini at the New York Times has stood in that field. Anyone who reads her stories can see Thacher values shining through. Here’s what you don’t see: How hard she has had to fight for those stories, behind closed doors, arguing with some of the worlds most respected editors. Rukmini demanding that rape is not just a side note when covering terrorism. Staking her entire reputation on the belief that violence against women is news worthy. And when she writes those stories with rigor and heart she learned here, she not only blows click rates out of the water, she shifts the entire global conversation.

 

Andrew honors the planet and all of us who live here with his work on climate change.

 

Look, by time he was 22, he was CEO of one of the first internet marketing company. When he left the business at the age of 30, he could have easily landed a job in senior corporate management, locking down a comfortable six figure income.

 

He didn’t. Instead, he founded a green tech company, becoming one of the first global voices on food waste prevention.

 

But at that time, no one cared. So he poured his personal funds into the business—and lived with no salary during prime earning years—until people started paying attention to the issue.

 

And during that time, he still carved out 25% of his working hours to serve on the Thacher board, ultimately as Chair, because he so believed in these values of this community, and the pivot point it represents in every one of your lives.

 

Now, food waste is considered essential to addressing climate change. Andrew’s business is the preeminent food waste prevention company in the world, with clients from Google to Hilton to Ikea. Andrew stood in that field, steered that global conversation.

 

As I mentioned, I actually think there is an unspoken fifth Thacher core value.

 

They talk a lot about failure around here. Every time you lost control of your horse and got it back, tanked on a paper and rewrote it, all the quiet personal struggles that you overcame to reach today—out of that, you learned tenacity.

 

Tenacity. You will have moments you will wonder, “Do I dare?”

 

Everyone does. Even women in place like Congo.

 

A friend of mine, Generose, had one of these moments. In one attack, a militia killed her husband, her son, and cut off her leg. I won’t go into details, but Generose is a woman who has endured torture designed to destroy the human spirit.

 

In 2010, we had our first ever Run for Congo Women in Congo, where survivors ran a mile to raise money for other Congolese women. Not only did Generose show up that day, she showed up in a red suit and pink pearls. And she ran. She didn’t have a prosthetic leg. She was on mismatched crutches. It was painful. She made it about a third of a mile. One journalist commented she didn’t feel she could cover Generose’s participation in the run, because she didn’t finish. But Generose stepped up with honor and kindness, and took at far as she could.  

 

When I asked Generose why she ran, she said, “If I can run on only one leg, everyone will know they can do something to help.”

 

That’s all any of us need to do.

 

You will all run across some unkindness, some unfairness, some untruth that causes a storm in your soul.

 

That is the invitation.

 

Honor that.

 

Step up with:

 

Tenacious honor.

Tenacious fairness.

Tenacious kindness.

Tenacious truth.

 

That’s a recipe for an extraordinary life.

 

Practice these values when no one is looking, when it’s hard to imagine it matters at all. Without permission, or endorsements, or anyone to say “go.” Exposed, without knowing the perfect thing to say, stumble, fail, fake it, take it as far as you can.   

 

Dare. Disturb the universe.

 

Congratulations, Thacher Class of 2016!