The following address was delivered by Dean Brian Edwards on May 15, 2026 at the School of Liberal Arts Commencement Ceremony.
Good afternoon, Class of 2026.
First let me extend a warm welcome to your families and friends, those who have traveled to celebrate you from across the United States, from across the world, or even just across Claiborne Avenue. And of course hello to those on the livestream. Welcome all!
It’s a privilege to be here with you today. This is my eighth year serving as Dean of the great School of Liberal Arts. It’s an honor to stand here in front of the chairs and directors of the 32 departments and programs that make up the School of Liberal Arts. And to look out on representatives of the more than 400 faculty in our school. They have been your teachers, your mentors, and they along with the nearly 100 staff members who work to keep our operations running smoothly across our school’s 17 buildings – many of whom are here today too -- they celebrate you as do I with pride. Let’s show the School of Liberal Arts faculty and staff your appreciation.
I love graduations. I love TULANE graduations. I love having the opportunity to give you one more lesson before you head off to the exciting and sometimes scary world after college. As I was thinking about what I might say to you today, I realized there’s one question that I probably should answer first.
As you can see, in the 1990s – in May 1990 to be precise -- I was where you are now. Different weather. Outside on a big lawn, and not inside the Super Dome – the SUPERDOME! -- but also graduating with a BA in liberal arts – for me it was an English major (pause). Literature, theatre, French, and studio art were my passions in college.
My college experience had its own highs and lows, an economic crash, some personal challenges. And upon graduating, my generation had our own tumult to traverse. The Gulf War, civil wars in the Balkans and Rwanda. The first attack on the World Trade Center in ‘93, and the Oklahoma City Bombing in ‘95. The OJ Simpson trial. Groups like Nirvana and Pearl Jam captured the angst of my generation and it was the Golden Era of hip hop.
Despite the challenges, I am nostalgic about those years during and after college. I think college graduations make us all a bit nostalgic –
But I didn’t have the particular experiences you had. I never: Spent any time in classroom tents.
Nor did I have to mourn the loss of tables at The Boot.
I never had to deal with boil water advisories. Or water main breaks so serious my campus had to haul in pota-potties.
And speaking of water main breaks, I never ever witnessed people paddling down the street near campus
Or witnessed a snowstorm that was never supposed to happen.
Maybe some of those scenes will feature in your own future nostalgia.
So while it all led up to 2026, this amazing year, … you may one day remember it like it was... 2016.
Yes, 2016 was something special, wasn’t it? Siblings of the class of 2026, if your parents are confused n right now, let them know what is going on.
All this fascination with what dad and mom were doing in the 90s… this longing for the internet and social media of 2016… got me thinking more deeply about nostalgia.
We all have a tendency of looking backward to what feels like a simpler time. 2016, I'm told, was a time when social media was more authentic. Less doomscrolling. More pure enthusiasm. That’s all gone now. As we might have said then: “Bye Felicia.”
But the new allure of 2016 made me ask: what does our longing for simpler digital times mean?
Every day, we are facing headlines about AI disrupting the job market, environmental crisis, war and political conflict. It would be understandable to feel overwhelmed.
Nostalgia, at its root, means a painful longing for home. But for a home that we cannot get back to, because it has vanished into the past. We can romanticize that past, emphasize the most positive aspects – like with 2016 for you, before adult responsibilities seemed real. Before the world after college.
Maybe that’s why 2016 feels comforting right now. I'll tell you what, let’s try to bring back that feeling right here, right now, one last time. Does anyone remember the mannequin challenge?
Ok, let’s do this.
On the count of three, I want all members of the class of 2026 to strike a pose and then hold absolutely still until I say “break” while our intrepid videographer captures it for the ‘Gram. Ready?
One, two, three.
Break! And breathe.
Was that fun? Refreshing? Breathe, everyone!
So what can we make of all this nostalgia – for 2016, for the Nineties? For that version of the world that feels simpler than the one waiting for you – for all of us – now?
You have a phrase that I like a lot. “Go touch grass.” I think it’s helpful. What does it mean?
“Go touch grass” is a way of telling someone to log off, get offline, reconnect with reality. I think it carries a lot of wisdom — and beyond a practice for living with our devices.
Because when the future seems huge or unsettling, daunting – even overwhelming – those of us who have been there ourselves know, when we look back, that there were many small steps along the way.
Many first tries, failures and second tries maybe, that helped us move forward.
Whether you’re taking the step outside to unplug for your mental health, or changing jobs, or changing partners, or changing paradigms –
In those moments, you won’t always be sure what the future holds. You’ll need to take a first step.
Because everything extraordinary is built from accumulated small acts of motion.
Small steps create momentum. And momentum changes everything.
In moments of uncertainty, people rarely recover by retreating from the world. They recover by participating. By showing up for one another. By building something together. By taking the next step before they can see the entire path.
Let me give you an example and look back just one more time. In 2020, just before the pandemic, a group of Tulane students saw a problem many had ignored. Glass. No one was recycling it in New Orleans – well except for a bin outside our famous glassblowing studio in Woldenberg Hall. Otherwise most glass in New Orleans was just thrown in the trash.
So these Tulane students took a small step. They started collecting it themselves from backyards after frat parties. Crushing it. Repurposing it.
That small step became the business Glass Half Full. And now? They’ve diverted millions of pounds of glass from landfills and turned it into material that helps restore our coast. Not because they had a perfect plan. But because they started.
When you begin to feel overwhelmed, longing for simpler times, remember how many people took small steps, again and again, to move from crisis to something new.
Because momentum doesn’t wait for perfect. It responds to movement. You are not being asked to solve everything. You are being asked to start something.
To take one step. Then another. And trust that momentum will meet you there.
Years from now, you will look back on this moment with your own nostalgia. Not because these years were easy. Not because the world was certain. But because this was the moment you began. The moment that, despite everything, despite the uncertainty and the angst, you stepped forward.
Congratulations, Class of 2026.
