Good morning, esteemed faculty of the Heller school, honored guests, my fellow graduates, and the families and friends who have stood by us every step of the way.
I want to take you back to a moment that changed my life forever.
It was August 2021. I was in a hospital in Afghanistan, making my rounds as a medical doctor, when the world outside began to collapse. The city was in chaos. People flooded the streets, desperate to escape. The hospital—usually a place of healing—became a place of panic. Patients begged us for help, not just for medicine but for safety, for a way out, for a future that suddenly seemed impossible.
And then I saw her—a young girl, no older than ten.
At first, I thought she was just afraid of the violence outside. But when I got down on my knees beside her, I heard her whisper"Will I ever be allowed to go to school again?"
Not Will I be safe? Not Will I survive? But Will I ever learn again?
At that moment, my heart broke. Because I knew the answer. I knew that by the time the sun set that evening, her world would be unrecognizable. The doors to her school would be locked. Her books would be taken from her hands. Her dreams would be reduced to a memory.
It’s been four years since women and girls in Afghanistan have been denied the right to learn, to study and to work. And yet—here I stand today. A woman. A doctor. And now, a graduate with a master’s degree in global health policy and management from the Heller School. I stand here not because the world made it easy, but because I refused to accept that being a woman should mean having limits. Because education should not be a privilege—it should be a right. And as we—the graduating class of 2025—celebrate our achievements, we must remember that there are still millions of children whose dreams remain out of reach, waiting for the day when they too can stand where we do today.
Each of us has walked our own path to be here. Some of us have endured wars, political instability, and displacement. Others have faced financial hardships, personal losses, or the weight of expectations. Some have come from refugee camps, while others have left behind families, cultures, and everything familiar to pursue a better future. And yet, despite all of this, we are here.
This is what makes Heller extraordinary. We are not just a class—we are a movement. A global family of students from over 60 different countries—from Afghanistan to Nigeria, from Myanmar to Egypt, from India to Ghana. In these classrooms, we did more than just study—we learned from each other’s histories, cultures, and struggles.
We didn’t just discuss social justice—we lived it. We debated policies shaped by experiences from conflict zones and health crises. We challenged each other to think beyond borders, to understand that solutions to the world’s greatest challenges do not come from a single perspective, but from the richness of diverse voices working together.
In medical school, I learned to think like a doctor. But at Heller we learned to think like humans first. The world needs leaders who refuse to accept a world where injustice and suffering are the norm.
So today, let this moment be more than just a celebration of our accomplishments. Let it be a commitment—a commitment to be the voices for those who have been silenced. A commitment to advocate for those who have been marginalized. A commitment to build bridges where others see barriers.
To every child whose dreams have been put on hold, to every community struggling to be heard, to every person fighting for a fair chance—this moment is for you.
And to my fellow graduates—congratulations. The world is waiting for us, not as individuals, but as a collective force for change. Let’s not keep it waiting.
Thank you.