Dean Shostak, Dr. Gittell, faculty, staff, family, and friends and most importantly, my fellow graduates, today, we gather at a moment that feels complicated. We live in a time when division can be loud, when hate can feel relentless, and when it is easy to forget what is possible. And yet, we are here, together, because Brandeis University has always insisted on something different: that education matters, that questions matter, and that hope is not naïve but necessary. I stand before you as living proof of that belief.
My name is Tozoe Elaine Marton. I was born in Liberia, West Africa, in a small village in Nimba County, during a time of war; when survival came first and education, especially for girls, was often out of reach. My father came to the United States with an unshakeable belief in the American Dream, that this country would give his children a real chance at an education. But believing in a system and knowing how to navigate it are two very different things. So, I had to learn the U.S. school system, step by step, often alone, until the right people began to notice my potential.
A sixth-grade teacher encouraged me to take the entrance exam to one of the top high schools in the state, Boston Latin Academy, which changed my academic trajectory. From there, mentors opened doors I never knew existed—debate, science fair, research, and leadership. At every stage, when I could not yet see my own potential, someone else saw it for me and guided me through the system with grace. Their belief in me taught me what Heller would later formalize: that excellence is cultivated in community.
So, I’ve shared how my father shaped my understanding of resilience. But my story also begins with someone I never had the chance to know—my mother. She died giving birth to me, on the way to a clinic that was too far away. I did not learn the full story of her death until I was nineteen. By then, I had begun to understand that her death was not just a personal tragedy, but part of a broader pattern of structural inequality, one that continues to shape the lives of women across the globe. That realization changed me; it gave my education urgency and direction.
When I arrived at the Heller School in Fall 2018 for my Master’s in Global Health Policy and Management, I immediately felt a sense of belonging. For the first time, I walked into an academic building and saw the Liberian flag on the wall. As a Liberian American, that moment meant everything. It told me I belonged and that my story mattered in global conversations. And then there were the classrooms, filled with people from around the world, from Russia, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Ghana, Niger, India–each carrying their own lived experience with health systems. It was in those rooms that I decided to pursue a PhD. Not because I had always planned to, but because Heller made it possible to envision it.
By welcoming me into the PhD program with four years of guaranteed funding, this institution affirmed that my questions were worth asking, my voice was worth hearing, and my work was worth supporting. Dr. Jennifer Perloff, the chair of my dissertation, guided my research with a rare dedication, sharpening my thinking week after week. Other professors made time to discuss my work, challenged me with hard questions, and refused to let me settle for less than my best. And my colleagues, through their own work and ideas, pushed me to see differently, think more deeply, and grow into the scholar I am today.
My father migrated to the United States so that his daughter would have a chance at an education. His father's sacrifice carried me to this room. My mother did not have access to the care she needed. But because of that truth, I stand here today with the education, the tools, and the will to ensure that fewer families experience the same grief. On Sunday, I will be hooded, completing the final step in the doctoral process, making me the first woman in my family to earn a doctorate and the first to hold two master’s degrees. But, this achievement is not mine alone. It belongs to my father, my mother, my mentors, my family and friends, and it belongs to the Heller School, which dared to invest in someone like me. Today, I am my parents’ wildest dreams.
And I know I am not alone in that. Each of us here carries a story shaped by sacrifice, perseverance, and hope. Different stories, but bound by a shared education that insists we use what we have learned to improve the world. So to my fellow graduates (wherever you go next, into policy, research, advocacy, or practice) carry this with you: Your work matters. Your voice matters. And the systems we study are not fixed—they can be changed.
Congratulations, Class of 2026. May we go forward and become not only our parents’ wildest dreams, but also the ones with the courage to dream for ourselves.
Thank you.