I know exactly what my graduation speech would look like. I would stand up in the Big House. I would smile, probably laugh to myself and start talking into the microphone. Despite being able to clearly picture what my speech would look like in my mind, I don’t know what I would say. After all, I’m not exactly the type of person that gets to speak at graduation.
…
The “graduation speech” is not something you are taught how to write, but it’s obvious enough how to write one. It is unique in both form and content. It needs to be short and to the point, yet relatable and appealing to a wide range of audiences. It needs to reflect on the past and comment on the future. But, most of all, it needs to inspire. It needs to do so because those graduating are in a transitional state, existing between two realities. For many, it is a time of uncertainty. Even if someone has a job or opportunity lined up, graduating still means leaving everything that you’ve known for the last four years behind. People are looking for answers as they begin their next stage of life.
For many, graduation is both a happy and sad time full of remembrance, so, given a few exceptions, graduation speeches are traditionally not a time to make a political statement. Typically, they are not transgressive, and institutions like the University of Michigan select who will speak to make sure there is no transgression. But, of course, they cannot select the exact words each speaker can use.
I was sitting at graduation thinking about how formulaic the previous speeches had been when Derek Peterson, former Senate Advisory Committee on University Affairs chair stepped on stage at Spring 2026 Commencement. When he started speaking about social justice, I knew exactly where his speech was headed. And when he received widespread cheers after mentioning pro-Palestine activists, I smiled. Not only for his praise of the movement itself, but for his ability to say what needed to be said when others wouldn’t. Admittedly, I also smiled because I knew he was going to ruffle some feathers, which he certainly did. So now we are in a situation where Derek Peterson maintains his speech, where he praised social justice of all kinds, at the most recent spring commencement was not transgressive. University President Domenico Grasso maintains it was. But before discussing whether it actually was a violation or not, it’s important to look at the transgressive moments of activism that came before Peterson’s speech.
You cannot view the University of Michigan’s history without looking at its activism. Peterson’s speech, of course, highlights this. He mentions Sarah Burger, an instrumental figure in forcing the University’s hand to admit women. He mentions the Black Action Movement, which aimed to decrease discrimination on campus and increase Black enrollment. Many participants similarly cornered the University by chaining themselves to buildings on campus to increase awareness.
There are some moments of activism that Peterson did not highlight: the even more transgressive University shantytowns, which advocated for installing shacks on campus to occupy space and protest involvement in South African apartheid or protests against the Vietnam War included actual bombings. This, to me, is the main downside to the platform a graduation speech provides. There is simply not enough time. I wish Peterson had been able to highlight the impact of these cases of student activism, but I understand their omission.
To be sure, by definition, all of these instances of activism were transgressive at various levels. They challenged the established national social and also legal norms of the time. They also challenged norms set by the University. Many of them involved occupying a physical space, and some even violence. But most importantly, in each instance, activism led to progress that was only recognized in hindsight. The University did divest from Apartheid South Africa, many years after the fact. Women, of course, were admitted to the University, much after Sarah Burger’s initial protest.
Of course, we celebrate those instances of activism now. When I cited each example of activism, I cited sources from the University. One can only imagine that Grasso himself had no issue with Peterson mentioning Sarah Burger or the Black Action Movement, as they are absent from his letter addressing Peterson’s speech. So we know that the University doesn’t shy away from recognizing, and perhaps even embracing, transgressions that have occurred in the past.
By traditional standards, are Pro-Palestine protestors transgressive because of their methods? Certainly not. Their encampment was no less invasive than the aforementioned shantytown, and their methods were less violent than the literal explosions that took place during Vietnam war protests. Is it because their cause is more transgressive? Israeli apartheid and South African apartheid are cut from the same cloth. But we cannot compare now and then. Protest and genocide exist now. And the fact of the matter is that we live in a more muted reality, where transgression doesn’t mean bombing our University, but setting up a peaceful encampment. Transgression, then, is relative to era, and in this era, Pro-Palestine protestors are indeed transgressive.
The problem with Peterson addressing transgression as it is actively occurring on campus is just that. It hasn’t been litigated, unlike the other examples that Peterson and I mentioned. That’s what the University had a problem with.
Peterson’s speech, in and of itself, then, was not transgressive. The problem, of course, was the subject matter. There isn’t anything transgressive about sticking up for pro-Palestine protesters. To be clear, this isn’t a criticism; it’s just reality. In a sense, the reaction to Peterson’s speech is helping to recognize the transgressiveness of pro-Palestine activism now instead of in hindsight. There is absolutely value in that, especially when faced with an entity like the University of Michigan that is diametrically opposed to such activism.
It should be noted that Peterson, if he is honest about his original speech submission, did almost entirely stay on script. And thus, without transgression, Peterson’s speech didn’t make the outright grievances it could have. After submitting it to the University administration, Peterson did originally make edits to his speech. After discussions with the University administration, he omitted the word “genocide” to describe Israel’s actions, instead opting to call out the “injustice” and “inhumanity” of Israel’s “war.” Was it cowardly? Would it have made a difference to go off script? Would the “controversy” surrounding his speech really be any different than it is right now? Is the meaning really any different?
…
I’ve thought a lot about Peterson’s speech, clearly. The more I think about it, the more my emotions change. I did immediately recognize the hilarity that, throughout all of the University’s history of protest, it was now a professor causing activism-related controversy and not a student. Then, as I walked away from the stadium, I was proud. I was proud that at least someone said something about the thing we try to ignore.
Since I felt that pride, though, I couldn’t help but feel a bit like there was something lost. Peterson, again, self-admittedly did not mention the fact that Israel is committing genocide. If this controversy happened anyway, why not be transgressive? Why not acknowledge the genocide and then some? Why limit yourself?
Even now, I can’t help but wonder if the speech would have made a bigger impact if Peterson did go back on his word and called Israel’s actions in Gaza a genocide in front of tens of thousands. Perhaps he should have gone even further to directly call out administrators, some of whom were present at commencement, for their part in suppressing the activists he was praising. Part of activism, as I have stated, is the transgressive nature of it all. And there is no better way to stand in solidarity with those you were commending than by engaging in a teeny bit of transgressive behavior yourself. That, of course, is why I am not the type of person to speak at graduation.
But, at the end of the day, despite the fact that I think he should have called the inhumanities occurring in Gaza “genocide,” as it has been classified by the United Nations, I can’t help but feel like what Peterson did was enough. More than enough, even. I know it was enough now, and I knew it was enough when I was sitting in the Big House, listening to Peterson praise pro-Palestine activists, and envisioning the further attention he was giving the movement even before that attention happened.
I wish I could single-handedly change relations between Israel and Palestine. But I cannot. Neither could Peterson. Whereas I lean toward transgression, Peterson may lean more toward pragmatism. I have realized that this is why I won’t speak at graduation.
…
What I have gathered is that there is another, very obvious reason as to why Peterson’s speech has been garnering so much attention, one that is completely unrelated to the subject matter: Every other speech sucked.
Imagine, if you will, being at this year’s spring commencement. Imagine, even, that you are a senior, actually graduating. You are sitting on the astroturfed lawn of the Big House, now not a spectator but a participant. You have just completed four years of college. Maybe they were grueling and much more work than you thought they would be. Maybe you experienced periods of intense isolation and are glad it’s over with. Maybe you were lucky, and college really was the four best years of your life. In any case, it’s over now, and the culmination of your efforts is your commencement. During this commencement, there are speakers — who are selected by the administration, mind you — there to craft a message that matches the experience for some of the most formative years of your life.
The first undergraduate speaker steps up to the microphone. Will they talk about a specific moment that defined their college experience? No, their speech sounds like it could have been written by any other undergraduate student at the University of Michigan. They put extra emphasis on the basketball team winning the national championship. OK, sure. Fine. You like watching sports enough to enjoy the speech. This is the second year in a row that the commencement speaker has been an athlete. You begin to think your degree was just theater to perform in the background for the main show — the sports teams.
But, now, it’s time for the keynote speaker. You look up and see Jalen Rose, former basketball player who committed questionable actions while attending the University of Michigan. Perhaps he will expound upon this experience and the growth he went through alongside it. Wrong. His speech is completely incoherent. It is about nothing and everything to the point where the message is not close to discernible. He bounces around, from talking about integrity to congratulating himself for just giving the address. OK, that’s disappointing.
But, alas, there is one last undergraduate speaker. You hold out hope that he will make you feel like that wistful 18-year-old again, who just graduated high school instead of college. You want an escape from the fact that you do indeed need a job now. You want to finally be inspired. He walks up to the microphone. He immediately starts talking about football and basketball and winning championships again. You spent four years here, and the symbolic and literal end to your undergraduate experience is defined by your school’s basketball team.
Do you see what I’m saying? I don’t see how anyone could feel inspired by any of the speeches. But it is only because of that failure to inspire that I felt so much pride when Derek Peterson’s speech. When I heard every other speech, the intense focus on sporting events and athletes and meaningless anecdotes felt almost purposeful; the University’s choice of speakers felt almost purposeful. It felt like they wanted me to ignore the world around me and indulge in their intentions. Looking back on it, I don’t even blame the University. The feeling of negativity about our world feels pervasive. I feel like every time I wake up, there is a new opportunity to see a headline that will ruin my day. But the solution is not to ignore that pervasiveness, but to confront it head-on.
It’s no wonder that Derek Peterson’s speech garnered so much attention. He pulled me out of the University’s lull in a way that every other speech failed to do, and I am sure he did the same for many others.
But beyond inspired, I felt embarrassed. For all of our student-activist forefathers, it was not a student that was able to capture my own bottled-up anger at our administration and government. It was not a student, somehow, that was able to relate to, and thereby, elicit the biggest cheer from the tens of thousands of people at the Big House. It was not a student that garnered national attention. It was a professor.
…
If Derek Peterson has taught us anything, it’s that graduation speeches, and speech in general can be defined by what you don’t say.
Despite the fact that I most likely won’t get to speak at graduation, I know what my speech would look like. I still have no idea what I would say. But that’s not important. If I were to speak, though, I do know that I would want my speech to be received exactly as Derek Peterson’s was.
Statement Columnist Gabe Efros can be reached at gefros@umich.edu.
