A ‘Diaspora’ of Their Own
Seniors Carry Forward Stories and Values
Photos by Evan Pike Photography and DA Marketing & Communications
An unmistakable aura of gratitude overpowered the heat and humidity outside Duke University’s Page Auditorium as members of the Durham Academy Class of 2024 waited to march into their commencement ceremony. After all, the last time they reached a major milestone in their educational journeys — the transition from middle to high school in 2020 — the occasion was muted by the COVID-19 pandemic, with a video of recorded remarks, a virtual version of the eighth grade “tunnel of love” built in Minecraft and a car parade taking the place of the usual closing exercises festivities.
So on May 24, 2024, four years later — with a learned appreciation of the shared pomp and circumstance, before an at-capacity audience of family and friends — there wasn’t a hint of indifference among the 114 seniors. Together, they had experienced a unique set of highs and lows, from kicking off their Upper School journeys in a hybrid instruction model to scaling mountains on Senior Challenge. And, together, they were soaking in every bit of this very special day.
Excerpts from remarks by Ava Claar ’24, Robert Liu ’24 and Head of School Michael Ulku-Steiner follow. Read their speeches in their entirety and watch a video of the commencement exercises at da.org/commencement.
It is a privilege to be here today and to be a part of the Class of 2024! And I want to thank all of you. It has been incredible to see us leave our mark on our campus from sports, robotics, speech and debate, sustainability and many clubs.
This class works to create a space where everyone can participate in their passions and be authentically themselves. It has truly been a joy to watch everyone grow and to find my place in this class. I know we are going to do such incredible things, and I am so excited to see what we do next!
— Ava Claar ’24
Commencement Welcome
Seek not comfort but challenge.
It’s not all about you.
Be better not than others.
Be better for others.
This is the moral, happy, productive water in which you have swum at DA. As luck would have it, most colleges are pulling their water from similar wells. Most understand that comfort can be corrosive, that selfishness is toxic, and that competitive climbing can be a ladder to nowhere. But still, you may struggle in the coming years. The ponds are bigger, the fish more various. There will be waves and riptides you cannot yet fathom.
But you are ready. Having watched you for all these years, and having sat with each of you for your Senior Exit Interviews, I know you are, in fact, quite able to perceive and navigate the waters in which you swim. You are ready because you have been pushed past comfort. You have been stretched beyond selfishness. And you have grown better for others.
— Michael Ulku-Steiner, Head of School
Charge to the Graduates
Everyone here is part of at least one diaspora. After all, none of us were born on this stage or at DA, I presume, which means we all came from elsewhere. And though we may not be from here, we all somehow find ourselves here — the product of multiple diasporas. And for me, it’s the how, why and with whom that defines our journey, not where we began.
So whether we’re a member of DA’s robotics team, DARC SIDE; a competitor on our speech and debate team; a pit band, cast or crew member of our theater program; a performer in XIV Hours or In The Pocket; or a student-athlete competing for DA, we each incorporated our unique skills, ideas and passions into this community. It didn’t matter which diasporas we came from. What matters are our journeys through these four years. That is what should define our class.
But you may be wondering: If where we began is not nearly as significant as we once believed, then what is? If home is this constantly changing concept, what do we call home? As someone who’s been through five relocations and is about to move across the country for the next four years, these are questions I think about often. However, I came across a powerful answer from an unlikely source. As we all know, it’s an end-of-year tradition at DA for the ninth-graders, sophomores and juniors to embark on an experience known as the Capstones. From traveling to places as far as [South] Korea, Peru, Greece, Spain and Morocco, to exploring topics as unique as beat-making and bioengineering, the Capstones symbolize an opportunity to broaden our horizons, both literally and figuratively.
For my Capstone after sophomore year, I had the chance to explore a particular kind of community in New York known as “Chinatown.” Now, beyond their iconic golden arches, flavorful food and knockoff souvenirs, Chinatowns are homes. For a little bit of history, Chinatowns were created in the 1800s as a safe space for immigrants of Chinese diaspora — like myself and my parents — but gradually became a community for all people fleeing marginalization and alienation. In other words, they are places of inclusion caused by exclusion. So Chinatowns have always been a bit contradictory. To quote Duke professor Eileen Chow, who gave a lecture on Chinatowns to my Contemporary China class, “They are both points of arrival and points of departure, spaces of protection and spaces of exclusion, temporary shelter for recent arrivals and a means of building community.”
Arriving in the heart of Manhattan’s Chinatown that early summer afternoon, I felt exactly what Dr. Chow had described. On Mott Street, the heart of the community, I was instantly overwhelmed by the countless sights, smells and people in such a close proximity. Ms. Wang [Upper School Chinese teacher Bonnie Wang] asked us to count the number of languages we overheard just walking from one place to another. Yes, there was English and Mandarin, but there was also Cantonese, Spanish, Yiddish, Arabic and many more. These languages represented the diversity of identities, experiences and perspectives found across the world — all on one street. I thought about what my place in this community looked like. What could I do to fit in with strangers from all over the world?
Entering college, you may be asking a similar question. Before arriving in Chinatown, I thought the answer had something to do with finding myself. In my application for going on this Capstone, I wrote that I hoped to “reconnect with this identity that has been muddled by the complexities of the world.” But after just a few days of interacting with the community, I realized that was far from the point. Instead, what Chinatown teaches us is that our reaction to diaspora or change generally shouldn’t just be to find ourselves or our origins. Rather, we must use this opportunity to form new connections with people who we usually wouldn’t think of as a part of our community. Returning to this question of “where’s home,” I’d like to think that our homes are spaces like Chinatown. Spaces where we can form bonds with complete strangers, where we are united not just by identity or other arbitrary factors, but also by a common purpose or goal. Without these communities, we would be nothing more than our points of origin, divided and unable to achieve our true potential.
During the pandemic, the virus of hatred and xenophobia threatened the very existence of these Chinatowns. Elders stayed at home, fearing not just the disease, but also the possibility of the next hate crime. Businesses shuttered their doors — many, for good. But in these times of need and desperation, Chinatown proved its resilience. The people — activists, academics, artists, entrepreneurs, policymakers and many more — organized their unique skill sets to not only protect Chinatown, but to make it stronger than it was before. That is how we use our unique stories and diverse diasporas to strengthen our communities. That is the power of Chinatown.
So before we cross this stage, officially experiencing the diaspora that is the DA Class of 2024, you may wonder: How can we build these Chinatowns in our colleges, workplaces, and wherever life may take us? Faced with this daunting task, I leave you with one simple piece of advice: Tell your story. As you enter these new spaces, filled with seemingly foreign ideas, people and customs, take the time to introduce yourself!
On our Civil Rights Tour Capstone last year, my peers and I encountered a mural just down the block from the Edmund Pettus Bridge. Fifty-nine years ago, it was the site of Bloody Sunday, an event which many consider the turning point in the Civil Rights Movement. Inscribed upon its walls is a quote from JoAnne Bland, an activist who was just 11 when she marched alongside John Lewis from Selma to Montgomery. She said, “If your piece is missing, the picture is not complete. Why? Because you’re the most important piece.” Bland, as one of the few young women in the Civil Rights Movement, understood that without each of our unique, individual stories, the picture was far from complete.
Taking this logic further, I’d even argue that our ability to share our stories is a matter of life and death. Though our time on this Earth is temporary, our stories are what define our legacy far beyond this life. Sharing our stories is a survival mechanism. It’s how we leave our mark. To quote Italian philosopher Umberto Eco, “to survive, you must tell stories.” When telling these stories, however, don’t just focus on your origins. Share the unique experiences and lessons that you’ve gained through those diasporas. But also remember to take the time to listen to the stories of others. Through sharing each other’s experiences and leaving our mark along the way, we can turn what once was a diaspora into a new, blossoming home. Together, Class of 2024, no matter where we may end up, we have the power to build our own Chinatowns.