It’s graduation time. At the graduation ceremony at every university some greatly inspirational commencement addresses are delivered by wise women and men.
I’d like to share one that I really liked.
Please share any good ones you come across as well ![]()
Speech to the Graduating Class of 2004
Stanford University
June 12, 2004
Terry Karl
Gildred Professor of Latin American Studies and Professor of Political Science
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President Hennessey, Provost Etchemendy, Trustees, parents, and most especially graduates, thank you for the honor of inviting me to speak to you. In the midst of your celebration, I ask you to pause – for these are serious times.
Archbishop Desmond Tutu, anti-apartheid hero and head of South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission, tells a story (which inspired this talk) about a farmer who raised chickens in his backyard. Amongst this farmer’s chickens, there was one that looked a little odd. It behaved like a chicken. It walked like a chicken. It pecked away like a chicken. One day a wise woman came along and said to the farmer: “You know, that isn’t a chicken. It is an eagle.” The farmer said: “No way. That is a chicken.” And he looked at the odd bird and said: “Don’t get any fancy ideas. You are a chicken.”
“I don’t think so,” said the wise woman. She picked up the strange looking chicken, climbed up the nearest mountain, stood at the edge of a precipice, and waited until sunrise. Then she turned the bird towards the sun and said: “You are an eagle. You can soar. You can change your world. Go fly.”
The strange looking chicken shook itself and tentatively spread its wings. It looked up at the sky. It looked down – way down – to the bottom of the precipice. It took a few steps back in the direction of the other chickens, where it had been so comfortable, where it had a daily routine and food to eat. “Sorry,” it said to the wise woman: “I don’t feel like an eagle. I feel like a chicken. And I don’t think I can fly.”
“That’s your choice,” the wise woman said softly. “But remember, you are responsible for the decisions you make. If you don’t dare to fly, you will never be fully alive. You will never reach the sky. Even if you feel like a chicken, fly like an eagle.”
That “strange chicken” comes to mind every time there is a choice between taking an easy path or making a trail where there is no road. After completing my doctorate at Stanford, I conducted research in El Salvador’s civil war in the 1980s. Military leaders repeatedly assured me that their army did not commit human rights abuses. But the testimony of countless others told a different story. Salvadorans described how they had been hooded or blindfolded for days; deprived of sleep, food, and water; beaten and shocked; raped and forced to watch the torture and murder of others.
At El Mozote, a massacre site where a forensic team would later dig up the bodies of over 100 children under the age of 12, a peasant woman approached me. “You are American. You are powerful. You will find out who is responsible for this.” That night, flying back to the United States, I railed against that woman. “Powerful? A general is powerful. A president is powerful. I am five feet tall. I am a woman from Missouri. I don’t have tenure. I am not powerful.”
Now, fast forward two decades to a South Florida courtroom, in June 2002, where two Salvadoran generals living in the U.S., Generals Jose Guillermo Garcia and Eugenio Vides Casanova, stood on trial, charged with responsibility as their country’s top commanders for the abuse of Salvadoran civilians. Three survivors of torture brought the courtroom to tears as they testified about what had happened to them. One of them, Carlos Mauricio, honors us with his presence today.
As the expert witness in this trial - a trial that few believed would ever take place and even fewer believed could be won – I documented how the actions these generals had taken (and the actions that they had failed to take) were interpreted down the chain of command as a “green light” to commit torture. Thus these men should be held responsible for crimes committed against Salvadoran civilians.
In their defense, the generals denied their responsibility. They were fighting terrorism. They could not be expected to control the actions of all their soldiers. They were not present when prisoners were humiliated, abused and murdered, and they were not the actual torturers. So why, they asked the jury, were they on trial for what a few “bad apples” had done?
Because the law demands it.
The doctrine of “command responsibility,” the product of an American initiative enshrined in law since the Nuremberg Statutes after World War II, affirms that civilian and military leaders may be held legally accountable for abuses committed by their subordinates – even when these commanders did not personally order abuses, witness such abuses, have direct knowledge about them or conspire to commit them. This law recognizes the tremendous danger of abuse inherent in war and, in tribute to the awful sacrifices of the Holocaust and those who died in two world wars, it places the moral worth of each and every person at the center of our international order. Rather than permit leaders to turn a blind eye to abuse, it charges both military and civilian authorities with an affirmative duty to prevent crimes, to control their troops, to act when a crime is discovered, and to punish those found guilty of committing the actual crime - no matter how high responsibility may reach in the chain of command.
Thus, a Florida jury found these once powerful Salvadoran generals responsible for gross human rights abuses. In an historic and precedent-setting ruling, a jury of ordinary people reaffirmed the doctrine of command responsibility in an American court. Their verdict, covered in every major newspaper and widely televised around the world, sent a powerful signal. It warned murderers, torturers and dictators to think twice before retiring to the United States. And it demonstrated that, at our best, America’s freedoms and the energies of people like our lawyers, researchers, translators - people just like you – can be harnessed to transcend national borders and to hold even the most powerful to account for their actions against the vulnerable.