Rümeysa Öztürk, Mahmoud Khalil, Kilmar Abrego Garcia, Merwil Gutiérrez, Badar Suri Khan, and Mohsen Mahdawi: these names and faces of the many who have been illegally, unjustly and unceremoniously detained have been seared into my mind in recent months. Some were involved in pro-Palestine protests; others were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. As of this writing, only Rümeysa and Mohsen have been released from detention. What were their crimes that they should be snatched from the street and whisked away?

This is not the America that I was taught to love. This is certainly not the promised land my family fled to as refugees from Vietnam. Least of all, the neverending cruelties the current White House administration dishes out to ordinary working class Americans and our undocumented neighbors run counter to the Catholic faith I was raised in. My faith does not allow me to look away — nor does my Yale education.

“Justice, justice you shall pursue,” goes the famous line in Deuteronomy. The Lord Himself commands me to work in whatever way I can to advance goodness in this world. Who am I to dare refuse His call? This dearly cherished commandment forms the bedrock of the type of person I strive to become. As I prepare to graduate and take my leave from Yale, I can only hope that my privileged education can be used to help bring light into this often cold, unforgiving world. 

The road ahead will be anything but easy. Catholic theologian Thomas Aquinas centuries ago wrote about the four idols of money, power, pleasure and fame that each take us further and further away from God. In today’s world, we have at our fingertips ample access to the many social media influencers, celebrities and politicians who flaunt these idols while most of us could only dream of such luxuries. Closer to home, many of our own are hell-bent on using Yale as a springboard to climb the social ladder in pursuit of any one of these idols.

It’s not that we should deny ourselves the simple pleasures money can buy. Moreover, not all who have power and fame wield them for selfish reasons. What I’m trying to say is that the blind and unabashed pursuit of these idols hampers any attempt at answering the fundamental question: “Am I not made for more?”

Several years ago, Father Ryan Lerner of St. Thomas More gave a homily in which he invited us to contemplate what kind of legacy we want to leave behind. When our obituaries are written, would we want our loved ones to harp on about the wealth and prestige we had accumulated or would we want to be remembered by the lives we have touched? To the little ones yet to be born, I hope to be an ancestor that they can be proud of.  

Whether you come from a faith tradition or want nothing to do with religion, I encourage the class of 2025 to find a moment of solitude and think hard about what your unique talents can offer to the world. No one is obligated to reach the heights of Malala Yousafzai, Greta Thunberg or any other young visionary. Yet we all have something to pitch in. After all, when we all received those acceptance letters all those years ago, Yale made no mistake in choosing us. There was something in us that Yale recognized even when we didn’t see it. Imagine the combined effort of humanity in pursuing “Lux et Veritas” and what that could do for our topsy-turvy world.

As I graduate, I still have doubts about whether I myself am up to this task. I am not musically gifted so that I may soothe the brokenhearted with my melodies. I certainly have no aptitude for anything STEM-related in which I could help engineer healthier cities or contribute to cutting-edge biomedical research. People say that my writing isn’t half that bad, so that’s all I have going for me. Yet, the funny thing about faith is trusting that the universe recognizes our sincerity and moves accordingly to have all of our actions fit like interlocking pieces in the grand scheme of the Creator.

So yes, even as our climate turns into our worst enemy and far-right governments globally collude to hasten the apocalypse, I doggedly hold onto revolutionary optimism. It’s an active commitment to the hope that a more just world is possible through solidarity and action within and between communities. Certainly, my Yale education has prepared me to take on this task. Let us lean on and have empathy for each other. Let us move mountains out of love for one another. “Lux et Veritas” — light and truth — may not seem so far off after all.

PETER TRAN is a senior in Davenport College studying anthropology. He can be reached at peter.tran@yale.edu.