Roderick Douglas Macdonald

Transcription

>> [Applause] By the authority vested in me by the Senate of York University I hereby confer on you the Degree of Doctor of Laws honoris causa admitto te ad gradum. [applause] [ Inaudible background conversation ] >> Congratulations. >> Mr. Chancellor, Mr. President, Mr. Dean, distinguished guests, colleagues, and most importantly, dear graduates, what a special moment it is for me to be accorded this honor by the university from which I'm twice a graduate, and more specifically from my legal alma mater, Osgoode Hall Law School. It is now 42 years since I sat on the east side lawn of a law school in August 1969 for my first class, Torts, taught by Paul Wyler [assumed spelling]. This building was brand new, and for some reason, the air conditioning wasn't working so we took refuge in really temporary outdoor quarters. How ironic that I should join a convocation with a class that has marked the end of an era in that same building with its very own temporary quarters. Today I'm honored that you, the class of 2011, have permitted me to share this wonderful occasion. It is, after all, your occasion. A convocation is the perfect time to acknowledge and thank those who have accompanied and supported us throughout our studies, especially as we feel their pride at what we've accomplished over the past years. But it should also be a moment of reflection. I see in each of you the same enthusiasms that animated my Osgoode classmates 39 years ago. The invention and the reinvention of yourselves as you reflect on life's projects and possibilities, the passion, devotion, and engagement with ideas, an unwavering commitment to action, the outrage at injustice, the pursuit of personal excellence in every aspect of life and the optimism that your efforts to achieve a more just world will bear fruit. One might call this Osgoode's Spirit of Parkdale and the flame burns just as bright today among you, the truly outstanding students, professors, and staff who make this faculty pre-eminent in Canada. Tomorrow, each one of you will pursue your career in your own way, whether in Canada or abroad. This diversity is a testimony to you and to your teachers, for there's no career inherently more important or justifiable than any other. All can occasion the worst of human pathologies but all can also be the setting for the noblest and most virtuous of lives. Be it as anti-poverty activist, general family and real estate practitioner, corporate counsel, criminal defense advocate, foreign aid worker, public servant, politician, judge, even law professor. Now at this moment of reflection and transition I our lives, it's important for us to pose some basic questions. Here's one of the most profound. What do I want to do when I grow up? This apparently anodyne question is not just for children. It's a question each one of us must ask every single day of our lives. Fortunately, we're in the privileged position of being able to ask it. Recall that only a few decades ago most Canadians did not have that luxury. In a rural society of small farms, constraints tied to social and class origins limited career possibilities, and in an economy based on natural resources, the precariousness of year to year existence strangled many a dream. These same constraints particularly oppressed women, people of color, recent immigrants and legions of visible and less visible minorities. Yet let us not deceive ourselves. In a great measure, they still do. Still, for as long as I've been associated with this wonderful faculty, Osgoode has been a leader in offering opportunities for all members of society to pursue their dreams. And Osgoode students and professors have risen to that challenge over and over again. The question what do I want to do when I grow up is not anodyne for another reason. After all, we're not obliged to grow up. We can opt, like Peter Pan, to stay forever young. But this is not how I'm using the idea of refusing to grow up. I mean that whatever our chronological age, we can resist the seductive sirens and rewards of conventional life as an adult. Youth is a precious moment of idealism, of discovery, and of challenging orthodoxies. This afternoon as you reflect upon your futures, I beg you not to forget that you're not compelled to give up your sense of enchantment and wonderment at the world just because you're going to undertake a professional career. With your degree in-hand, you confront an extraordinary range of choices of career and life projects. However, these choices about what we're going to do when we grow up obscure an even more profound question. In asking what do I want to do when I grow up, I believe instead of that we should be asking, what do I want to be when I grow up. This is not a question that does, that evokes any particular job, whether in law or not. Rather, it aims at the manner in which any career is pursued. Knowingly or not, we also face this question our entire lives regardless of what we are actually doing. Now this afternoon as you walk across the stage to receive your diploma, I challenge you not to forget those of your acquaintances who are not with you. Life is not easy. To arrive where you are now, each one of you has overcome numerous challenges and hurdles. Some have surmounted physical limitations, others learning disabilities, some the streaming of a school system that does not always permit those with dreams and aspirations to flourish. Still others, the grind of poverty and social exclusion. Some of you have had to overcome the hava- hazards and missteps of adolescence or the crush of outsized ambitions of your parents, relatives, and siblings, or the disappointments of not being able to achieve all the lofty goals you've set for yourselves. But the point is this, you have succeeded. You are here this afternoon and you still have the passion and the capacity to pursue your dreams. The measure of a person is not where you start, or even where you end up, it is found in what you make of your life, what you do with the opportunities you've been given, and those you have striven to create for yourselves. As you reflect on your futures, may I exhort you to remember this, we are not placed in this world to chase awards and recognition. How shallow, how pathetic, are the lives of the rich and the smart and the powerful who have a desperate need for public recognition? Much more deserving of public honors are those whose contribution to the lives of others has been quiet and personal. Mr. Puttifan [assumed spelling], the auto mechanic who gave up his Friday nights to serve as the Akela for the 239th cub pack in suburban Toronto where I grew up. Ms. Nechtel [assumed spelling] who for 45 years taught generations of youngsters about life, beauty, and self-discipline in the guise of weekly piano lessons. And here at Osgoode, Luella Sturdy [assumed spelling] whose gentle and reassuring presence behind the counter in the student affairs office not only saved many from unwise or precipitous action, Luella modeled an exemplary life in her humane and generous attention to each student she encountered over more than three decades. Acclaim is not the sign of a life well-lived, it is a transient marker. Our virtue is revealed in recognizing the influence that others have had upon us and in the record of what we have stood for as remembered in the virtuous lives of those we have influenced and who live on when we are gone. After all, a career in law is not something we undertake to earn a living, it is a way of being alive. Tomorrow, each one of you will carry on with the magnificent life trajectory that brought you to Osgoode and to the study of law. As you pursue your dreams, remember to do so audaciously. From now on, in all that you do, challenge yourself to act. Dare to take a new path. Dare to try new methods. And above all, dare to let yourself feel the enchantment of the world and what it can be. 40 years ago I knew a person who sought to capture in song the themes and aspirations of a life well-lived. Phil Ochs was a sensitive and vulnerable writer of popular songs who believed that music and art were as important as words in reminding us of our obligations and in calling us to action. As a tribute to you, the Osgoode class of 2011, I'd like to conclude by playing for you his anthem to engagement, When I'm Gone. If you will excuse me for one minute. [ Pause ] [ Applause ] >> Don't clap yet, you haven't heard it. [laughter] [ Music ] >> [music] There's no place in this world in this world where I'll belong when I'm gone, and I won't know the right from the wrong when I'm gone. You won't find me singin' out this song when I'm gone, so I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here. And I won't breathe the brandy air when I'm gone, can't even worry about my cares when I'm gone, won't be asked to do my share when I'm gone, so I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here. And I won't see the golden of the sun when I'm gone and the evenings and the mornings will be one when I'm gone. Can't be singin' louder than the guns when I'm gone, so I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here. All my days won't be dances of delight when I'm gone, sounds will be shifting from my sight when I'm gone, can't add my name to the fight when I'm gone, so I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here. And I won't be laughing at their lies when I'm gone, can't question how or when or why when I'm gone. Can't live proud enough to die when I'm gone, so I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here.