Exploring shared humanity, contemporary insights from history, a way ahead

On Thursday, three graduating students chosen through a University-wide selection will give speeches at Tercentenary Theatre — one of the longest-standing traditions of Harvard’s Commencement.

The student speakers include Yurong “Luanna” Jiang, a graduating master’s student at the Harvard Kennedy School who will present the Graduate English Address; Aidan Scully, a graduating senior delivering the Latin Salutatory; and Thor Reimann, also a senior, who will present the Senior English.

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Raised in Qingdao, China, Jiang discovered that education could alter the course of her life. And it certainly did.

Her impressive test scores resulted in a full scholarship to a high school in Cardiff, Wales. She pursued her undergraduate studies at Duke University and will represent Harvard Kennedy School as the University’s Graduate Speaker.

A close friend of hers shared the same early realization about education. However, while Jiang had ample time for her studies, her friend — the child of fishmongers — had to assist at her parents’ shop before and after school.

“It’s as if you’re standing on a train platform,” Jiang remarked, “and you know you must step off. Otherwise, your life will remain unchanged.” Jiang’s journey shifted, whereas her friend’s did not.

The inequality prompted Jiang to ponder a question that would shape her academic path: “What does equality, justice, and social fairness mean?”

Upon arriving in Cardiff, where she initially did not know English, she developed an interest in economics. “I trace it back to middle school,” she noted. “When you witness those struggles, why do they occur? What could the solution be?”

She continued her economics studies at Duke and grew increasingly curious about philosophy and politics, engaging with the works of thinkers such as John Stuart Mill, Karl Marx, and William L. Rowe. For Jiang, economics was akin to learning to drive a vehicle, while philosophy taught her the ultimate destination.

Additionally, she led a boxing club, having learned the sport in her childhood. Despite standing at around 5 feet, 3 inches tall, Jiang often prepared for contests by sparring with larger opponents.

“It builds your character,” she explained. “You must look them in the eye and not flinch — because if you close your eyes, you can’t block the punch you don’t notice, and you cannot aim at a target you cannot see.” 

After Duke, Jiang joined the private finance sector, contemplating a path as an economist, but felt that the work was too detached from the individuals she wished to assist. This instinct led her to the Kennedy School’s two-year M.P.A./I.D. program in international development.

She became part of a class of 77 students from 34 nations. Upon her arrival, she shared in her speech, “the countries I had only known as vivid shapes on a map transformed into real individuals — filled with laughter, aspirations, and the resilience to endure the long winter in Cambridge.”

She discovered her peers to be as idealistic as she was in supporting communities worldwide — and each other on campus. When friends experienced losses or difficult times, fellow program members rallied to assist, ensuring they had food and companionship.

“It prompts us to realize that this kind of compassion or human connection transcends borders,” she stated.

Jiang also continued her philosophy studies, taking a class and later an independent study with Arthur Isak Applbaum, Adams Professor of Political Leadership and Democratic Values. Reading philosopher Michel de Montaigne’s reflections on acknowledging the humanity of those vastly different from oneself inspired her to write her own thoughts on the topic, over 400 years later.

In her oration, Jiang urges individuals to engage in dialogue without bias, seeking mutual beliefs rather than discord.

“If we still have faith in a common future,” she articulates, “let’s not forget: Those we designate as adversaries, they too, possess humanity. In recognizing their humanity, we discover our own.”

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When your father teaches Latin at the high-school level, “The Aeneid for Boys and Girls” becomes part of the bedtime routine. At least, that was the experience for Scully.

“The narrative wasn’t in Latin,” he explained, “but I had tales of ancient history bouncing around from a very young age.”

As he prepared to select a language at the local Taunton High School, he recalls his father humorously stating that he could study whichever language he preferred — as long as it was Latin.

Luckily, Scully found joy in it.

“From the very first day,” he remarked, “I was captivated.” He enrolled in all the Latin classes offered by the school, and after finishing, he continued with independent study courses under the guidance of his Latin instructor, Jessica Ouellette.

With her encouragement, he aimed to publish a translation of the inaugural poem in Ovid’s “Amores,” dated back to 16 B.C. Even though others had translated the work previously, he intended to maintain its original metrical charm.

“You can engage with Latin, and it can be an intellectual endeavor,” he stated. “However, making poetry accessible in the way it would have been 2,000 years ago creates a connection to history that is quite thrilling.”

Scully, a resident of Adams House, intended to focus on classics and governance but discovered that a joint concentration in classics and religion resonated more with his interests. From his sophomore year onward, he concentrated on the interplay between politics and religion in ancient societies and how they influence contemporary America.

His earlier academic focus culminated in his thesis exploring how Romans in Late Antiquity reconciled their identities as both Roman and Christian. While many today accept the coexistence of religious and national identities, many Romans considered this concept unfathomable.

“Individuals during this period were grappling with the realization of, ‘If I am both Roman and Christian, what does that signify? How do I differentiate between the two? How can I reconcile the aspects that seem mutually exclusive?’”

He found these essential inquiries pertinent to the current relationship between faith and governance in the U.S. While conventional U.S. history emphasizes religion’s influence during specific periods — The Great Awakening, the Civil Rights Movement — Scully delved into its constant presence throughout the ages.

Exploring evangelicalism and the dynamics of Protestantism in the U.S., alongside ancient parallels, deeply fascinated Scully.

“This is the area I want to explore,” he said, “observing what comparisons I can draw that perhaps haven’t been considered in the discussion.”

His academic journey also impacted the way Scully approached his faith and community involvement.

“Every work of religious scholarship begins with something akin to, ‘We don’t really understand what religion is,’” Scully said, smiling. “Defining religion without resorting to a mere list of examples is challenging.” He finds that ambiguity — and broad perspective — beneficial in his volunteer work with queer interfaith groups.

“The categories we establish are often arbitrary and typically based on at least one misconception,” he remarked. “Critically examining that leads to more inclusive activism.”

In addition to introducing age-appropriate epics during childhood, Scully’s father, Christopher, also set an example in a different manner: He was Harvard’s Latin Orator in 1994. Family lore suggests that his grandmother arrived unexpectedly unaware that his father was about to deliver a Commencement address.

This time, however, Scully’s parents will be informed. He appreciates his mother, who graduated from Harvard as Elisa Leone in 1996 with a degree in social anthropology, for keeping him accountable in achieving the educational goals he set for himself.

“I have been genuinely fortunate to have a family so supportive of my pursuit of something quite niche and, you know, not exactly employable,” he said. “The fact that things appear to be falling into place so far is a testament to their support.”

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Thor Reimann grew up in Apple Valley, Minnesota, with parents who motivated him and his two older siblings to explore their own passions. Each chose a distinct path: His sister is a nurse, his brother serves as a nuclear submarine officer in the U.S. Navy, and Reimann aspires to attend law school and specialize in environmental law.

As a freshman, however, Reimann’s vision wasn’t as defined. During high school, he shared, “I enjoyed every subject.” He had faith that he’d discover a fulfilling academic journey and, as one of the few openly queer students from his high school, he sought “the personal space to thoroughly investigate who I was,” he wrote in his English Oration.

Initially, Reimann, a resident of Mather House, considered concentrating in history and literature or social studies, which would afford him a wide array of classes. A general education course he took in his freshman year shifted his focus: “Life and Death in the Anthropocene.”

Taught by Naomi Oreskes, Henry Charles Lea Professor of the History of Science, the course inspired Reimann to contemplate climate change and environmental issues from diverse academic and personal viewpoints.

“They genuinely intersect every facet of human existence,” he said. “I found myself perpetually mulling over it when I would leave class.”

A nature enthusiast who later joined the steering committee for the First-Year Outdoors Program, Reimann opted to pursue a dual concentration in environmental science and public policy as well as comparative religion. While he valued the technical aspects of environmental studies, the additional emphasis on religion enabled him to reconcile policy with a broader vision of what he was striving to safeguard.

With mentorship from Terry Tempest Williams, the writer-in-residence at Harvard Divinity School, Reimann cultivated a profound passion for conservation. His dual major, along with his interest in conservation, ignited his senior thesis on Bears Ears National Monument, a federally safeguarded area in southeastern Utah.

One of the most culturally rich regions in the U.S., the federal monument houses artifacts from various Native American tribes that date back thousands of years. Reimann sought to understand how political mobilization among different tribes, who labeled the area as “sacred,” contributed to its federal protection in 2016 — and how that same notion of “sacredness” was utilized by various groups to diminish its boundaries one year later.

“The government simply lacks the appropriate policy tools to create space for these discussions,” he stated.

His thesis, much like his speech, can be traced back to discoveries made in his freshman year. The title, “This World is Not Conclusion,” is borrowed from an Emily Dickinson poem he encountered in a first-year seminar.

“I was experiencing this significant moment of, ‘Oh my, what am I going to do? How do I consider this opportunity?’” Reimann recounted. “A lot of that poem resonates with the idea that the circumstances of the present are subject to change. There will be a continuation.”

He was particularly impacted by the last two lines of the poem: “Narcotics cannot still the Tooth / That nibbles at the soul —”

“You can possess abundant wealth or immense power,” Reimann noted, “but still, the tooth will gnaw — so it’s wise to heed it.”

This poem enabled him to embrace his curiosities as he embarked on his undergraduate journey, aiding him in processing its conclusion.

“In this era of uncertainty and apprehension, it can be comforting to know that something new is on the horizon, and we possess the agency to partake in its creation,” he remarked. “It’s not merely an end. Fresh beginnings are emerging.”