From Algeria to Harvard
I grew up in a small village in Algeria. Every Friday, my sister and I had our weekly shower at the public bath. We didn't have running water at home.
On winter nights, we cuddled against the cold because our heat was cut off. And on some days, we hid our hunger in order not to worry our parents. When I was seven years old, my country plunged into a bloody civil war.
Every night, I prayed to God that tomorrow there would not be an empty seat at our dinner table. On one hot summer day in 1994, my life was changed forever by a man whom I never met, do not know, and can never thank. My mother was at the local market when she noticed a chaotic gathering.
Wading into the crowd, she learned that the French government was allowing some Algerians to find refuge from war. All you had to do was write your name on a list. My mother desperately wanted to sign that list.
That list might promise her daughters a better future. But there was one problem. My mother was illiterate.
She did not know how to write her name, Fadila Takjert. Dejected, she walked away. A man noticed her and ran after her.
He got my mother's name and wrote it down on the list. A few month later, my family was fortunate to immigrate to France. I was sad to leave my beloved homeland, caring neighbors, childhood friends, and extended family, but I knew that bright opportunities awaited me.
Had I stayed in my village, assuming I was spared from bullets or bombs, my life would have been very different. I would not have become the first woman in my family to graduate from college, to work and live abroad. I would not have had the chance to call Harvard my home this past year.
As we are graduating today, I still find myself asking, why did this wonderful man run after my mother? A simple gesture of writing a stranger's name on a page offered an entire family hope for a better life. He will probably never know the difference he made, but from the small seeds of his goodness have grown fruits of prosperity for my family, myself, and everyone whom we touch.
I now have the ability to shape my world, but this ability was sparked by one little encounter which lit up the course of my life. So that is the real power, the power of little things. The least you can do can bring true change.
Perhaps you have been blessed in your lives with small gifts that made big changes. Maybe it was a teacher who instilled in you her love of a certain subject, or a kind stranger who helped you with directions when you were lost. At Harvard, I see it every day in the smiles of the cafeteria staff who keep me so well-caffeinated and in ad hoc babysitting circles.
Small things. Such small things. But from these small things grow inspired people, lasting friendships, and stronger communities. When one person thanks another, the second person often replies, "Oh, it's the least I can do."
Because often the least you can do can be more than enough. You don't need to move mountains. Maybe it's a matter of translating documents for a family at the immigration office or offering a car ride to a pregnant lady.
You never know how these small gestures can affect people's lives, but I can tell you they do. Fellow graduates, of course, do the most you can do. Your education and legacy demand it.
But also, do the least you can do, because the least you can do might turn out to be the most significant. And to each of you today, I ask of you what is the least you can do now to make the world around you a little better?
