Delivered October 7, 2026
To receive an honorary Doctor of Civil Laws from the University of King’s College is an honour that is difficult to put into words. I am deeply humbled, tremendously grateful, and very mindful of the many people who have helped me reach this moment.
I also want to congratulate Stephen Kimber, who shares this special honour with me today. Stephen, it is a privilege to stand alongside you and to share this very meaningful moment together.
There is something especially meaningful about receiving this honour from King’s.
When I was younger, I wanted to be a broadcast journalist.
I am the proud son of Ken and Audrey Grosse, from the historic African Nova Scotian community of Cherry Brook. From a very young age, I loved capturing stories and sharing them through the lens of a camera. Whether it was a special church service, a community event, a celebration, or something happening around me, chances are I wanted to capture it. At the time, I wasn’t thinking about preserving history. I certainly wasn’t thinking that one day I might be standing here receiving an honorary doctorate.
I simply loved capturing stories and sharing them. That passion followed me into junior high and then into high school, where I had the privilege of being part of a broadcast journalism course. That opened another door.
I began working with Dartmouth Community Cable and had opportunities to work alongside major network broadcasters, helping to capture and share stories from the African Nova Scotian community. I thought broadcasting was where my future was going to take me. Well—I wasn’t entirely wrong.
Thirty-two years ago, I walked through the doors of the Black Cultural Centre for Nova Scotia as a teenager. I was there as part of a production team producing a Black history television program called Umoja. While I was there, I was offered a summer job at the Centre, helping to capture community events and produce videos. And what an amazing journey that summer job started.
Somewhere along the way, I came to understand that perhaps I did become a journalist—just in a different way than I had imagined. Because preserving history is, in many ways, another form of journalism. We listen. We ask questions. We search for the truth. We document what happened. We preserve the voices of people who experienced it. And then we have a responsibility to share those stories accurately, respectfully and in a way that allows others to understand why they matter.
My camera remained a tool for doing that. But so did museum interpretation. The archives. The photographs. The oral histories. The historic documents. The conversation with elders. They all became ways of telling stories.
And somewhere along that journey, I also began to understand that God had given me certain talents for a reason. Communication was one of them. Bringing people together was another. But perhaps the greatest gift has been the opportunity to use those talents in service to others.
I came to understand something that I didn’t fully appreciate when I first walked through the doors of the Black Cultural Centre: There is tremendous power in telling a story. There is power in who gets to tell it. There is power in whose voice is heard. And there is power in knowing your own story. Because when you know where you come from, it changes how you see yourself and what you believe is possible.
For more than three decades, much of my life’s work has been about elevating Black culture and heritage. Not simply preserving our history and placing it on a shelf, but giving it life. Making it visible. Making it accessible. And making sure that African Nova Scotian and Black Canadian history is understood as an important part of the Canadian story.
I have had the privilege of sitting with elders and listening. I have travelled throughout our historic African Nova Scotian communities. I have listened to stories that were never written in textbooks. I have seen photographs pulled from family albums and documents brought out of boxes because someone believed they were worth preserving. And I have watched people walk into the Black Cultural Centre and discover pieces of their own story.
That work has increasingly taken me onto the national stage. One of the most meaningful experiences was helping to lead the work surrounding Canada’s National Apology to the descendants and families of No. 2 Construction Battalion. I had the tremendous responsibility of co-chairing the National Apology Advisory Committee and listening to descendants and Black communities across this country. These were men who stepped forward to serve Canada during the First World War but faced racism and discrimination simply because they were Black. To help carry their story forward and to witness that historic apology in 2022 is something I will carry with me for the rest of my life.
My national work continues today, and I am grateful for every opportunity I have to bring the experiences and perspectives of our communities into those spaces. But wherever that work takes me, I never want to forget where I come from or why I am there. And whether I am sitting at a community table here at home or at a national table somewhere across this country, I want to be an agent of change.
For me, that means more than simply having a seat at the table. It means asking: What can we change because we are here? How do we make our communities stronger? How do we build capacity? How do we create opportunities? How do we make sure the next generation doesn’t have to fight every battle that the generation before them had to fight? And how do we prepare our young people not simply to participate, but to lead?
I want our Black communities to be stronger tomorrow than they are today. I want our organizations and institutions to have greater capacity. I want our young people to see possibilities that generations before them were denied. And I want us to build institutions that will be here long after all of us are gone.
That commitment also makes my relationship with King’s particularly meaningful. I had the privilege of working with President Emeritus William Lahey and the King’s community around the historic Universities Studying Slavery Conference and the important conversations that grew from it. Bill, thank you for your leadership, friendship and willingness to engage in those conversations.
But what matters to me is that the relationship did not end with a conference. One of the important ways King’s has continued this work is through the Black Journalism Initiative. And perhaps you can understand why that initiative is particularly meaningful to me.
I was that young Black student who wanted to tell stories. I know what it means for a young person to discover that their voice has value. The Black Journalism Initiative is about creating opportunities for the next generation of Black journalists and storytellers, helping ensure that newsrooms and media organizations include people who understand our communities, our experiences and our stories. Because representation matters not only in who is being reported on, but in who gets to do the reporting.
And today, we begin another chapter.
President Vine, as you begin your leadership of this historic institution, I want you to know that you have a partner in me. I look forward to this new journey of engagement with you. You have my commitment to continue building the relationship between King’s, the Black Cultural Centre and the African Nova Scotian community, to create opportunities together, to continue the important work already underway, and to find new ways to ensure that our work has a lasting impact. Because acknowledging history is important. But what we do with that knowledge is even more important.
This is what makes receiving this honour from King’s so meaningful.
That teenager from Cherry Brook who loved having a camera in his hand, who dreamed about becoming a broadcast journalist, is standing at the prestigious University of King’s College more than three decades later, receiving an honorary doctorate.
God has an interesting way of directing our paths. Sometimes we think we know where we are going. And then we look back years later and realize that every experience, every person and every opportunity was preparing us for something we could not yet see.
And I know with certainty that I did not arrive at this moment by myself. There are so many people who have poured into my life. People who believed in me. People who mentored me. People who opened doors. People who challenged me. And yes, people who sometimes had to humour some of my ideas until I could convince them they might actually work.
I want to especially acknowledge the Black Cultural Centre for Nova Scotia. For 32 years, the Centre has been far more than the place where I work. It has been part of my life.
To the founders who had the vision to create this institution; to our past and present Board members who have carried the responsibility of that vision; and to the incredible staff I have the privilege of leading each and every day, thank you. Whatever recognition comes my way is also a reflection of the work you do every day. I am incredibly proud of our team and grateful for the way you continue to believe in the vision and care so deeply about the people and communities we serve.
I also think about the elders and community members who trusted me with their stories. Some of them are no longer with us. They gave me their time. They shared photographs, documents, memories and stories passed down through generations. They trusted that I would treat those stories with care. I have never taken that trust lightly.
And then there is my family.
At the foundation of everything I have done, and everything I have become, are my parents. They gave me the foundation that has guided my life and instilled in me the values that continue to shape who I am today: Faith. Family. Community. Hard work. Respect for others. And the understanding that whatever gifts God gives you, you have a responsibility to use them to help somebody else.
My Dad is no longer with us, but I carry what he taught me every day. And Mom, I am so grateful that you are here today to share this moment with me. So much of who I am is because of what you and Dad poured into me. The lessons weren’t always delivered in big speeches. Often, they were simply in how you lived, how you treated people, how you served your community and how you taught us to have faith. So Mom, this degree may have my name on it, but a piece of it belongs to you. And to my brothers and sisters, thank you. Throughout my life, you have been there with encouragement, support and, when needed, a little honest advice to your baby brother. You have celebrated the successes, supported me through the challenges and always reminded me of the importance of family and integrity. I am grateful to each of you for being part of this journey.
And to my daughter Amber and my wife Cassandra, thank you for your love, patience and grace. You have shared me with this work through many long days, evenings and weekends, and those times when I said I would be home in a minute that turned into hours. Your support has allowed me to continue doing the work I feel called to do.
So while my name may be on this degree, this honour does not belong to me alone.
It belongs to my family.
It belongs to the Black Cultural Centre.
It belongs to the elders who trusted me with their stories.
It belongs to those who blazed trails long before I had the opportunity to walk them.
And it belongs to the countless people who have given me their time, their wisdom, their encouragement and sometimes simply the opportunity to try.
As meaningful as today’s recognition is, I don’t see it as a finish line. Far from it. For me, it comes with responsibility. There are still stories that need to be told. There is still history waiting to be uncovered. There are still voices that need to be heard. There are still institutions that need to change. There is still capacity that needs to be built within our communities. And there are still young Black children who need to understand that their history did not begin with struggle. They come from generations of builders, leaders, innovators, soldiers, educators, activists, entrepreneurs and nation builders.
They need to know: You belong here. Your ancestors helped build this place. Your story matters. And you have a responsibility to carry that story forward.
Thirty-two years ago, I walked into the Black Cultural Centre as a teenager with a camera and a love for capturing and sharing stories. I thought I was there to tell the stories of others. What I didn’t realize was that I was beginning one of my own. And perhaps I did become that journalist I dreamed about becoming. My newsroom just looks a little different. For me, it became a museum. An archive. A community. And a responsibility to help preserve and elevate the stories of a people whose contributions deserve to be known.