Delivered May 28, 2025
Thank you, President Lahey, Chancellor Deane Little, esteemed faculty, members of the Board of Governors, honoured guests, fellow alumni, proud families and most importantly, the 2025 graduating class of the University of King’s College—good evening.
I am aware of three important things as I begin these brief remarks:
First, no one ever complained about a short speech.
And second there is an admonishment in this province that says a stage is no place for someone who can’t sing or play the fiddle.
And third, and perhaps most importantly, I am standing between you and after-dinner drinks with family and friends.
It is an honour beyond words to stand before you tonight, back here in Prince Hall. I spent a lot of time here, including formal meals, dances and student union election debates.
I want to express my deepest gratitude to the university for bestowing upon me the immense privilege of an honorary degree. It is both humbling and joyful to return to this place—not only as a guest, but as one of your own.
So let me begin by offering my heartfelt congratulations to each of you. Graduation from King’s is great achievement—one that reflects years of hard work, sacrifice and perseverance. I have no doubt that you possess the tools needed to shape your futures, and by extension, the future of our world.
So, if you will allow me one brief foray into nostalgia—I arrived at King’s from a small town on the south shore of Nova Scotia. My father was a sheet metal worker; my mother worked part time in a grocery store and held our family together with grit and good humour. They raised six children. I was the first of my family to graduate from high school. A university education wasn’t a foregone conclusion—it was a leap.
And it was a different time—the only computer on campus filled the basement of the Killam Library and was called Gandalf. If you wanted to call someone, there was a payphone in the atrium. There was grey cat that hung out in the Manning Room at Alex Hall—it was appropriately named Gregi after the King’s motto Deo, Legi, Regi, Gregi. The pace was slower but no less intense.
Now, I’ll be honest: when I arrived at King’s, I didn’t have a clear idea of where life would take me. I couldn’t have predicted I’d become Premier of Nova Scotia. I didn’t have a five-point plan, or a detailed vision board. What I did have was curiosity, conviction and a belief in the power of ideas.
King’s taught me not what to think, but how to think.
I was taught to ask better questions. Questions like: Who does this idea serve? What is the cost of silence? And what must we do, collectively, to build a society and economy that is more just, more humane and more sustainable? The economy, after all, is a wholly owned subsidiary of the environment.
Those questions led me down a path—to journalism, to law and eventually to politics. When people would ask why I became a politician I would often say it was because I had the two necessary qualities: an over developed sense of optimism and an underdeveloped sense of fear.
King’s nurtured both of these qualities. This university gives you more than facts. It gives you perspective. And perspective, let me tell you, is invaluable in government. Because in politics, people rarely agree. But the ability to hear someone out, to challenge your own assumptions, to see complexity where others see only slogans—that’s the King’s way. And the world needs more of it.
And now, I am thinking about you—the graduating class of 2025 — you are stepping into a world that feels uncertain, that often seems divided, that rarely slows down long enough to let you catch your breath. And yet, you go forward with something rare. You have a King’s education.
You’ve had the opportunity to learn, dissect and debate some the great ideas of history. No doubt you have thought about how these ideas fit the challenges of today. You’ve learned that truth is rarely simple, that history is often messy, and that ideas have power—real power—to shape the world.
As you step into the next chapter—whether it’s grad school, the workforce, the arts, entrepreneurship, public service, or some noble wandering—remember this: the value of your education is not measured only in your career, but in your citizenship. In how you think, how you act, how you contribute to your community, how you hold space for others.
Don’t be discouraged if you don’t have all the answers yet. No one does. And those who say they do—especially the loud ones—are often the ones worth listening to the least. The real work is in staying curious, staying humble and staying connected to something larger than yourself.
King’s is not a large university by modern standards, but it is mighty in its impact. I am the third Premier from King’s College. The other two Russell MacLellan and John Ham lived in Angel’s Roost at the same time. All three of us served during a span of 15 years. I ran against both of them. I can proudly say that although we came from different political parties and points of view, we are friends. That is the King’s tradition—debate passionately, strive to make a difference and respect those with whom you disagree.
The King’s traditions run deep—not because King’s clings to the past, but because it understands the past is where we learn who we are.
Institutions like this one are increasingly rare. They believe in the long conversation—across time, across disciplines, across generations. And that long conversation has never been more important. We live in a moment of noise and speed, where algorithms reward outrage and too many shout past one another. But here, we are taught to listen. To pause. To think before speaking. And to speak not necessarily to win—but to understand.
That is a radical act in today’s world. Cherish it. Protect it. Carry it with you.
I said earlier that I had an overdeveloped sense of optimism and an underdeveloped sense of fear. These many years later neither has left me. I have great faith in this generation as I did in my own. I believed then, as I do now, that we could harness the power of the common wealth of our country to make life better. That idea, that simple idea, gave us Medicare, pensions, public education and much more.
But you don’t need to seek public office to serve the public. Every one of you has that capacity, whether you become a journalist, an artist, a doctor or an entrepreneur. In fact, if we’re going to build a better future, we need all hands on deck.
You are about to enter a world that needs you. Desperately.
It needs your creativity, your skepticism, your optimism and your refusal to accept that things must always be the way they are.
Graduates—this is your eve of your graduation. Tomorrow, you will cross a stage and step into the next phase of your journey. You may feel excited. You may feel anxious. You may feel both. That’s normal. Life is not a linear equation. It is an unfolding narrative—one that you get to write, revise and occasionally tear up and start anew.
What matters is not that you follow a perfect path, but that you live with purpose. That you ask: Who do I want to be? What kind of community do I want to help build? What can I give? These are not easy questions. But the fact that you are here tonight, with a King’s degree in hand, means you are ready to ask them.
The world needs people who can think critically, feel deeply, act courageously. It needs people who are not afraid to face complexity, who are willing to take responsibility, and who believe—as I do—that a more just, thoughtful and compassionate society is possible.
So go forward. Be bold. Be kind. And never stop learning.
And if, someday, you find yourself back here at King’s—perhaps to attend a dinner like this one, perhaps a little greyer, maybe a little wiser—I hope you will feel as I do tonight: that no matter where life takes you, you will always have a home at King’s.
Thank you. Congratulations, Class of 2025. And may your journey be extraordinary.