Good morning everyone.
To Mr. Benjamin Lizada, Chair of the Board of Trustees of Ateneo de Davao;
Reverend Father Karel San Juan, University President;
Reverend Father Antonio Basilio, Rector of the Davao Jesuit Community and Vice President for Higher Education;
School Deans and Administrators;
Faculty and Staff;
Parents; and, most importantly, the graduates:
It is an honour to be here with all of you today. To call this a privilege would be an understatement.
Mindanao has been many things to me—a place of work, of rest, and of reckoning. Over the past eight years, I have found here not only stories but purpose. But let me begin further away.
A few weeks ago, I was in Ukraine as part of a small group of journalists granted rare access to areas recently liberated from Russian occupation: Bucha, Irpin, Yahidne. We met a man who led us into a public school basement where more than fifty people had been held under siege for weeks—no electricity, no water, barely any air.
Room by room, he showed us where they stood, where they slept, and where some of them died. He recounted each atrocity with chilling clarity—every detail laid out with clinical precision—his face unreadable.
When a colleague asked what he would say to the Russians, he replied without hesitation: “I hope they die. And that their children suffer more than we did.” It was a moment of raw, undiluted rage.
Yet, as we prepared to leave, this same man approached me and offered the warmest, most affectionate hug—generous, almost paternal. I stood stunned by the contradiction: a man who endured unimaginable suffering, who wished the same on others, and who simultaneously could show profound human tenderness.
That is the world we are grappling with now—where the pace of suffering outstrips our capacity even to process it.
As Ukrainians fight for sovereignty, Palestinians in Gaza endure relentless destruction from a state invoking divine entitlement while denying their humanity. Israel’s operations have extended beyond Gaza into Yemen, Jordan, and Lebanon, and now threaten Iran—citing security concerns even as the IAEA confirms Iran has no nuclear weapons.
Yet Israel itself remains a nuclear-armed power outside the Non‑Proliferation Treaty it refuses to join or open to inspections.
Why speak of the Middle East here? Because no crisis exists in isolation—its echoes reach every shore. Empathy and action cannot be selective. In our interconnected world, shared humanity demands we look beyond our own borders, recognize the links between struggles, and embrace our common responsibilities.
We’ve seen this before. False claims of WMD in Iraq sparked a 20-year war. Millions died. An intergenerational conflict followed, giving rise to ISIS—a ripple felt even here in Mindanao.
Two months ago in Sulu, Tausug women did not ask about BARMM or midterm elections; they asked only about Palestine.
What happens in Gaza reverberates in Marawi, in Sulu, in Davao, South Upi, Maguindanao, Cotabato, Manila—everywhere—because nearly every modern conflict traces back to the same root: colonialism. A single thread binds us all.
I’ve delivered many speeches in my life—but this one took time.
This won’t be a list of 12 secrets to success, or tips on how to keep a guy in 10 days. Wala akong masyadong skills pagdating dyan.
This is something else entirely—a call to care, to make space for nostalgia in a world moving far too fast.
Events here and abroad have reached a turning point.
They follow a pattern that demands we hold up a mirror to ourselves. Nothing happens in isolation.
Even my own existence is an act of defiance. My grandparents worked tirelessly to give me a chance. My grandfather was once a fisherman in Ticao; he moved to Manila to escape violence under martial law, then labored in a factory, always scraping by.
My grandmother sold pancakes to keep us fed, yet she would brook no excuses when it came to education. By the time I was five, I could read and write because she patiently taught me the alphabet and phonetics—despite having been denied schooling herself.
In high school, I worked in the house of wealthier distant relatives to offset my school costs. In the mornings, I would walk to the local well to fetch water for their showers. On weekends, I was the official clothes washer. I did this so long that neighbors would see me pass by in slippers with a basin of dirty clothes and say,
“Ayan na si Marimar… Marimar na labandera.”
Sino po ang batang 90s dito? Alam nyo po kung gaano kasikat noon si Marimar. For those who don’t know, and are really not from my generation… Marimar was a famous Mexican telenovela star portrayed by Thalia. Marimar was beautiful but dirt poor. Throughout these years, I was keenly aware of our poverty, but I never felt inferior. Hanggang sa yumaman na lang si Marimar sa show—pero ako, nag-iigib pa rin ng tubig.
College was a real test for me.
I remember distinctly: it was around October 2004. I was sitting alone at the freedom park, exhausted. I wasn’t sleeping much, juggling two jobs, school, and a boyfriend who was cheating on me. Nakipag-break ang boyfriend ko sa parehong linggo ng final exams ko. Napakaselfish niya. Pero mas malaki akong problema noong araw na iyon—20 pesos lang pera ko. Paano ko pagkakasya’y yung 20 pesos ko para sa lunch, dinner, at pamasahe?
I had many similar scenarios where I had nothing and no one to rely on but myself. Looking back, I realize that my life, my experiences, and my time at university helped me push for a career in international journalism despite the odds.
Nothing has taught me more in life than discomfort.
The odds of a foreign network hiring me were slim. I didn’t have a posh foreign accent, a Yale degree, and my Philippine passport could sometimes be a hindrance for emergency deployments overseas. But I had grit—and a little madness.
But no one could outwork me. I worked for Al Jazeera for a year without pay. I was a newspaper boy, really. I filed tapes, carried tripods across rivers and hills. I was broke and single, but I was very happy.
So when you find yourself not able to get the job you always wanted, don’t be disheartened. You are being redirected. Perhaps temporarily to prepare you for that role.
I am Catholic but I am such a believer also of signs as I get older. The Universe may also be sending signals, hey look to your right.
I began my career covering everything—from typhoons to terror attacks. For 15 years, I didn’t stop. I flew into warzones. Embedded with rebels. I had two suitcases in the car: one to last me three days and one to last ten days.
My friend Hadj once called me—casually, or accusingly—“Queen of Mayhem.” And then she laughed. I laughed. I had so much righteous outrage in me, I never ran out of energy.
Every child I met in a disaster felt like my own. The guilt of leaving my son behind to cover a war, and then leaving survivors behind to return home to safety, was constant.
Yet that weight drove me on—to tell their stories, to remain with them, and to honor the trust they placed in me.
In 2017, I founded Sinagtala, an NGO working with women and children in conflict-affected areas. We opened toy libraries, trauma support spaces, and weaving centres in Lanao and Sulu. We helped turn grief into livelihood, war zones into sanctuaries.
Journalism is my most obstinate lover… but in education I am safe.
Often we don’t get to choose where to go. We go because we are sent.
And when we do, we must make do with what we have—getting every detail right: the spelling of a farmer’s name, the humanity of a so-called terrorist, the dignity of a little girl whose family was buried by a landslide.
I’ve seen how a single falsehood can cost lives—whether in a conflict zone or a community meeting. Disinformation now poses the greatest threat we face: it erodes trust in our institutions and fractures the bonds that hold us together. A society divided by lies cannot marshal the solidarity needed to withstand external dangers. Every time we allow falsehood to spread unchecked, we weaken our collective resilience and betray the trust of those who depend on truth.
Even the most powerful nations cannot escape its reach. We must confront these lies as a nation with the same resolve we bring to armed threats—with vigilance, solidarity, and an unflinching commitment to truth.
Yes, narratives can and do incite hatred. But they can also build bridges, repair wounds, and remind people they matter.
You, the graduates here, are stepping into a world defined by uncertainty—and also full of promise, a world that desperately needs your voice, your optimism, your care.
This is a generation witnessing the rise of authoritarian populism, global inequality, climate collapse, rampant misogyny, corruption, and entrenched political dynasties. And yet—it is also the generation of resistance, of possibility, of action.
When journalists and human rights advocates are on the receiving end of attacks, universities become the next line of defense. The battle for academic freedom is the next frontline.
We must remember: the quality of our democracy shapes the laws we live by. Those laws are only as sound as the people who write them. And those people are shaped by the quality of their education. It all begins in the classroom—with the questions we dare to ask, with the truths we are brave enough to defend.
So I urge you: question the status quo. Question your own biases. Be willing to listen to the other side. Stand up for the environment. Fight for human rights.
Push back against corruption, lack of accountability, and abuse of power.
Ateneo de Davao University is not merely a place of learning; it is a pillar of democracy, especially in Mindanao.
It has weathered storms—both literal and institutional—and emerged time and again with its doors open and its mission unshaken.
The right to speak out is a birthright.
But to examine injustice through an intersectional lens is not just a choice; it is a sacred duty. Values like excellence, generosity, strength, care, and dialogue must never go out of style. These are not archaic values; they are more relevant than ever.
No matter how loud the noise gets, hold your ground. And remember: you don’t have to be fearless to lead. You just have to care enough to keep showing up.
The only thing I truly miss about daily news is direct, first-hand access to street rallies. Gustong gusto ko makinig ng monologues ng mga protesters. I don’t often agree with their positions personally, but I admire how their views are articulated so publicly. I like that they go on stage with a megaphone to speak about the causes they fight for.
It is good to remember that for hundreds of years we were denied this right—the right to freedom of assembly and freedom of speech. Those who came before us paid for that liberation with their lives. So whenever you see a street rally, take a five-minute pause: honour that sacred space, listen, and then walk away with a reminder that this freedom is ours to keep—but also one we must strive to keep.
Sa isang pinakong entablado, sa tabing daan ng isang masikip na kalsada… may pulpito ang isang ordinaryong mamamayan para sumigaw. Bilang isang bansa, marami na ang nangyari sa atin pero hanggang ngayon, malaya pa rin tayong lahat.
Often, when we find ourselves in disagreement, it feels like division. But perhaps we must reimagine—and remind ourselves—that difference is not division. Diversity and the dialogue it invites are not weaknesses; they are among our greatest strengths.
So let’s start with this. That we should be proud first as Filipinos. Yes, despite our political fractures and failures, we do not sow global unrest. We do not drive nations into exile. We do not orchestrate suffering on a mass scale in another country. As a state, we do not commit genocide. Most of all, we do not take part in it—not with weapons, not with silence, not with complicity.
Can we please take a moment to remember who we are? At our core, we are kind and generous people. Yes, we disagree. Yes, we fall short and fail each other. But even then, we remain decent. We remain good.
The world knows this: Why else would it want every Filipino nurse, every psychologist, every teacher, every engineer?
For decades, we have exported care, compassion, and competence. Mothers forced to leave their children behind to care for other children abroad. But somewhere along the way—we also forgot how to care for each other.
Pinagtatawanan ako ng husband ko kasi, pag nagluluto daw ako, laging sobra. He is European and they love portions. We are so used to loving in abundance that we don’t even know how to cook for just two. Sa Pilipinas, nilalagay lang natin ang pagkain sa gitna, at doon tayo maghahati. We trust na, piraso man ‘yan ng manok o sampu, magkakasya para sa lahat dahil alam natin na kukuha lang iyon sa nararapat. At kadalasan, nahihiya pa tayo kunin ang nag-iisang natitira.
That’s why, for decades, we’ve welcomed refugees—Jews, Vietnamese, Afghans, Rohingyas, Palestinians. And so let us remind ourselves: when we lose one life, the loss of one Filipino is a loss that diminishes us all.
Fortiores 2030 is more than a roadmap—it is Ateneo de Davao University’s bold answer to a world in flux. Rooted in fortes in fide—strong in faith—it now dares to go further: calling its community to be fortiores—stronger in purpose, clarity, resilience, and impact.
Forged over a year of deep reflection, hard questions, and shared discernment, the plan blends Ignatian spirituality with the Church’s synodal spirit—anchored in faith, driven by action.
It defines who we are, what we stand for, and how we choose to lead. At its core is Prophetic leadership and that is committing to denouncing how we are living and announcing how we ought to live.
To the psychologists—may you practice not just to diagnose, but to create circles of care.
To the accountants—your role is not just to audit numbers, but to demand accountability.
To the engineers and architects—design not only for the powerful, but for the forgotten.
To communication graduates (some of whom were my students)—let your stories hold space for the invisible.
To philosophy graduates—let your questions be a mirror to society.
To researchers—let data reflect those too often left uncounted.
To anthropologists—study not only culture, but power; illuminate the systems that shape inequality.
To development studies graduates—do not just study poverty, but work toward dismantling the systems that sustain it.
To international studies graduates—go beyond borders; diplomacy is not just between states, but between peoples.
To Islamic scholars—in a world prone to stereotypes, your work carries both the burden of nuance and the call for justice.
To political science graduates—yours is not merely the study of power but the challenge to see beyond ballots and bureaucracy.
To chemists—the masters of unseen transformation: may you synthesize substances that can heal and sustain.
To future economists and entrepreneurs, real growth can be achieved when wealth is distributed equitably
And to the teachers—yours is the quiet revolution. You shape the questions the next generation will dare to ask.
Teach them not just to pass tests, but to test injustice; not just to follow rules, but to know when to break them—for something better. Teach beyond the textbook. Nurture the courage to question, the clarity to discern, and the conscience to lead.
To the parents—congratulations! Hindi madaling maging magulang sa panahon na ito. Pero araw-araw gumagapang tayo para sa ating mga mahal sa buhay. Congratulations po sa inyo.
The world today is overwhelmed by an abundance of discord—and a scarcity of humanity.
And so we must fight to keep our hearts tender and strive to live meaningful lives.
Fight for those often pushed to the edges—the Muslims, the LGBTQ+ community, the poor, the laborers, the women and children; but also the refugees, the displaced, the incarcerated, the orphans, the indigenous, the stateless.
This is why you are here and privileged enough to graduate.
So: be bold, be brave, be strong in faith.
Congratulations, Class of 2025. Ang laban lagi ay dapat para sa Bayan, hindi para sa kanino man.
Maraming salamat po at Mabuhay kayong lahat.
Ms. Jamela Aisha M. Alindogan
Commencement Speaker
73rd Commencement Exercises: https://www.facebook.com/ateneo.dedavao/videos/1760073284921235