Dorel's Address to the Berkeley Social Welfare Class of 2025
Good afternoon, everyone. Blessings and salutations.
What an incredible opportunity it is to stand here today among so many powerful, resilient, and compassionate individuals.
To the graduating class of 2025: Congratulations, you've made it and not—you made it and not just through a program but through a calling, one that demands not just your intellect but your whole heart.
Today, you are not just receiving a degree, you are making a promise.
The healing arts field is not like other industries. It doesn't say you've just mastered knowledge, it says you're willing to stand in the spaces where things are falling apart, where people are hurting, systems are failing, and hope feels fragile. It says that you are someone who will not look away. You have chosen the path of healing, not just for individuals, but for entire communities, and often for yourself along the way.
This work is deeply human. It's not glamorous. Most of it won't make headlines and yet, you will quietly save lives, sometimes without even knowing it. You'll be the person who listens when no one else does, the advocate who challenges an unfair policy, the therapist who helps someone rediscover their worth, the researcher who reimagines what justice can look like. This is healing in action—but let's be honest, healing is hard. It doesn't always look like progress, sometimes it looks like being exhausted after a home visit that didn't go well, or sitting with someone's trauma when you're carrying your own, or questioning if you're actually even making a difference at all.
But here's the truth: You are the difference. Your presence, your persistence, your ability to hold space for pain without trying to fix it immediately—those things matter more than you'll ever know, and someone, somewhere will carry your words with them for the rest of their life. And, in a world that often rushes to results, your work reminds us that some things—dignity, safety, and justice—are worth the long fight. Healing isn't linear; it doesn't follow quarterly reports or budget cycles. It's personal, it's cultural, it's generational, and that's why this degree isn't an ending, it's a beginning, a promise that you'll keep showing up.
Almost one year into this work, I have had the profound opportunity to witness firsthand the deep disparities that exist within our American medical systems. I've seen the barriers, I've seen the discrimination, I've witnessed the suffering that far too many individuals face, often in silence. Yet through all of it, what has kept me grounded is a clear understanding of empathy and compassion. These are not just words, they're the reasons I became a social work practitioner. They are the foundation of how I serve, advocate, and stand beside those who are most vulnerable and marginalized.
Now let me be clear: When you choose to do this work, your values, your beliefs, your integrities will be tested. There will be moments that challenge your core; moments that ask you to dig to dig deep and remember why you started in the first place. It is in those moments that your understanding of empathy and compassion will serve you as a compass. They will remind you of your purpose; they will bring you back to the heart of this work.
There is beauty in healing, and within that beauty is the undeniable truth: You have the power to change the trajectory of someone's life through the care you offer. Your words, your actions, your presence—all of it matters as you continue to grow in this field.
I hope you continue to fully understand the immense power you possess, not just as a professional but as a practitioner of the healing arts. Embrace that power with humility, with intention, and above all, with compassion.
Now I know some of you are wondering, "what's next?" The truth is, it will be different for each of you. Some will dive into clinical work, others into policy or education or community organizing or research, but regardless of the path, you'll all be making the invisible, visible. You'll name the harm others ignore, you'll remind people of their strength when they forget it, you'll challenge silence with compassion and action with courage. That's what this degree has prepared you for, not just a job, but a life of meaning.
So today, I want to ask you to protect something precious as you move forward, and that's your hope, because this work will test you. Systems will resist change, burnout will whisper to you, but your hope—stubborn, grounded hope—is the fuel that turns theory into transformation. Surround yourself with people who remind you why you started. Take rest seriously. Celebrate small victories and never stop learning, not just from books, but from your clients, your colleagues, and your own mistakes.
To the graduating class of 2025: Your degree is a promise. A promise to serve, to challenge, to heal, and in that promise is power. Go forward knowing that your presence matters, your voice matters, and your work will echo far beyond what you can see. Congratulations social workers, the world is waiting for your compassion, your courage, and your leadership. Thank you for this opportunity.