Jake Baum: 'On the importance of failure', Occasioonal Address, UNSW, Faculty of Medicine - 2023

2 May 2023, University of New South Wales, Sydney, Australia

Deputy Chancellor, Senior Vice Dean of Medicine & Health, colleagues, distinguished guests, graduating students & families.

I want to begin by acknowledging the traditional owners of these unceded lands, the rolling planes on which UNSW Sydney sits, the Bidjigal and Gadigal communities. Bidjigal I believe means plane dwellers in the Dharug language – one of the languages native to this area of NSW. So today, as you walk around the campus with your friends & family, pause to consider the incredible history witnessed by these rolling planes, and the debt of gratitude we owe to it, privileged to be able to study, learn and work freely in such a unique place.

This is my first occasional address. Let me clarify that. This is the first time I have been to any graduation ceremony, including my own. I will explain why.

I grew up in Bristol, a small city in the Southwest of England. My father was an eminent Paediatrician, my mother was and still is an abstract painter. I was brought up to ask questions at the dinner table, to study the world. Consumed by David Attenborough television shows I decided very early on that I would be a biologist. Though I went to a very modest state school, with help I managed to beat the odds and gain a place at Oxford University to study Biology. Guaranteed life-long success clearly would ensue?

Not necessarily. What I want to stress today isn’t success. It’s failure. Most Occasional Addresses I’ve watched in preparation for today, stress that graduation is one of the most important days of your life. OK, for some of you it might be. But I can imagine there are a few here that carry – as I did – a sense of failure. Perhaps you’ve not done as well as you expected? Perhaps you feel you should have done medicine instead? Perhaps you have no idea what tomorrow brings and that scares you?

At the end of my degree at Oxford, I was due to enjoy this very same ceremony. Two things, however, conspired to change my path. The first was the sudden death of my father. I felt bereft and uninterested in any form of celebration. Consumed by grief, all I could focus on was that I wasn’t training to be a medic, like him. The second was that I didn’t do well enough in my final exams. A PhD in Cambridge studying Biological Anthropology was promised to me, but it required a Distinction – and I’d fallen a few grades short. It was too late to enrol in postgraduate medicine. I was lost, feeling a deep sense of failure.

With no fallback plan I picked myself up and wrote. Pre-email, I mailed letters to every research lab I could find on the internet that looked interesting. To my surprise, a few months later a letter came from a parasitologist in Jerusalem offering me a 1 yr job in his lab. I said yes. This single year changed my whole life’s journey. Working with Palestinians and Israelis on the ancient relationships of Levantine goats – a fascinating subject I assure you - and living in one of the most complex and amazing cities in the world, I realised a profound lesson. You have to follow your own path. I was discovering a world of parasites, population genetics, and ancient human history. Maybe I didn’t need to become a medic after all.

With fresh perspective, my luck changed, I acquired a Ph.D. back in the UK jointly in Oxford and London to explore human genetics & malaria (a subject that I still work on today). Now, clearly my success was guaranteed!

At the end of my Ph.D. I submitted 3 applications for fellowships to study malaria further and applied to several jobs. Rejection followed rejection – I had failed again. Perhaps I was deluded, maybe this path wasn’t meant to be. Medicine?

Another year out followed. I considered throwing in the towel and finding an alternative career. Then, on a chance recommendation from a friend, I was introduced to Professor Alan Cowman, the world leading authority on malaria parasite cell biology. Over coffee he took a chance and offered me a 2-year position in his lab at the WEHI in Melbourne. I said yes, telling my mother soon afterwards that I’d be back from Oz in 2 years, she needn’t worry.

Within 2 years, I had met my now wife Andrea, I’d become a resident, we got married a few years later and our first child was born and my mum forgave me for living in the lucky country. Clearly now I could assume things would run smoothly? I worked my guts out in Alan’s lab and after 5 years, I had discovered and described a small protein – called RH5 – that I believed was destined to be the foundation for a universal malaria vaccine. We submitted the paper to the most prestigious journals we could, waiting for the almost certain accolades to follow. But, after 6 months of waiting we received a brutal rejection – worse still, another group published on Rh5 before us. I had been scooped. We rushed publication into an Australian journal – colleagues advised I move on. Failure?... Not so fast!!

RH5 is now in clinical trials in Tanzania, and its working. I’m not involved with those trials, but that paper I published is one of the most highly cited papers from my career. What am I trying to say?

As CS Lewis (the famous author) said “Failures are sign posts on the road to achievement.” or as civil rights activist Maya Angelou said, "It may be necessary to encounter defeats, so you can know who you are, what you can rise from, how you can still come out of it.”

I now passionately believe failure is a key part of any journey. Or to quote Einstein, “Failure is success in progress.”

So, for those of you here reflecting on how everything has gone your way – relish that feeling, celebrate it, but don’t take it for granted. It won’t always be like this, but thanks to the amazing lessons you’ve undoubtedly learned here at UNSW through teachers and friends, you should feel confident that you can achieve great things. And for those of you nursing a sense of failure or uncertainty – well, you went one better than me, you showed up to your graduation, you smiled for the camera, and you can say to yourself, this too shall pass – or as Richard Feynman said, the most important thing in life is not being afraid to fail.

As the Head of School of Biomedical Sciences, I want to close by saying something about the Biomedical journey itself.

My father used to tell the story of the starfish - his metaphor for the importance of being a Clinician. This is the story:

As an old man walked the beach at dawn, he noticed a young girl picking up starfish and putting them into the sea. He asked the girl “why are you doing this?”. She answered that the stranded starfish would die if left out in the morning sun. 'But the beach goes on for miles and there are thousands & thousands of starfish,' countered the old man. 'How can your effort make any difference?' The child looked at the starfish in her hand and placed it safely into the waves. 'It makes a difference to this one!'

It’s a powerful story – make a difference to one patient. Save one life! But I’ll let you in on a secret (and I might ask any clinicians present to close their ears). There is a way to save not just one but every starfish on that beach and it isn’t necessarily by becoming a medic. In the COVID pandemic, it wasn’t clinicians that changed the game, it was biomedical research, it was finding the cures and treatments, the vaccines & diagnostics and the decades of research that came before – which included a HUGE amount of failure! Dame Sarah Gilbert who developed the AstraZeneca vaccine is a researcher, not a clinician. So, whether you stay in biomedical sciences, pursue medicine (I do still love clinicians) or go onto something completely different, the perspective you’ve gained these last few years should still empower you to make a profound difference to the world.

So, in closing, whatever today means, go from here. You’ve got a jump start on life with a degree from UNSW, use it well, be prepared to fail, fail often, and get up again. Blaze your own path.

Thank you.

James Carville: 'Failure is to success as oxygen is to life', Tulane University - 2008

17 May 2008, Tulane University, Louisiana Superdome, New Orleans

As you see, my speech will be awfully short on advice, but I do advise you that when you pick a spouse, pick one – be as lucky as I did, and pick one that fascinates you, and challenges you, and entertains you, that you enjoy like so much, as I do with Mary, and we're delighted to be returned to the city that we fell in love in, and we got married in, and now we're going to live in.

Now, I want to welcome all you "old" school fans – (Applause) – I left Louisiana in 1986 and returned in 2008, which is 22 years. To give you some idea of 22 years -- that was how long it took me to get out of undergraduate school – (Laughter) – or it's how long it took FEMA to get to New Orleans. I don't know which one, but -- (Laughter)

All of these commencements, and I've – from everywhere – from Pala Alto to Princeton, from Boulder to Boston, from Athens to Ann Arbor, all have a certain tenor, and that is that a commencement speaker is supposed to deliver some wisdom or observation, something about what they've learned, to you, and that's what's supposed to take you forward in life -- and you will get no such thing here in New Orleans. (Laughter) I'll promise you. The May air is full of such nauseating bunk. (Laughter).

But when you listen to what Dr. Cowen said – and I did the research – I thought I might use this, as the rabbis would say, as a teaching moment. And a teaching moment is not what I have to teach you. It's what "you" have taught "me," and what you have taught the world. That's right. This is about you giving me and the world an education.

The first thing you taught me – I suspected this was true, but I didn't know it. I now know it. The age of cynicism is dead. You drove a stake right through the heart of it. (Applause) Your fingerprints are all over it. You heard it. You left because of the storm. You had to disperse all over the country – 600 different schools. You heard about, "Oh, the heat, the humidity, the corruption, the crime," the this, "the geographics" – whatever -- you heard every reason that you shouldn't come back, and you did. Every cynic had every reason for you.

I want to remind you of what C.S. Lewis said in the 1943 essay. He said, "You can't go on seeing through things forever. The whole point of seeing through something is to see something through it. If you see through everything, then everything is transparent. But a wholly transparent world is an invisible world. To see through all things is to say is not to see." And every cynic, every person, could see through everything, but you felt – you felt that -- you felt it. And your feelings are much, much more important to you than your sight. Those are the most important things they have. And you saw it. And when this history of his generation is written – and Dr. Cowen is right, you are going to be the next-greatest generation. At the top – at the very top of this generation is going to be the Tulane Class of 2008. (Applause)

Lesson Number 2 -- in this teaching moment we're having here is: You did not fear failure. And I want to talk you a little bit about failure. Failure is to success what oxygen is to life. You say, "Wait a minute. That sounds absurd. How can -- "Failure is to success what oxygen is to life." There can be no success without failure. You instinctively understood that. Because in September of 2005, this was not an assured thing – not at all. In order to succeed you have to fail.

Let me give you an example. Now you say, "I'm a little bit skeptical of this. I need some proof." Okay. Who is the most successful American ever? Who is the person that – okay, I'll throw a name out just for the hell of it. How about Abe Lincoln, Springfield, Illinois? Pretty stout, wasn't he? Pretty stout. Who is the greatest failure in American history? Abraham Lincoln.

Let me read to you about Lincoln's failures, because I think it's very important to keep these in mind as you go forward, so you never fear failure. Lincoln failed in business as a shopkeeper. He failed as a farmer. He ran for the State legislature and lost. His sweetheart died. He had a nervous breakdown. When he finally got to the State legislature, he ran for Speaker and lost. He ran for Vice President -- lost. He ran for the Senate -- lost again. And when he was finally elected President – the nation he was elected to lead fell apart. As Commander in Chief, he was inexperienced. He lost the First Battle of Manassas, Big Bethel, Kessler's Cross Lanes, McDowell, Fort Monroe, Cross Keys, Fort Republic, Gaines' Mill, Cedar Mountain, Fair Oaks, Fairfield, Gap, Second Manassas, he pressed on, then he lost Harpers Ferry, Shepherdstown and the Battle of Fredericksburg.

And that was just a partial list of what he failed at. He was prone to depression during the war. His son, Willie, died, and his wife was the subject of bitter political attacks.

You're not going to fail as much as Lincoln (Laughter), so don't worry about it. Have no fear. Have no fear. And you've already shown – you've already shown a knack for looking failure in the eye and pressing on, and pressing on.

I also think – Lesson Number 3 -- it is completely and totally appropriate that this class graduate in this building. A little bit about the history of this building. (Applause) There is a – I think a great movie, but certainly a movie that's produced a line that defines the generation before you. A Field of Dreams, where they said, "If you build it, they will come." "If you build it, they will come." And they built this building, and they came. The Rolling Stones came here – largest indoor concert ever. President – my wife's idol, President George H. W. Bush was nominated in this building. Pope John Paul II came to this building. Six Super Bowls – more than any other – come to this building. The BCS Championship – of which my beloved Tigers have won two -- have come to this building. Mohammed Ali came here for a championship fight; he came to this building. We all have the energy of this building hosting people who had no place left to go during Hurricane Katrina. This building has a glorious history. Many great things have happened here.

But you remember this for the rest of your life: Maybe the greatest thing that happened here is that this class came here to graduate. Because the maxim, "If we build it, they will come," has now changed. And it is now, "We will come and we build it." And that marks a departure. And that's the significance of what you mean, and what you mean in this building that has hosted and seen, and been a part of so much.

So you will go on, and because of what you've learned and what you felt, and what you all have been through, you'll all go far in life. Some of you will go distant from here -- many places, many achievements, many accomplishments. What I want you to try to do is save a sliver in your heart for this magnificent university and its faculty, who educated you; for this utterly wonderful, interesting, fascinating city, who thanks you; and for this very humble and respectful commencement speaker, who loves you.

Thank you. (Applause)

Viola Davis: 'Go on and live!', Providence College - 2012

24 May 2012, Providence College, Rhode Island, USA

You know, when John Garrity [’73; PC associate professor of theatre arts] picked me up from the airport, I said, “Oh my goodness, I’m so nervous I’m going to be speaking in front of 1,200 people”, and he said, “Try a little bit more than that.”  And I thought, “NOOOO!!” 

But really, I am so honored to be here, to impart my infinite wisdom, and I mean that facetiously, at your birth, beginning, start, threshold, genesis, kickoff, launch, commencement.  And I have to say that the content of my speech would have sounded totally different ten years ago, pre-marriage, pre-baby, pre-the passing of my father, pre-midlife.  I would have made a lot of stuff up, and been very self- congratulatory and self-righteous about what a wonderfully dramatic speech I gave, but how I neither lived nor believed none of it.  Thank God this is not ten years ago.

So, what can I give you?  A long-time friend of mine, Leah Franklin, after a passionate, late- night discussion, inspired me with a powerful, honest quote, and I’ll try to do it in her voice: “Oh V, you know, nobody ever tells you that life sucks.  I mean the only people who are happy are 2-year-olds and 80-year-old billionaires.”  Now, I get the 2-year-olds but the 80-

Year-old billionaire I didn’t get.  Well maybe Hugh Hefner, but …. 

And for some reason that marinated in my head and the only image I had was from the movie, The Exorcist. You know when Ellen Burstyn comes home late to find her assistant frantic, her assistant then whisks her upstairs to her pre-teen daughter Reagan’s room, played by Linda Blair. The room is freezing, dark, and Reagan, who is not really Reagan, but a demon, tied to a bed, covered with scars, breathing heavily, the room is really cold… and the assistant says, “I wasn’t going to bother you with this, but I thought you had to see it.”  She raises Reagan’s nightgown and on her abdomen, two words had been scratched: “Help me.”  And I thought, “That is such a great metaphor for life.”

I’m going to hit you with something deep.  You know, your authentic self is constantly trapped under the weight of the most negative forces in this world.  And it will be an everyday battle. You know, sometimes I felt, and you will feel, that who you are is hidden away like a piece of really great jewelry that you keep in a box, and you only take it out during special occasions.  Yet your everyday persona is a type of demonic possession.  But the demons aren’t gargoyles or red-faced men with horns, but everyone else’s dreams, desires, definitions of success, greed, the pursuit of personality instead of character, the exchange of love and family, for money and possessions, entitlement with no sense of responsibility, and the most frightening demon of all, lack of purpose.

If I do not know who I am, it is because I think I am the sort of person everyone around me wants to be.  Perhaps I’d never asked myself whether I really wanted to become whatever everyone else seems to want to become.  Perhaps if I only realized that I do not admire what everyone seems to admire, I would really begin to live after all.  You see the two most important days in your life are the day you were born and the day you discover why you were born.  Now I have only been able to slay dragons when I have kept these two important facts in sharp focus, because at some point in life, it will indeed suck.  Loss of a loved one, health issues, marriage, children, loss of passion, the discovery that what you thought you wanted in life … you don’t.  You veer off course, but all that while, that purpose, that thing that you were specifically, divinely made for will be looming in front of you. 

You know when I was 42, I was present at the passing of my father, and I remember the hospice worker telling my mom that he was very, very sick, and the only reason he was holding on was because he needed permission to go.  She had to tell him and she couldn’t.  Now, my vision of what I wanted to become and how I wanted to make a mark involved the musty, 1,200-seat theatres of New York City and the big screen.  I wanted to be an artist.  I had no vision of that 42-year-old woman at hospice, telling her dad to move on.  And here I was, with him desperately reaching out, clinging for life, and telling him “Go.” 

At 38, I got married in a white dress.  I thought never in my life will I get married.  I had dreams before the ceremony of taking an elevator to the 38th-floor of a building and stepping in and looking at me, and not the me of 38, but the me in my 20s.  Only the 20-year-old me was standing there, dead, zombie. Someone told me, “Well, marriage is like a death…you die to yourself.”  And there I was the next day, reciting those vows with great joy.

And children, no images of being a 46-year-old mother with a 2-year-old child entered the realms of my imagination.  Yet once again, here I am, facilitating a life, guiding with the knowledge that I cannot protect, but only love.  Stumbling at times, yelling internally, “Help me”, happy, disillusioned, exhausted, fulfilled, knowing that I am giving all I am, all I really am, to this life.  It’s said that humans are the only creatures that stay at their mother’s bosoms the longest.  Perhaps that’s why when we are thrust into the world, we flail and thrash, looking for a sanctuary, answers, to be saved.  The good news is that the privilege of a lifetime is being who you are, and as for the demons…you exorcise them.  How? To those who say, “What is my purpose?” I say, “You know.”  And to those who know, I say, “Jump!” 

The people, the heroes in our life have gone before us, the labyrinth is fully known and we’ve only to follow the thread of the hero path.  And where we had thought to find an abomination, we shall find God, and where we had thought to slay another, we shall slay ourselves, and where we thought to travel outward, we shall come to the center of our own existence. And where we thought to be alone, we shall be with all the world. 

And hey, you asked an actor to give your commencement speech, so, you know, the actor, the imagination, the flair, just goes wild. So the only thing once again churning through my head was a monologue from George C. Wolf’s The Colored Museum, and the character’s name is Topsy.  They say it’s the most overdone monologue in the world.  I say it can never be overdone, because the message is eternal.  And Topsy talks about a function she went to one night, way uptown. 

And baby, when I say uptown, I mean way, way , way , way, way, way, WAY uptown.  Somewhere between 125th street and infinity.  Inside was the largest gathering of black, Negro, colored Americans you’d ever want to see.  Over in one corner you got Nat Turner sipping champagne out of Eartha Kitts’ slipper.  Over in another corner you got Burt Williams and Malcolm X discussing existentialism as it relates to the shuffle ball change.  Girl, Aunt Jemima and Angela Davis was in the kitchen sharing a plate of greens and just going off about South Africa.  And then Fats sat down and started to work them 88s. And then Stevie joined in, and Miles, and Duke, and Ella, and Jimmy, and Charlie, and Sly, and Lightning, and Count, and Louie, and everybody joined in.  And I tell you, they were all up there dancing to the rhythm of one beat, dancing to the rhythm of their own definition, celebrating in their cultural madness.… And then the floor started to shake, and the walls started to move, and before anyone knew what was happening, the entire room lifted up off of the ground, defying logic and limitations and just went a-spinning and a-spinning and a-spinning until it just disappeared inside of my head. 

That’s right girl, there’s a party going on inside here.  That’s why when I walk down the street my hips just sashay all over the place, ’cuz I’m dancing to the music of the madness in me.  And whereas I used to jump into a rage whenever anyone tried to deny who I was, now all I do is give attitude, quicker than light, and go on about the business of me because I’m dancing to the madness in me.  And here, all this time I’d been thinking we gave up our drums, but no, we still got them.  I know I got mine. They here, in my speech, my walk, my hair, my God, my smile, my eyes and everything I need to get over this world is inside here, connecting me to everybody and everything that ever was.  So honey, don’t try to label or define me because I’m not what I was ten years ago or ten minutes ago.  I’m all of that and then some.  And whereas I can’t live inside yesterday’s pain, I can’t live without it. 

To the 1,200 heroes of Providence College, your commencement begins with the call to adventure and it comes full circle with your freedom to live, so I say, “Go on and live.”  Thank you so much. I am so honored to be here at this time.