In today’s Qualified at the Intersection, I’m going back to my roots as a journalist. I spent a decade in the news business, and the commencement address delivered by Scott Pelley of 60 Minutes at Wake Forest University was not just remarkable, it was a clarion call.
It reminded me of those old typing drills we did on actual typewriters:
“Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country.”
That’s what we typed. Over and over. Because it uses almost every letter and trains your fingers. But today, it feels prophetic. Pelley’s speech might as well have been titled:
“Now is the time for all good men and women to come to the aid of their country.”
Because make no mistake: the country needs you. Right now.
“The fear to speak in America.”
Pelley didn’t hold back. He looked at the graduating class of 2025 and said what many are too afraid to whisper:
“At this moment our sacred rule of law is under attack. Journalism is under attack. Universities are under attack. Freedom of speech is under attack. And a quiet, insidious fear is creeping through our schools, our businesses, our homes, and into our private thoughts, the fear to speak in America.”
Let that sit for a moment.
I’ve seen it firsthand. People who once had no issue sharing opinions now tell me they “can’t say that anymore,” even in private. Employees are afraid to read, learn, or even view certain material, and leaders are afraid to speak up. It’s not theoretical; it’s here.
And as Pelley asks, quoting Lincoln,
“If our government is of the people, by the people, and for the people—then why are we afraid to speak?”
We know the answer: retribution. Literal retribution, sometimes from the highest levels of power.
“History is choosing you.”
Pelley went on to frame this moment with chilling clarity:
“The Wake Forest class of 1861 did not choose their moment. Nor did the class of 1941. Or the class of 1968. History chose them. And now, history is choosing you.”
That line echoed in my mind. It resonated not just for the students but for all of us. You. Me. Everyone under the sound of my voice right now. History is choosing us, too.
“We are not descended from fearful people,” Pelley added.
And then he began to tell stories—real ones, drawn from his career as a journalist. Of Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy. Of Nobel Peace Prize winner Nadia Murad. Of Dr. Samer Attar, performing surgery in war zones. After each story, he asked:
“Who are you?”
The Playbook of Power
Pelley did not mince words about the dangerous trend we are seeing:
“Rewrite history with grotesque falsehoods. Turn criminals into heroes and heroes into criminals. Redefine our language. Call diversity illegal. Equity suspect. And inclusion a threat. This is an old playbook.”
This isn’t new. It’s Orwellian. Literally.
And it’s deeply familiar to Black Americans. Much of what’s described as “new fear” in America has long been part of the Black American experience, especially the fear around speech. During Jim Crow, it wasn’t just the law that restricted Black people. It was the unspoken etiquette that forbade us from appearing “too intelligent,” “too assertive,” or “too outspoken.”
Only in the post–civil rights era did it even become remotely acceptable to “talk back” to white authority figures.
So yes, the fear is growing. But it’s not new for all of us.
“Can the truth win?”
As the speech reached its crescendo, Pelley invoked " the Letter from a Birmingham Jail:
“The first step toward justice is collecting the facts.”
Martin Luther King Jr. wrote that in 1963. That same year, Wake Forest integrated. A year later, the Civil Rights Act passed. Then the Voting Rights Act.
And now? Both are under attack.
“But can the truth win?” Pelley asked.
“Nothing else does.”
And then, something extraordinary happened. Pelley, a white man with a long, storied career, honored one of Wake Forest’s most iconic faculty members—Dr. Maya Angelou. He quoted her poem Still I Rise in full, concluding:
“Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise. I rise. I rise.”
I found that moment moving and profound. That kind of invocation of shared ancestry, of liberation, felt like a widening of the circle. A reminder that the liberation of any of us is the liberation of all of us.
“Take the baton. Run with it.”
Scott Pelley closed with advice not just for the graduates but for all of us:
“In a few moments, you will receive your diploma. It won’t just be a piece of paper. It will be a baton. Take it. Run with it.”
Then he explained why he had come:
“Because I’m 50 years farther down the trail than you, and I have doubled back to tell you what I’ve learned.”
I’ve said this before in my book Qualified and in yesterday’s Memorial Day newsletter: history doesn’t move in a straight line. It doubles back. It folds. It calls to us from the past and demands we answer in the present.
Each of us has a baton to carry. Each of us must ask ourselves:
What is the meaning of me?
Who am I in this moment?
The fear is real. But it cannot win.
Hold the line on truth.
Hold the line on democracy.
Hold the line on each other.
And if you haven’t already listened to Scott Pelley’s speech here (it begins at the 48:03 mark)
It is one of the most powerful things I’ve heard in years. And it just might help you remember what this moment demands of us.
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