A Bridge Over Troubled Water: U.S. Attorney Damian Williams Delivers Yale Law's Commencement Address

Thank you for that beautiful introduction. It’s so good to be back at Yale. I love this school deeply — even though my path through it wasn’t easy.

As the Dean just mentioned, I started law school in the darkest moment of my life. Just three weeks after my sister, who was only 25 years old, suddenly passed away. I was a broken soul. My heart was shattered into a million pieces. I have searched and searched, and I am now convinced that the English language lacks a word that captures the type of raw pain we feel after tragic loss – especially when a young person dies. Some of you know that kind of pain, and I am sorry if you do. My relationship with this law school will forever be defined by my struggle to heal. I was not alone in that struggle. There were so many people who helped me. Friends, family, faculty. And yet I spent most of law school convinced that I would always be broken. What I didn’t know then but I know now is that the heart never completely heals. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be full again. And back then I certainly couldn’t have imagined a day like today. The law student who could barely get out of bed because of the pain would have taken in this scene and dismissed it as some sort of fever dream. And yet here I stand, with a full heart, astonished that I get to speak to you and say these words:

Dean Gerken. Distinguished members of the faculty and administrators. Thank you – truly – thank you for welcoming me back. To the families of the graduates, I can only imagine the flood of emotions you’re feeling right now. Congratulations on a job well done. To my family, and my children, who are here today: you are why Daddy’s heart is full again. And finally to the Class of 2024 – the newest graduates of Yale Law School. Congratulations on this incredible achievement. You are an extraordinary bunch. And it’s an honor to share this day with you. And to do so the year that Yale Law School celebrates its two-hundred-year anniversary.

For two hundred years, graduates have gathered right here, in this town, on the banks of the Long Island Sound, to mark occasions just like this. The induction of a small group of students into the legal profession. A small group of students that, by tradition, is chosen to study here because of their excellence and creativity, their untamed minds and rebellious spirits. Dreamers and changemakers. Filled with potential and ready to unleash it into the world.

For two hundred years, the graduation ritual has kept history’s beat. There is something steady and comforting about it. The consistency of it all. The pomp and circumstance. The black robes and goofy hats. The ritual serves an important purpose. It unites each class with generations past and future.

But the ritual also obscures a deeper and fundamental truth. One we rarely acknowledge. It’s the reality that not all graduating classes are equal. And that’s because not all times are equal. Some generations have left this place in times of relative peace, calm, and stability. And then there are other generations – the rare ones, and I believe the consequential ones – that graduate in times of great uncertainty and tumult and tension. When it seems like our destiny stands on knife’s edge.

We gather at one of those times. The currents of change are fiercer today than they have ever been in my lifetime. The velocity is different. The volume is different. The rancor is different. The anxiety is different. The stakes are different.

Just think about it. We now question the sturdiness of public health, of precedent, of capital, of climate, of alliances, of democracy, of tolerance, of trust, and of truth. And because of our deep divisions, “We, the People” look more like “Us versus Them.” We demonize difference. And are too cruel to one another. And no matter your politics, you have to admit that this is not sustainable. Something’s gotta give. Because whatever healthy looks like, this ain’t it.

All of this would have been unthinkable – unspeakable – when I sat where you sit at my graduation from law school. We were so confident that certain principles were universal and true. Built on bedrock. And destined to last.

But this is the world you’ve been given. The world you inherit. The urgent question is what your generation – this rare and consequential generation – is going to do with it. How will you shape this world in your lifetime? Because, believe me, our future will not be determined in one year, or in one election cycle. It’s the work of a generation. It’s what you’ll be remembered for. It’ll be your legacy. And it’s what I want to talk with you about today.

Now, just to set expectations, there are no easy answers here, and ultimately the question can only be answered by you. But I do have a suggestion. One that I think makes sense. And if you let me, I’d like to offer it up for your consideration.

When I look around at the world you inherit, I think we have more than enough combatants. People who are hopelessly dug into their trenches, fighting to the bitter end. What we don’t have is enough healers. Enough peacemakers. People of humanity and empathy and grace who are prepared do the hard work, the necessary work, the careful work of stitching us back together. Before our wounds become scars. And we no longer recognize ourselves. Only healers can do that. Only peacemakers can do that. Combatants can’t. Because it’s impossible to bind a wound with a clenched fist.

I believe your generation has the potential to heal us. To draw us closer together at a time when we’re being pulled apart. To replace the impulse of cruelty and condemnation with the discipline of curiosity and kindness. But I want to be clear. This is not a call for you to trim your sails or abandon your deeply held beliefs. Far from it. Your passion is tied to your potential and will always be needed. And by calling for healing, I’m not absolving the people who have peddled and profited from the toxicity and division we are struggling with. History will be their judge. But who they are should not dictate who you become. And I believe your generation can be something very different. A bridge over troubled water. One that lifts up our shared humanity above all else. Above narrow self-interest. Above clan and camp. So that we can see ourselves in each other. And so that we can give grace as freely as we hope to receive it.

Now, before you dismiss this as naive or Pollyannaish, let me ask you this: How else does all this end? And not only end, but end well? By doubling down and forcing people to see things your way? By speaking louder or flexing harder? I don’t think that works. Because the truth is, if the power of intellect, or logic, or wealth, or if military power, or political power were enough to bridge our bitter divides, then we wouldn’t be where we are today. If simply commanding 5 votes on a court of 9, or 270 electoral votes on a map, were enough to settle all scores, then we wouldn’t be where we are today.

That kind of power will never be enough. As graduates of this school, you will wield tremendous power over the course of your careers. In government, in private industry, in academia. And yet that wealth of power will never compensate for our collective poverty of humanity, empathy, and mutual grace.

And remember, history teaches this. Humanity, empathy, and grace have been the foundation stone of almost every prophetic vision of a brighter future. From Dr. King’s call in the depths of Jim Crow for a Beloved Community that included all of humankind, oppressor and the oppressed, reconciled into one and bound together with love. To President Lincoln’s call for a Just and Lasting Peace that would heal a young and broken nation still at war with itself. To Scripture’s ancient words that “Blessed are the Peacemakers for they will be called children of God.”

My point is this. We may not have seen times like this with our own eyes. But history has. And history teaches that in times of conflict, times of tension, times of extreme division, it takes people of goodwill – people with a stubborn commitment to humanity, empathy, and grace – to bring about peace and healing.

Now, let’s talk action. And whether it’s possible to incorporate what I’m suggesting into the practical work of lawyering. A profession you join today. And one that, as part of the gig, sometimes involves taking sides and duking it out.

I believe it is possible. Because I believe these times demand a broader conception of our obligations as lawyers. To weigh what is best for community and country, not just client and cause. It’s a conception of lawyering that has fallen out of favor but was once embodied most famously by a man known as the People’s Lawyer, the original public interest lawyer: Louis Brandeis. As a practicing lawyer, Brandeis was firm in his belief that lawyers should never lose sight of what is best for society. He chose his clients and styled the positions he took with this as his guiding light. He steered his clients towards solutions that accomplished the greatest good. And he withdrew from representations when he believed his clients were wrong and they refused to make it right. This was not without controversy. When Brandeis was nominated to the Supreme Court, he was pressed at his confirmation hearing to explain whether his approach to the law was ethical. Who exactly did he represent? — the Senators wanted to know. Brandeis made clear that he viewed himself not as counsel for this client or that, but instead as Counsel to the Situation.

I think Brandeis was onto something. Because the truth is, not every client who can afford your wage is worthy of your work. Don’t get me wrong, everyone is entitled to counsel. Good counsel. Loyal counsel. Zealous counsel. But let’s be clear: not everyone deserves your counsel. You graduate as leaders, not hired guns. Your labor is precious and the fact that you – a graduate of this institution – associate yourself with certain clients and certain causes will carry extra weight. And the presumption of legitimacy. So be choosy. Be big-hearted. Be public-minded. Be mindful of our situation. That’s the essence of being counsel to the situation.

This will require you to ask yourself hard questions as you practice law. Questions like, what’s the right thing to do? Does this serve the greater good? Does this sit well with my soul? These are not legal questions. They are moral ones. Questions that have nothing to do with common law and everything to do with common decency. And how you answer those questions will determine whether, day by day, in acts big and small, your work can steer us to a better place.

Some of you may question whether it’s fair to ask your generation to help heal wounds you did not create. I get that. It’s a lot to ask. But our obligations run to each other. Across difference. And across generations. To people you know and people you never will. And look, at some point you must have wondered why you, of all people, were blessed with the extraordinary gifts you’ve been given, if not to change this world for the better? And to do so when it mattered most.
And the truth is, you’ve now been trained for this. At its best, this school teaches that principled dissent should never be confused with hopeless division. It teaches that transformational change requires both the courage to speak and the humility to listen. It teaches that brilliance without compassion is pointless, like a map with no True North. It teaches that we must take care of one another. Because that’s what healthy communities do. And that’s the magic of this place. It’s now up to you to carry that magic forward and apply it to a world that so desperately needs it.

Now, I want you to do one last thing. With your mind’s eye, I want you to imagine a world, two hundred years from now, when a future generation gathers right here, in this town, on the banks of the Long Island Sound, for their graduation. What do you want that generation to say about your generation? About how you lived and how you led and how you practiced the law. Let them say that when faced with a world filled with bitter conflict and deep division, when the currents of change were fierce and unrelenting – and threatened to sweep away things we hold dear, that your generation made the choice to be that bridge over troubled water. That your generation was the first to see the dawn through the darkness. And that your generation helped us heal.
But know this. Whether they say those things is ultimately up to you. Because that history has yet to be written. Those pages are blank. And, starting today, you hold the pen.

Congratulations to the consequential Class of 2024. I wish you the best of luck.

Thank you.