The following is the text of the keynote speech delivered by U.S. Ambassador to Ukraine Bridget A. Brink ’91 at Kenyon’s Bicentennial Reunion Weekend in May 2024. Watch a recording of the speech.
Thank you very much, President Kornfeld, for that kind introduction. Thanks to you, your family and the faculty and staff at Kenyon for so warmly welcoming me back today to mark Kenyon’s bicentennial year. It is a tremendous honor for me to celebrate the work of so many generations of leaders, teachers and students. We stand on their shoulders this weekend. But I am also aware that running a top institution like Kenyon is a sacred charge and a heavy task.
However august its halls, it cannot be sustained without leadership and vision from the Office of the President. Thank you for keeping Kenyon and the Kenyon community strong and vibrant at the bicentennial. I support your efforts. And I am equally excited to have a chance to take this time outside of Kyiv — yes, it is an arduous journey to get to Gambier involving trains, planes and automobiles — but I am really excited to come to talk to you and also to talk to Ohioans about why Ukraine matters and to be here specifically to mark Kenyon’s 200th year.
What a fantastic week it is to be back in Gambier among friends, faculty and former classmates.
I want to recognize Annie Gordon, director of alumni engagement, for her support in getting me here. And Professor Joe Klesner, who initially reached out to me. When you are a student at Kenyon, the chance to engage with professors like Professor Klesner, who taught me comparative politics many decades ago, and with whom I remain in touch today, is what makes the Kenyon experience so special. They say you cannot go home again, but I think in today’s session I actually get to do just that — albeit in front of 600 fellow alumni — that part is a bit different than when I was a student. At any rate, I am looking forward to our conversation. Thank you.
I would like to ground my formal remarks in the personal. I am sure I am preaching to the choir when I say that a liberal arts education is a valuable asset that only becomes apparent over time. For some, it is the breadth of study. For others, it is the possibility of trying new things. For many, it is about the opportunity to experiment — to find out what you like, find out what you don’t. The power of a liberal arts education is simply this: the ability to prepare us to shape the world around us.
As I look back on my career as a diplomat, including my current assignment as an Ambassador on the front lines of democracy, I can see how my liberal arts education prepared me for the enormous challenges that I would face.
Perhaps a memory we all share from our Kenyon days is the day we sign that book of matriculation. On or around Founders’ Day, new students sign this book, ushered in from the vault in Chalmers Library. As a freshman, that moment made an indelible impression on me. This book, with the names of so many alumni, including many famous ones, underscored how we are part of a tradition that is much bigger than just ourselves — of exploration, of debate and ultimately: of values.
If the value of a liberal arts education is preparing us to shape the world around us, it is learned here through reading, writing and testing ideas that develop the intellectual confidence that underpins action. For me, that has perhaps been the greatest gift of a Kenyon education: the ability to think critically and then act decisively in the interest of shaping the world for the better.
I remember my favorite class at Kenyon was introduction to political science with Professor Ahrensdorf. It was the first year course, called “The Theory of Justice.” And Professor Ahrensdorf made the idea of justice come alive. I was a freshman.
The class was held at, like, 8 a.m. on Tuesdays and Thursdays. But still, it was packed. Only later did I learn that only freshman sign up for 8 a.m. classes. Life is full of lessons.
Still, I remember going to Horwitz House. Some of you will remember that sunken wooden seminar room, whose paneling and age seemed to amplify the gravity of what that course taught. The setup also made it impossible to come in late. What I learned in that course inspired a lifelong passion for political theory and foreign policy as well as a 27-year-career in diplomacy and international relations.
But this is about more than inspiration. Lots of things in your early life can be inspirational. And that is important. But inspiration can dissipate quickly when the going gets tough. What helps you persevere in those times is the analytical framework and deeper intellectual conviction that comes from a strong educational foundation.
My path to the U.S. Foreign Service started the day I happened to walk into what was then known as the “Off Campus Study Office.”
I am not sure what prompted me to enter that office. I was a kid from a small town in Michigan who had never been overseas at 19 years old. But I was curious. In the office, I found some materials on the London School of Economics. The idea of living in London and studying government and politics grabbed my interest and sounded like a great opportunity. So I applied.
The next year, I was in London sharing a flat with 11 other students and watching the Berlin Wall come down on TV in November 1989.
I will never forget this moment. I knew that what I was watching was important but I didn’t know then how impactful it would be for Europe and around the world — and even on my own life. After graduating from Kenyon, I returned to London for graduate school and then joined the U.S. Foreign Service. It is a career that I have loved, and which has given me the opportunity to shape some of the most defining policy and national security issues in Europe in our generation. Still, the going has not been easy, and this is where the skills learned in a liberal arts education have been an incredible foundation.
There are two times in my life when I almost quit the Foreign Service. I’ll tell you about one. For my first assignment, the State Department sent me to Belgrade in what was then called the former Yugoslavia. It was the late 1990s. I had no idea what I was getting into. It was war. And it was ugly. I was a brand-new political officer reporting on Kosovo. In a shocking moment I won’t forget, my boss came into my office with a flak jacket and helmet that was too big and said, “You are now responsible for Kosovo — I want you to go report what is happening. This is going to be hard. If you need anything, let me know.”
I had no idea what I was getting into, but I was ready to put my skills to the test. And I was tested. In those days, we drove around the war zone in unarmored cars, or “soft skins” as we called them.
I learned that you can’t hear the sound of artillery if you are in an armored vehicle, you need to be in a “soft skin,” with the windows down. At that time, the Serbs were committing war crimes against the Kosovars and I was often the first international diplomat, and the only diplomat, on the scene — reporting on the horrific atrocities — families killed, mutilated and left on their front lawns. Houses and lives destroyed with a malice and effort that I didn’t know could be possible.
In the homes, even the sink taps had been broken off so water would just keep running inside, contents strewn about in the yard, cars with windows smashed, tires slashed. I had studied the concepts of justice and injustice, but I had never known or felt what they really meant. It was a heavy responsibility to bear for a young and inexperienced Foreign Service officer fresh out of graduate school and training.
My boss at that time was a fellow American diplomat named Bob Norman; more than a boss he was a friend, advisor and ardent advocate of his team. He knew how hard all this was for me.
I had joined the Service to make a difference, not bear witness to horror. I told him: “I did not sign up for this.” He gently put his arm on my shoulder and said simply, “Yes, you did, you just did not know it.”
Despite the experience or because of it, I went on to work on tough issues in other places. There were many other challenges — inside the bureaucracy and out! But every subsequent challenge felt easier because of the deep mark of that singular experience.
You may be thinking, “Wow, this is a pretty dark turn for alumni weekend,” and I apologize if you’re getting a bit more than you bargained for here. But my simple point is: “Bad things happen.” And it is hard to push through and remain committed when they do.
For me, that’s where my time as a student — here at Kenyon and later on — came in. Those classroom years built the strength to think and work your way through the moments when bad things happen. AND this is what is important: to act and lead with your values and, ultimately, use all those critical thinking skills to do the right thing.
Like Kenyon, the Foreign Service gave me the sense of contributing to something bigger than myself. And the violence of the world I saw, even on that first assignment in the Balkans, made real all the things I cared about as a student. Although I did not know it at the time, the deep scar of that experience provided focus and purpose for the rest of my career — to see that the values of freedom, democracy, rule of law and human rights underpin not only the relations with our closest allies and partners around the world but also set the standard for the global order.
This standard, born out of the great sacrifices of those who fought and died over the last century, have given the free countries of the world the prosperity and stability that we enjoy today.
My early diplomatic experience kindled in me a resolve to do what I could to prevent conflict, expand freedom and promote human rights in the countries and regions in which I would serve. But my passion for these ideas took shape during my own education — and to a very considerable extent — during my time at Kenyon.
So, it might not surprise you that I spent the next 25 years, doing what I could, to use U.S. power to support and shape our relations with Europe — the most important economic and security relationship for the United States. It is through this relationship that we address our most pressing global problems and concerns and challenges: competition with China, climate change and an aggressive Russia.
Fast forward to now. Today, we are facing the biggest land war in Europe since World War II. That phrase may seem grandiose. But it actually belies what’s really at stake and what’s happening, on a geopolitical, military and human level, as I speak.
This past week, in the small village of Vovchansk, police and emergency workers are evacuating civilians because Russia is attacking Ukraine’s second largest city of Kharkiv with glide bombs. Ukraine is fighting for its life across a 600-mile front line and over the skies of every one of its major cities. There are air raid alerts that send us to bunkers every day. And there are rolling blackouts across the country.
As a diplomat, I can confirm what you might suspect: that diplomatic work is based on compromise, negotiation and requires a nuanced view of the world. In diplomatic training, one of the first phrases you learn is “it depends” rather than a set of hard facts. Diplomats like to acknowledge that things have subtle tones and don’t exist in black in white.
That is not the case with Ukraine. Never in our generation have we confronted such a clear example of good and evil. There is an aggressor: Russia. And a victim: Ukraine.
There are 10 million people still displaced, over 500 children killed, and some 20,000 children abducted from their families. Unspeakable crimes on a level I have never seen in my lifetime.
This is a war where Russia has sought to extinguish an entire people for simply seeking to choose their own future. The battle for Mariupol, a thriving port city on the Sea of Azov, which some of you may know from this year’s Oscar winning documentary, lasted three months. Many brave people stayed and fought to try to protect the city. In the end, Russia completely destroyed a city of 400,000 people. And this is true all across parts of Ukraine: cities flattened by Russia’s bombs, missiles and drones.
Many Ukrainian cities are now globally known for the mass graves Russia left behind: Bucha, Izyum, Lyman.
The Ukrainians are resilient and are determined to fight for their freedom — and all they need is our assistance. Recently, I traveled to the vibrant city of Dnipro in eastern Ukraine, where I visited a famous hospital that treats many of the soldiers coming from the frontlines. There, I met a very young and brave soldier — Myhailo — who had just been badly wounded just the day before. I asked the doctor if it would be ok to talk to him. The doctor said, “Yes, please, he wants to talk to you.”
I met him and we spoke for a little bit. And he had one message: “Thank you. Thank you to President Biden. Thank you to the American people for supporting us.” It was a very emotional moment. We all choked up in the room at the time. And despite his injury, he was nothing but positivity and gratitude.
It is not surprising if you step back to look at what this fight is about. Ukraine, the breadbasket of the Soviet Union, was one of the first to insist on its independence — and it has been fighting for its freedom for over 30 years.
This fight has been brutal and included two revolutions where Ukrainians rose up to remove leaders who were failing to pursue the aspirations of the population to join Europe.
In the center of Kyiv is the monument to the “Heavenly Hundred.” The 100 civilian protestors who were brutally killed for their peaceful call for a European future for Ukraine. Ukrainians refer to this as the Revolution of Dignity. That’s really all you need to know about Ukrainians. They are fighters, and they come together to do so when they see their chosen future at risk.
As the Revolution of Dignity spread, Russia invaded Crimea and occupied Ukraine’s eastern Donbas region in 2014. What followed has been 10 years of slow, grinding war along an eastern front. Ukraine lost 10,000 people even before Russia’s full-scale invasion two years ago.
The discussions of territory and borders belie what this is really about: Ukrainians insistence that their future is theirs to decide. The future they are striving for is one where their country and their children will be a part of the transatlantic family of nations — that means in the EU and in NATO.
Over three quarters of Ukrainians support joining NATO, and the majority of Ukrainians, over 80 percent, have a favorable view of the United States. And this outcome would, of course, be good for Ukraine. But it would also be very good for Europe and the United States, and bring in one of the largest, most capable armies into our preeminent security alliance.
Keep in mind — Ukraine is fighting a war on many fronts: clearly, they are fighting a kinetic land war with Russia. Less obvious, but just as important in some ways, is Ukraine’s war against institutions of its post-Soviet past, most notably corruption and weak regulatory bodies. A lack of real checks and balances on power.
All these legacies are areas that Ukraine seeks to change and overcome to move toward its Euro-Atlantic future. Average Ukrainians want clean government and reform. They value independent institutions. They want a system that is transparent, fair and doesn’t just favor the connected few.
We are with Ukraine in this, as strong democracies and economies are based on strong institutions and rule of law. It is critical for Ukraine’s strategic goals as well as to attract the private sector investment it needs for its recovery, which the World Bank assesses at more than $480 billion so far.
Whether it’s defending a nation or educating the next generation, people matter. Human agency is a learned skill, in my experience. It is transferred by example from one generation to the next.
I think we all hear the word “Kenyon” and think back to one of the people who mattered, or a few people who mattered, to your experience here: most likely a professor or coach, perhaps another student or a mentor. It’s so core to the experience here. For me, when I think about Kenyon I hear the voices of some of my favorite professors. Juan De Pascuale, Harry Clor, Fred Baumann, Roy Wortman.
For many of us, Kenyon is also about life-long relationships. The north stars that help you in the darkest moments. Perhaps Kenyon’s greatest gift to me were two of my closest friends — for now going on for over 30 years — who were my Kenyon classmates and people whom I turn to even today.
As we celebrate this special weekend — this wonderful bicentennial — it is not lost on me that we do so at a time when the concept of a liberal arts education is being questioned. Schools like Kenyon are being forced to go to great lengths to explain the value of a liberal arts degree. Detractors will say it is too broad, doesn’t teach hard skills, or doesn’t help you get a job. My lived experience offers a profoundly different view.
Not only did Kenyon instill in me a life-long love of learning, but the liberal arts approach to education gave me the tools I needed both to find my passion and pursue it over the course of my professional life. I chose public service but there are so many ways to impact our world. And a liberal arts education can help us find that purpose and pursue it to achieve our broader goals. That is of tremendous value to us as a nation. Our society still needs a liberal arts approach. Perhaps more now than ever.
Our decision to lead the free world in supporting Ukraine’s fight for freedom, together with 50 partners around the world, will be seen as an inflection point in history. But this is one act of many of millions of people — in Ukraine and around the world — seeing the barbarity of Russia’s actions, working together to respond to this illegal use of force by a nuclear power.
This fight is not over. What happens next will show whether Ukraine’s decision to stand and fight, and our decision to support that fight with others around the world, was one that ends in a way that protects the people of Ukraine and the values of the United States and other democratic countries. Ukraine’s determination to write the future of their nation is why so many people around the world have been inspired by their fight, including so many Americans.
But beyond the inspiration of a people fighting for their freedom as our forefathers fought for ours, what’s at stake in Ukraine are our vital interests. A Europe “Whole, free, and at peace,” has been the keystone of our security and prosperity for 75 years. Even in our Congress, where divisions can be wide, when I talk to representatives on both sides of the aisle — and I talk to them frequently because they are very interested in Ukraine — there is a general understanding that if Putin achieves his goals in Ukraine, he won’t stop there; he will keep going.
Defending the United Nations Charter — and its commitment to sovereignty, territorial integrity — is essential to our own prosperity. We know that allowing Putin to redraw borders by force will embolden would-be aggressors everywhere. This is what autocrats do.
Monday is Memorial Day — a day on which we remember those that made the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom, and to defend our values as a nation. In the past century, much of that sacrifice was in Europe across two World Wars where American soldiers bore witness to horrors that elicited the refrain, “Never again.”
Our nation knows the price of freedom. And we have always been willing to take a stand against injustice in the world. In the past two years, Russia has committed over 100,000 documented war crimes and atrocities in Ukraine and against Ukrainians. As President Biden, who has been clear about what is at stake in Ukraine from the first day of the full-scale invasion, said regarding Russia’s war on Ukraine, “Unchecked aggression is a threat to all of us.”
It is a lesson that I’ve learned throughout my career. But it is a lesson I learned at Kenyon, first.
Thank you.
