ENGLISH SPEECH GLENN CLOSE Be Kind English Subtitles
When I graduated, 45 years ago, I was the
first woman in my family to earn a college
degree.
My mother never finished high school.
She got married at 18 and had her first child
two years later.
Neither of my grandmothers, or great-grandmothers,
went to collage.
In their society, at the time, it just wasn’t
done.
My paternal grandmother, however, did run
away from Texas and worked in a bank in order
to put her sister through college.
My two sisters never went to college.
So being here today has an extra special significance
for me.
I just want to mention briefly why I happened
to end up at William & Mary.
I won’t go into the complexities of the
story, but suffice it to say that the first
time I saw this campus was in the late 60’s
when I sprinted off the girls’ bus, in my
cheery travel uniform, as a member of a singing
group for which I wrote songs and performed
for five years after high school.
The show was the offshoot of a cult-like group
that my parents fell prey to when I was 7-years-old.
Once off the bus, we enthusiastically set
up our mics and speakers in the old Student
Rec Center on Dog Street, and proceeded to
sing our hearts out for whatever students
paused to listen.
As I sang the simplistic songs and did the
regimented choreography, I studied the students
who were lounging on the furniture or leaning
against the walls and there came a moment
when I knew that I had to somehow leave the
group and come get my education here.
And you want to know why?
It was because, almost to a person, they were
looking at us like this …
as if they were thinking — “Really?”
That’s what I’d been secretly feeling
for a long, long time, but I hadn’t had
the courage to face it and do something about
it.
“Really?
Is this who I really am?"
Somehow, in spite of my ignorance, I sensed
that on this campus, I would find kindred
souls.
So eventually, against their wishes, and with
no encouragement, whatsoever, I left the group
and, 49 years ago, I entered The College of
William & Mary in Virginia, a 22 year-old
clueless freshman, with an essentially empty
toolbox and a passionate determination to
get a liberal arts education and become an
actress.
That fateful September, I walked into Phi
Beta Kappa Hall and auditioned for the first
play being staged that season —Twelfth Night.
Professor Howard Scammon, head of the Theater
Department, cast me in one of the principal
roles: Olivia.
He eventually understood the seriousness of
my intent and was my mentor for the four years
I was here.
Meanwhile, I soaked up everything I could
learn and, like a desert when the rains come,
for the first time in my life I started to
bloom.
The rest is history.
I wanted to tell you about why I ended up
here because I have learned how important
it is to have a healthy dose of skepticism.
I don’t mean cynicism or contempt, I mean
the crucial ability to question and assess
— from a dispassionate, objective point
of view — whatever beliefs or tribes you
eventually choose to espouse.
It doesn’t come to me naturally.
I had been raised to be a total believer,
to not question.
But for me, coming into this ideas-rich community,
having had all my beliefs and behaviors dictated
to me from the age of 7, it was vital that
I learn how to question.
You have a much harder time of it now than
I ever had.
When I graduated, there was no Internet.
You wrote your papers on typewriters!
There was no Facebook, Twitter or Instagram.
I didn’t have the added, enormous pressure
of social media against which to develop as
an adult.
I think my mind would have exploded.
I didn’t have that insistent, seductive
noise in my pocket and at my fingertips.
Even now, I try to question, but how do I
maintain my individuality without thinking
that I am somehow not relevant, not hip enough,
rich enough, not posting enough, that I don’t
have enough followers?
What each of you have, and what you must believe
in from this day forward, is your inherent
uniqueness.
Your singular point of view.
No one looks out onto the world through your
eyes.
Your perspective is unique.
It’s important and it counts.
Try not to compare it to anyone else.
Accept it.
Believe in it.
Nurture it.
Stay fiercely, joyously connected to the friends
you have made here, to those you love and
trust.
You will have each other’s backs for the
rest of your lives.
I wish I were funny like Robin Williams.
I wish I could make you laugh so hard you’d
fall off your chairs.
I’m not wise.
I have had the lucky chance to learn by doing.
After being in my profession for 45 years,
though, I have learned a few things that I
want to briefly share with you today.
In order to inhabit a character I have had
to find where we share a common humanity.
I can’t do characters justice if I am judging
them.
I have to find a way to love them.
The exploration into each character I play
has made me a more tolerant and empathetic
person.
I have had to literally imagine myself in
someone else’s shoes, looking out of someone
else’s eyes.
I urge you to learn how to do that.
You can with practice.
Start by being curious about the “whys”
of someone’s behavior.
Before you judge someone, before you write
them off, take the time to put yourself in
their shoes and see how it feels.
I have been a part of collaborative companies
of actors and directors for 45 years.
Companies are like living organisms, extremely
sensitive to the chemistry, to the contributions
of all those involved.
When I was in a Broadway musical early in
my career, my dressing room was right next
to the stage door.
I wasn’t the star, but I was a co-star and
I was working my ass off every night to squeeze
all there was to squeeze out of what was a
pretty thankless role.
It was hard work.
The play was a big hit, which was fabulous,
but every performance I would empty myself
out, emotionally and physically, onstage and
every night I could hear the producers come
in the Stage Door and pass by my dressing
room, on their way up to schmooze the star.
It really hurt that they never knocked on
my door, not to schmooze or hang out, but
to simply say thank you for the hard work
— eight shows a week — for which they
were reaping huge benefits.
I remember that hurt and because of it, when
I am the member of a company, especially if
I am leading that company, I am careful to
notice everyone on the team, learn about what
they do and thank them.
People like the craft-service guy on a movie
set, who gets up earlier than everyone else
and leaves the set after everyone else, who
hauls heavy urns of coffee and food from location
to location, rain or shine.
To be aware of and to sincerely appreciate
the contributions of everyone on a team makes
a palpable difference.
Then there is kindness.
My nephew, Calen, lives with schizophrenia.
He had his first psychotic break when he was
17.
My sister, Jessie, Calen’s mom, lives with
bipolar disorder.
Ten years ago, we founded an organization
called Bring Change to Mind to fight against
the stigma around mental illness because they
found that stigma is as hard — sometimes
harder — than the diseases themselves.
We decided to talk about mental illness and
stigma on a national platform.
Jessie and Calen were inconceivably courageous,
because 10 years ago, not many people were
talking about it.
The fact is that, conservatively, one in six
of us in this room is touched in some way
by mental illness.
It makes absolutely no sense to me that we
don’t talk about it like any other chronic
illness.
Starting the conversation is the first step.
Two days ago, I was with Calen, in front of
2,000 people, listening to him talk about
living with something as scary as schizophrenia.
I am astounded by how he has willed himself
to manage his illness.
He spoke, albeit sometimes hesitantly, searching
for words without losing his train of thought,
talking with grace and knowledge.
Someone from the audience asked him what they
should do when confronted with someone who
is struggling with mental health issues and
Calen simply said, “Be kind.”
Kindness.
It’s a simple word, but it is essential
if we are to survive as a species on this
planet.
So I come to another thing I’ve learned.
I learned, from reading the writings of the
great Edward O. Wilson, that one of the core
reasons we have been so successful as a species
is that we evolved the capacity to empathize.
That means that the tribes who espoused empathy
were more successful at survival than the
ones who didn’t.
In order for the community, the tribe, to
survive and thrive, we humans had to evolve
the ability to register the emotions, the
plight, the fears and the needs of other members
of our tribe and to respond to them with empathy.
We die without connection.
Nothing is worse for us humans than to be
bereft of community.
Empathy evolved because two eyes looked into
two eyes.
It’s the most immediate and powerful way
we humans communicate.
Empathy evolved because we looked at each
other, face to face, not on a screen.
Studies have shown that the farther away we
get from two eyes looking into two eyes, the
harder it is to empathize.
What I have learned is that if we are to remain
a free and viable society, we need to spend
less time looking at screens and more time
looking into each other’s eyes.
To end, I thought I’d share with you bits
of a letter that somehow got to me from an
old William & Mary friend.
I wrote it to him 42 years ago, when I had
been out in the world for three years.
Reading it from where I am now in my life
and in my career was quite moving.
I wrote:
My mind has been all over the place because
of a very erratic rehearsal schedule.
I did get the part of Estelle in The Rose
Tattoo and am right now of the frame of mind
that I should never have taken it.
The scene is over before it starts.
There is no time to really make any kind of
statement.
… any kind of progression.
So one has to enter as a totally interesting
and real person, be on for five minutes and
leave.
I really hate it, but I suppose it’s a good
exercise of sorts.
I’m just at the despairing stage and am
feeling totally untalented.
… Oh, well.
To maintain any semblance of wit and equilibrium
seems to be a major feat.
As life unfolds before me, I have more and
more respect for anyone who survives and prevails.
Just to endure is impressive enough, but to
endure and to triumph — on your own terms
— is the feat of a lifetime.
Everyone needs so much gentleness and love.
I don’t mean that idealistically; I mean
it as a major means of survival.
There is just too much working against sanity
and civilization.
… from within ourselves, to the differences
between people and sexes … to the whole
human comedy.
Gentleness and love.
I can forget so easily, but it’s always
a great comfort to come back to.
I’m going to cook a hamburger and some zucchini.
Thank you.