Time-honoured ceremony symbol of the elite, or a chance to dress up and feel like a wizard?
The heavens have opened their gates and unleashed a storm of winged swine. On June 15, 2016, at precisely 5:17 p.m., University of Guelph English undergraduate student Sameer Chhabra—described by some as a comforter, philosopher, and lifelong friend—convocated from the aforementioned institution.
In attendance were notable members of the university faculty and administration, literally millions of cheering fans who used social media to deliver their messages of pride, and family members taking so many pictures that you’d swear they were practicing for final exams of some sort.
When pressed for comment, Chhabra spoke with his usual insightful candour.
“It’s just graduation, people,” said Chhabra. “I’m pretty sure everyone here has at least graduated from high school.”
Following this abundantly elitist statement, witnesses claim that Chhabra reached for his head as if to throw a mortarboard in the air, only to dejectedly shuffle away once he realized that most Canadian schools don’t award mortarboards.
Chhabra was later seen softly weeping in a corner as Vitamin C’s pop hit “Graduation (Friends Forever)” played quietly in the distance.
So, convocation was last week. Over the course of five days and 22 ceremonies, almost 4,000 University of Guelph students sat in War Memorial Hall and received what, for many, will be the final speech from President Franco Vaccarino and key members of their respective faculties.
Regardless of what comes next, it’s undeniable that graduating—or convocating, if one is so inclined —comes with a certain amount of pomp and circumstance. The ceremony speaks to a good morning and good life, filled with flashing lights and the glory of a bright tomorrow. Graduates are made to feel like passing through the hallowed halls of a university institution is the hallmark of a stronger champion. We’re reminded that everything we are is not everything we will be, and that certain homecomings are outside the purvey of our so-called big brothers and big sisters.
One wonders, however, if the whole thing isn’t a bit much.
After all, when post-secondary attendance wasn’t the mandate—when a bachelor’s degree or college equivalent wasn’t necessary for success in the job market—graduation was actually much more substantial. However, much like Barry Bonds after he stopped visiting his favourite pharmacist, graduation has become something of a deflated affair. If everyone’s graduating, and if everyone needs to graduate, does graduation not become commonplace? Do the circumstances of common graduation not remove some of the pomp?
Amidst these pop culture references to dated 2007 hip-hop albums and Sir Edward Elgar, one is forced to suggest two benign, but contradictory, arguments. Graduation is a dated affair, but it is an essential one to remind those who do manage to make it out alive that the so-called real world isn’t necessarily as foreboding as it may at first seem.
Make no mistake, the whole graduation process is sorely rooted in an antiquated past—where dressing in wizard robes and wearing frilly hats meant that one was able to enter the realm of academia and maturity. What it’s become, however, is an opportunity for our equally frilly dressed superiors—our deans and chancellors, our professors tenured and emeriti—to deliver one last useful bit of wisdom.
In short, it’s become something of a last lecture after the Last Lecture. Many students, myself included, have yet to truly complete their academic journeys. For many, a master’s degree and a following PhD, is desirable, necessary, or both. In fact, for the future generation of doctors, lawyers, and business professionals, the real academic challenge has yet to come.
I argue, however, that the outdated, antiquated graduation ceremony is a welcome change of pace—a reminder that hard work and determination truly do pay off. I argue, in summation, that we keep the graduation ceremony, if only to recognize our personal successes and the successes of our peers before we’re all forced to shuffle alone into the infinite vastness of a real world with very many real problems that have few real solutions.