This piece is part of Letters on Pragmatic Hope, an essay series in which Wesleyan professors and administrators reflect on a daunting question: How can students act with purpose and efficacy amid an increasingly authoritarian environment? The series aims to gather responses from a diverse group of Wesleyan faculty, offering a vision for how students can turn despair into pragmatism and action.
I am always humbled when student leaders ask for my opinion. It allows me to reflect upon my experiences and give voice to a potentially new perspective for consideration. I have labored over the invitation to reflect on how one turns despair into pragmatism and action in an increasingly authoritarian environment. For as long as I can remember, I have avoided the notion of feeling despair in moments of crisis. Why? It is an emotion my elders frowned upon. I was encouraged not to let despair become a condition that I was comfortable adorning.
When I sought comfort and answers to the “whys” that overwhelmed my Southern childhood upbringing, which often left me feeling conflicted and hopeless, I looked to my maternal grandmother, a minister’s wife, first grade teacher, and an amazing human being. Her answer never wavered. I can hear her say, “Despair is the enemy of hope and unchecked it kills the possibilities of your future.” I am sure she read the quote somewhere and heard it all her life and shared it with me as well. I give you this context as a backdrop for better understanding my reflection on the question that is posed.
Embracing the responsibility and risk required to act and own the outcomes of our future is daunting. It is safe and easy to blame the circumstances of the life we were born into, systems that have oppressed and repressed us, leaders that have failed us, moral decline, apathy, and any number of other reasons one can choose. Inaction and blame let us off the hook. Despair requires no discipline, and allows space for our rage, bitterness, suffering, scapegoating, and emotional withdrawal. It recuses us from the responsibility of outcomes that define our future.
The challenge facing all of us is our ability to identify the risks and turn our despair into responsible pragmatic action. I know we all know this, but it is important to be reminded. We all assess and take on risk differently. Likewise, we each decide how—or whether—to act based on our own sense of vulnerability. Turning despair into pragmatism and action begins with extending grace to one another and creating judgement-free spaces where individuals can make thoughtful choices within our shared communities, without fear of punishment or condemnation. We each must define and find the action that makes sense to us and commit to it without shame.
In moments of political and social uncertainty, despair feels deeply personal, and simultaneously, is collective and consequential. How do we manage our despair, and embrace it not just as a feeling but also understand it as something that affects how knowledge and hope are formed—shaping what we believe is possible, what risks feel survivable, and how we choose to act? These are the challenging questions we find ourselves facing. Rather than demanding uniform responses to questions that have no one answer, pragmatism requires honoring both the emotional weight individuals carry and the inequitable risks they face, while holding space for action and imagination.
When I think of today’s students, Wesleyan students, I do not minimize the challenge ahead of you, nor do I doubt your fortitude. I take comfort knowing that you are the future leaders of the world. I encourage you as my grandmother did, not to let despair derail your purpose and framing of the future. Treat despair with cautionary care. Allow your despair to interpret how you reason, discern fact from lies, interpret evidence, and judge the likelihood of change. Be independent, empathetic, conscientious, and scholars. Trust your instincts and know the strength you bring in collective and independent voices. Be collaborators and team builders. You will need each other to successfully navigate the unknown. The present and future require both vocal and silent leaders. Find your space, own the possibilities, and lead from wherever you are with integrity and compassion for all of humanity.
Willette S. Burnham-Williams is the Vice President for the Office of Equity and Inclusion. She can be reached at wburnhamwill@wesleyan.edu.
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