[Time Trowel] Graduation: No one gets there alone

A trowel (/ˈtraʊ.əl/), in the hands of an archaeologist, is like a trusty sidekick – a tiny, yet mighty, instrument that uncovers ancient secrets, one well-placed scoop at a time. It’s the Sherlock Holmes of the excavation site, revealing clues about the past with every delicate swipe.

Last weekend, I attended the UCLA Anthropology commencement celebration.

As a professor, I spend much of my time conducting research, writing, mentoring students, attending meetings, traveling, and chasing deadlines. Yet the most rewarding part of this profession is not seeing your name in print or your work cited by others. It is sitting at commencement and watching your students cross the stage as the familiar strains of “Pomp and Circumstance” fill the air.

No publication or professional award compares to that moment.

Graduation season often sends me back to my own student days. I think about four pieces of academic attire that mark different chapters of my life: the white toga from Tinambac Central School, another from Naga College Foundation, the sablay from the University of the Philippines Diliman, and the doctoral hood placed over my shoulders at the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa.

Commencement also brings to life one of academia’s oldest traditions. The gowns, hoods, and caps worn at commencement today trace their roots to medieval European universities. The sablay I received at UP Diliman, however, reflected a different tradition. Introduced as an alternative to the Western cap and gown, it drew inspiration from Filipino and Indigenous motifs, grounding academic achievement in local histories and identities.

Looking at old photographs, it is easy to see commencement as the end of a journey. What the images do not capture are the disappointments, detours, sacrifices, and the people who helped along the way.

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I failed history in high school

One of my less celebrated accomplishments was failing first year high school history at Ateneo de Naga University.

Yes, history.

The irony is not lost on me. Had someone told my 14-year-old self that I would become an archaeologist and professor, I would have assumed they had the wrong person.

Things changed at Naga College Foundation. There, teachers and mentors saw possibilities I did not yet see in myself. They nurtured my interest in history and taught me to ask questions about the world around me.

But going to school had challenges. My mother borrowed money so I could stay in school. At the time, I was focused on making it through the next exam or semester. Only later did I understand the sacrifices and determination behind those loans.

Failing history was not the end of the story. It was just another chapter. Like many students, I learned that setbacks are often part of the process.

Years later, when my advisor, Dr. Miriam T. Stark, placed the doctoral hood over my shoulders at the University of Hawaiʻi, it marked entry into a community of scholars. It was one of the proudest moments of my life. Yet it was never mine alone. It reflected my family’s sacrifices, the guidance of mentors, the support of friends, and opportunities provided by institutions that opened doors along the way.

The most important classes

Perhaps that is why watching students graduate remains one of academia’s greatest privileges. Faculty members see more than what unfolds on stage. We remember the drafts, conference presentations, fieldwork challenges, frustrations, and moments when students themselves were not sure they would make it.

This year, I am especially proud to celebrate graduates from UCLA Anthropology and the Southeast Asian Archaeology Laboratory (SEAALAB). Rhian Gibble, Maedeline Salazar, and Justin Flores have contributed to research and public engagement.

I am also delighted to celebrate Joshua David, who receives his MFA in Film Directing. Joshua began as an anthropology student at UCLA and completed research training through the UCLA Lemelson Anthropology Honors Program. Although his path led him to filmmaking, anthropology remains the anchor in the questions he asks and the stories he tells. This year, he was voted Best Director by his peers — a recognition of both his talent and the respect he earned from fellow filmmakers.

Mae Mae and Joshua are Filipino Americans who used anthropology not only to study the world around them, but also to reconnect with their roots and better understand their place within a larger Filipino story. Watching that process unfold has been one of the most rewarding aspects of mentoring them. As an immigrant who has spent much of my career thinking about identity and heritage, seeing students engage with their own histories in meaningful ways is particularly gratifying.

Joshua likes to say that my Fiat Lux course on Philippine food and cultural identity changed his life. I am still not entirely sure whether that was because of the anthropology, the conversations, or the free food. Whatever the reason, his experience captures something I have come to appreciate as an educator. Sometimes the most important classes are not the ones that provide answers but the ones that help students discover where they belong.

Watching these students cross the stage fills me with hope. The graduate walks across the stage alone, but no one truly gets there alone. Behind every toga, sablay, and hood are mentors, families, friends, and communities whose support made that moment possible.

To Rhian, Mae Mae, Justin, Joshua, and the many graduates we celebrate this year, congratulations. Wear every stitch of that regalia with pride. You earned it. – Rappler.com

Stephen B. Acabado is professor of anthropology at the University of California-Los Angeles. He directs the Ifugao and Bicol Archaeological Projects, research programs that engage community stakeholders. He grew up in Tinambac, Camarines Sur.