Food Tank President Danielle Nierenberg recently delivered the commencement address at the 44th Commencement Ceremony for the Friedman School of Nutrition Science and Policy at Tufts University. Below is a copy of her remarks.
Thank you, Dr. Economos. It’s truly an honor to be here with all of you today.
I’ll admit—I was terrified when I got the invitation to give this speech.
I’m still a little nervous, and maybe that’s a good thing.
Because one of the things I learned at the Friedman School is that if something doesn’t make you at least a little nervous, it might not be worth doing.
So, bear with me.
Because I may not be the smartest person in this room today.
But I am one of the best listeners.
That’s something else I picked up here at Tufts, and I’ve carried it with me everywhere.
I’ll be honest with you—this is special for me.
This is the first time a Friedman alum has been invited to give the commencement address.
What most of you probably don’t know is—it’s also my first commencement. I skipped my own.
I was in Washington, D.C. that day, working at my dream job at an environmental think tank.
It wasn’t much of a dream salary. I was scraping by, crashing on friends’ couches, and genuinely thrilled to be there.
And if you had asked me when I was 16 years old where I wanted to work, that think tank would have been my answer.
Back then, I was a gothy nerd, and nothing could have felt more right than being in the heart of the environmental and agricultural sustainability movements.
I come from a small town called Defiance, Missouri—appropriately named, I think. Growing up there really set the tone for the rest of my life.
I spent years trying to escape farming, only to spend the next two and a half decades getting as close to farmers as I possibly could. Not in a creepy way, I promise.
I am fascinated by their stories. And even though Tufts gave me a great education, I’ve learned more from farmers than from any professor.
I’ve made it my mission to amplify the voices of farmers, food workers, women’s groups, and youth organizations—people who are the backbone of our food systems and whose work often goes unseen, underappreciated, and undervalued.
When I was living in Cambridge and going to school here at Tufts, I juggled three jobs.
One was as a nanny—which, let me tell you, was way tougher than anything the Peace Corps ever put me through. I’m a big fan of my own stepsons, but nannying was not my calling.
I also worked in a restaurant. And I’ll just say this: if you’ve never worked in a restaurant or on a farm, like I have, I’m not sure we can be friends.
I sincerely hope you’ve had that experience by now—and if not, you still have time to make it happen.
Beyond those jobs, I had an internship that one of my professors encouraged me to apply for. And it basically turned me into an investigative journalist.
I was digging into who was funding certain organizations that were promoting nutrition and health propaganda. It was eye-opening work.
But more than that—it was about the questions I started asking, the conversations I started having.
I had no idea what I was doing back then.
But looking back, I realize I was learning exactly what I needed to learn—about the food we eat, and the people and the systems that produce it. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was real.
I had to be scrappy. And Tufts taught me that being scrappy is a pretty good way to go about life.
As I reflect on all the people, I’ve had the honor to meet in my career—from farmers to scientists and policymakers to the agricultural economist I married—I’ve realized something important: there is no magic pill. No silver bullet to solve our food system’s problems.
But there are countless ideas, projects, and initiatives that—with a little more attention, research, and investment—could transform the way we produce and consume food. Some of these changes may seem small, but a large amount of incremental change can add up to a massive movement.
And when my dream job became less dreamy, I decided to start my own organization. Starting something from scratch is very hard and very scary, but it does let you make up the rules—which, if you can pull it off, is a nice perk. In our case, my co-founder and I decided we wanted to focus less on the problems in the food system and more on the solutions. We wanted to make a place where these incremental changes could accumulate.
I’m really proud of Food Tank. It exists because of what I learned from my mom and dad—that I could do anything—and what I learned from Friedman: the tools to actually do what I wanted.
I’ve had the opportunity to travel around the United States and visit over 70 other countries—from the American Midwest to Burkina Faso to India. And I’ve learned that the heart of change is in the stories of the people I meet—the farmers, the community leaders, the advocates for sustainability.
They’re the ones working on the ground. And they have solutions we need to pay attention to and learn from.
By the way, remember when I said starting something new is scary—whether it’s a job or an entire company? The reason it’s scary is that, somewhere deep down, you know you are going to make mistakes. What you need to understand is that not only is it okay to make mistakes—everyone already knows you’re not perfect.
The important part is that, when you make mistakes, you’re resilient. You learn from them, and you keep moving forward.
One of my earliest mistakes was misunderstanding the role of farmers in the food system and the environment.
I mentioned earlier about hightailing it out of Defiance at 18 years old. When I looked at the rows of corn and soybeans there, all I felt was trapped.
As an environmentalist, I blamed farmers for destroying the environment. But thankfully, during the Peace Corps, I met a lot of farmers.
And they changed my life. I saw the connections between how we produce and consume food. I rode around on motorcycles with extension workers who introduced me to farmers growing indigenous crops using sustainable, regenerative practices.
And I finally got it.
I saw how important farming communities were to food and nutrition security and environmental protection. It wasn’t an epiphany, but a slow realization that I should have been listening to farmers all along.
I remember one visit I made to a group of women farmers in India.
We were sitting under a tree. I had been with them all day, basically interrogating them about their work. And then they started peppering me with questions.
Not about myself. But about what women farmers were doing in sub-Saharan Africa.
They wanted to know how others were handling drought, how they were marketing their crops, what tools they were using.
And it hit me. These women weren’t just looking for aid or advice. They were looking for each other.
That’s when I truly understood the power of information sharing.
The most valuable thing I could offer in that moment wasn’t funding or expertise—it was connection.
That spirit of sharing, of learning across borders and boundaries, is one of the most transformative forces we have in food and agriculture.
So, here’s what I want you to take away today: I know it’s an incredibly uncertain time to be going out into the world. But that is exactly why the world needs you to act.
You’re already equipped with many of the tools you need—whether it’s the knowledge you’ve gained here at Tufts, or the tenacious spirit that is part of who you are.
Don’t be afraid to take on the ideas that scare you—the ones that seem impossible—and run with them like your future depends on it. Because in so many ways, it does.
And remember, progress rarely comes in a flash. It’s the slow, steady accumulation of ideas, efforts, and stories that creates lasting change.
So, as you leave here today, I want you to remember three things:
One, you might be worrying that your dream jobs no longer exist—or that they’re harder to find—especially in a time when some leaders don’t care about food or agriculture or science.
But take it from someone who made her job up: you can still find ways to help people and the planet.
Two, embrace being uncomfortable. Nothing great happens from being comfortable.
The good stuff comes when we show our vulnerability, when we talk to people we fundamentally disagree with.
And understand: there will be times when you need to change someone else’s mind. But there will also be times when you realize you need to change your own.
The ability to change your mind is the greatest superpower we have as humans.
Three, the world needs more listeners.
That’s what Tufts taught me—listen first.
People have stories.
It’s okay to be the speaker sometimes but also be a listener. It’s okay to be a teacher but also stay curious. This is very related to the second point—you can’t change your mind if you’re not listening to anyone else.
When I was graduating, I still had so much to learn from the people I would meet. You’re graduating today, but if you’re good at your job, you’ll never stop learning from the people you meet.
And their stories are the key to making the world a better, more sustainable, more just, and more delicious place.
The world has changed dramatically since you started your master’s and PhD programs.
It’s okay to grieve what we’ve lost. But find ways to fight for what matters. Get busy.
The world is yours now—go change it.
And when you do, don’t forget to feed your curiosity, your communities, and yourselves—with good food, good questions, and good company.
Congratulations to all of you.
Thank you.
Articles like the one you just read are made possible through the generosity of Food Tank members. Can we please count on you to be part of our growing movement? Become a member today by clicking here.
Photo courtesy of Unsplash
