“最重要的是，不要撒谎”

奇马曼达·南戈齐·阿迪奇

Congratulations to you and to all your loved ones who are here. I spent a wonderful year at the Radcliffe Institute2 here at Harvard， doing a fellowship in 2011. And I fell in love with Cambridge and so it’s very good to be back.

I grew up in Nigeria through military dictatorships and through incipient3 democracies. And America always felt aspirational when yet another absurd thing happened politically， we would say this can never happen in America. But today， the political discourse in America includes questions that are straight from the land of the absurd， questions such as “should we call a lie a lie，” “when is a lie a lie.” And so， class of 2018， at no time has it felt as urgent as now that we must protect and value the truth.

So before I tell you about not lying， I must first admit to lying. I routinely lie about my height even at the doctor’s office. In Lagos4， when I’m meeting friends for lunch， I lie about being stuck in traffic when I’m really still at home only just getting dressed. Now， there are other lies. Sadly， however， I cannot tell you about them without having to kill you afterwards. But what I know is that， I have always felt my best and done my best when I fear toward truth， when I don’t lie. And the biggest regrets of my life are of those times when I did not have the courage to embrace the truth.

Now telling the truth does not mean that everything will work out. Actually， it sometimes doesn’t. I’m not asking you to tell the truth because it will always work out， but because you will sleep well at night. And there is nothing more beautiful than to wake up every day， holding in your hand， the full measure of your integrity.

Many years ago， before my first novel was published， I attended a Writers Conference here in the US. It was a gathering of many aspiring writers and a few established writers. Now the former， the aspiring writers sucking up to the latter， the established writers， was a revered5 ritual of the conference. And so during one of the breaks， I walked up to a man， an established writer whose name I knew well but whose work I had not read. I shook his hand and told him what a fan I was. “I love your work！” I said. His wife was sitting next to him. “So， which of his books have you read？” she asked. And I froze. “Which have you read？” she asked again. Everyone at the table was quiet， watching， waiting. I smiled a mad smile， and I mumbled， “The one about… the one about the man discovering himself，” which， of course， was complete bullshit. But I thought it might be convincing since that kind of describes half of all the novels written by men. And then I fled. But before I fled， I heard the writer say to his wife， “Honey， you shouldn’t have done that.”

But the truth is that I shouldn’t have done that. To read a novel is to give honor to art. Why lie about giving honor to something to which you have not？ I was of course absolutely mortified that day， but I have come to respect what that writer’s wife had—a fantastic bullshit detector. And now that I have the good fortune of being an established writer， I can sense when a person is saying empty words and it feels much worse than if they had said nothing at all.

When I first started sending out my early writing to agents and publishers and started getting rejections， I convinced myself that my work had simply not found the right home， which might have been true. But there was another truth that took me much longer to consider， that the manuscript was not very good.

It is hard to tell ourselves the truth about our failures， our fragilities， our uncertainties. It is hard to tell ourselves that maybe we haven’t done the best that we can. It is hard to tell ourselves the truth of our emotions， that maybe what we feel is hurt rather than anger， that maybe it is time to close the chapter of a relationship and walk away. And yet when we do， we are the better off for it.

I understand that the Harvard College6 mission calls on you to be citizen leaders. Whether you are a leader or whether you are the led， I urge you always to bend toward truth to err on the side of7 truth， and to help you do this， make literature your religion. Which is to say， read widely. Read fiction and poetry and narrative nonfiction. Make the human story the center of your understanding of the world. Think of people as people， not as abstractions who have to conform to bloodless logic but as people， fragile， imperfect， with prides that can be wounded and hearts that can be touched.

Literature is my religion. I have learned from literature that we humans are flawed. All of us are flawed. But even while flawed， we are capable of enduring goodness. We do not need first to be perfect before we can do what is right and just.

And you， Harvard class of 2018， are not unfamiliar with speaking the truth. When you stood alongside dining-hall workers during the strike8， when you protested the end of DACA9， when you supported the Black Lives Matter Movement10， you were speaking the truth about the dignity that every single human being deserves. I applaud you. I urge you to continue.

But， remember， that now outside the cocoon of Harvard， the consequences will be greater. The stakes will be higher. Please don’t let that stop you from telling the truth. Sometimes especially in politicized spaces， telling the truth will be an act of courage. Be courageous.

Never set out to provoke for the sake of provoking， but never silence yourself out of fear that the truth you speak might provoke. Be courageous.

Be courageous enough to recognize those things that get in the way of telling the truth， the empty cleverness， the morally bankrupt irony， the desire to please， the deliberate obfuscation11， the tendency to confuse cynicism for sophistication.

Be courageous enough to accept that life is messy， your life will not always perfectly match your ideology. Sometimes even your choices will not align with your ideology. Don’t justify and rationalize it. Acknowledge it. Because it is in trying to justify that we get into that twisting dark unending tunnel of lies from which it is sometimes impossible to re-emerge whole.

Change a slice of the world no matter how small. If you feel a sense of dissatisfaction with the status quo， nurture that dissatisfaction. Be propelled by your dissatisfaction. Act. Get into the system and change the system. Challenge the steel assumptions that undergird12 so many of America’s cultural institutions. Tell new stories. Champion new storytellers. Because the truth is that the universal does not belong to any one group of people. Everybody’s story is potentially universal. It just needs to be told well.

A Harvard degree will give you access and opportunities. But sadly， I have to inform you that it will not make you invincible. You still have that fragile human core at the center of all of us. There will be times when you are petrified13 of failing， when fear of failure holds you back. In those moments， here is the truth that is easy to forget： you don’t actually know that you will fail.

I was lucky to be given a great gift by the universe， knowing from childhood what I loved most. Writing is what I love. Had I not had the good fortune of being published， I would be somewhere right now， completely unknown， possibly broke， but I would be writing.

Some of you here today， like me， know what you love， and some of you don’t. If you don’t know， you will. You will find it. But to find it， you must try. The wonderful Shonda Rhimes14 said very wisely that： “You have to do something until you can do something else.” Try. If it doesn’t work out， try something else. I knew from spending a year in medical school that it was not for me. Actually， that’s not really true. I knew even before medical school. But going to medical school clarified it for me. And it’s not wasted time; it’s experience and experience will serve you in ways you do not expect.

I cannot tell you how many times in the course of writing my second novel Half of a Yellow Sun， which was a deeply emotional book for me， I felt choked with uncertainty. I would climb into bed and eat chocolate. But I knew that after all the chocolate eating， after all the sinking into a dark place， that I would get up and keep writing. The truth is that you cannot create anything of value without both self-doubt and self-belief. Without self-doubt， you become complacent; without self-belief， you cannot succeed. You need both.

There is an Igbo15 saying： “Whenever you wake up， that is your morning.” What matters is that you wake up.

The world is calling you. America is calling you. There is work to be done. There are tarnished things that need to shine again. There are broken things that need to be made whole again. You are in a position to do this. You can do it.

祝賀在座的各位同学以及你们的亲朋好友。2011年，我在哈佛大学拉德克利夫研究院做研究员，度过了愉快的一年，于是我爱上了坎布里奇这座城市，所以今天回到哈佛倍感兴奋。

我在尼日利亚长大，经历了数年的军事独裁统治和早期的民主化进程。美国总是抱有期望，即便是政界又闹出了什么荒谬的事情，我们都会说这种事永远不会在美国发生。然而今天，美国的政治话语中竟也纳入一些荒谬至极的问题，比如“我们应该称谎言为谎言吗？”“谎言何时是谎言？”等。所以，2018届的毕业生们，我们必须保护真相、珍视真相，这种迫切感从未像今天这样强烈。

在告诫你们不要撒谎之前，我必须先承认自己撒过谎。我一向虚报身高，即便是在诊室。在拉各斯，我和朋友相约共进午餐，我谎称自己正堵在路上，而实际上我还没出门，还在穿衣服。我还撒过其他谎，但实在都难以启齿。但我知道，每当我敬畏真相、不敢撒谎时，我都会感到无比轻松，做事情也会竭尽全力。很多时候我没有勇气接受真相，那些就是我生命中最感遗憾的时刻。

讲出真相并不意味着凡事都会得以解决。真的，有时不会。我要求你们讲出真相，并不是因为这样总能让事情得以解决，而是因为你们晚上可以睡得踏实。每天早上醒来时感到问心无愧，没有什么事情比这再美好了。

多年前，我的首部小说还没出版，我在美国参加了一次作家大会。会议聚拢了许多新锐作家，以及几位成名作家。新锐作家要去讨好成名作家，这是大会参与者都会遵从的一条规矩。于是在一次中场休息时，我走到一位成名作家面前。他的名字我早就知道，但他的作品我从未读过。我握着他的手，告诉他我是多么崇拜他。“我好喜欢您的作品！”我说道。他的妻子就坐在他旁边。“那么，你读过他的哪本书？”我一下子僵住了。“你读过哪本？”她又问了一遍。桌子周围的人都静静地看着我，等着我的回答。我极其尴尬地笑了笑，咕哝道：“就是那本……那本关于一个男人自我发现的书。”没错，这完全是胡说。不过我当时觉得这样回答能让人信服，因为男作家的小说有一半都差不多是这种套路。紧接着我便落荒而逃。但逃跑前，我听到那位作家对他的妻子说道：“亲爱的，你不该那么做。”

可实际上，是我不该那么做。读小说是在向艺术致敬。为什么要谎称自己曾向某种东西致敬，但事实却是你从未致敬过呢？那天我自然是羞愧到无地自容，但是我开始对那位作家的妻子那了不起的“胡话探测器”心生敬意。如今我有幸成名，我能觉察到一个人什么时候在说空话，那感觉太糟糕了，还真不如闭口不语呢。

我最初向出版代理和出版商投稿时，曾屡屡遭拒，我就劝自己，我的作品不过是没找对门儿而已，这有可能是真的。然而另一个真相让我花了更长的时间去思考，那就是——我的作品还不够好。

我们很难如实承认自己的失败、自己的脆弱、自己的迟疑;很难承认或许自己没有做到最好;很难如实承认自己的情感——也许我们感受到的是受伤，而非愤怒;也许是时候该结束一段感情，转身离开。但如果我们敢于承认这一切，我们就占据了主动。

我知道，哈佛学院的使命是把你们培养成公民领袖。但无论你们是领导者还是被领导者，我都奉劝你们要始终遵从真相，哪怕为求真而犯错。为此，你们要把文学当作信仰。也就是说，你们要广泛阅读——读小说，读诗歌，读叙事性纪实文学作品，要围绕人类的故事去理解这个世界，要把人当作人，并非只按冷血逻辑行事的抽象物，而是脆弱且不完美的人，有着会受伤的自尊和会感动的心。

文学是我的信仰，它让我明白人无完人。我们每个人都有缺点。尽管如此，我们依然能够怀揣善良。我们无须先变得完美，再去行正义之事。

哈佛大学2018届的毕业生们，你们对于讲述真相并不陌生。当你们与食堂员工的罢工队伍站在一起时，当你们抗议国家终止“童年入境暂缓遣返”计划时，当你们支持“黑命贵运动”时，你们就是在讲述真相，讲述每一个人都享有尊严这一真相。我为你们鼓掌！我奉劝你们坚持下去！

但你们要记住，离开哈佛这层防护，讲述真相的影响会更大，面临的风险也会更高。不过，请不要因此而放弃讲出真相。有些时候，特别是针对某些政治话题，讲出真相需要勇气。鼓起勇气来！

不要为了挑起争端而去挑起争端，但也绝不能因为惧怕讲述真相可能挑起争端而沉默不语。鼓起勇气来！

鼓足勇气，看看这些阻碍人们讲出真相的种种情形吧——不切实际地自作聪明，毫无道德地嘲讽他人，迫不及待地讨好他人，別有用心地混淆视听，以及习惯性地把玩世不恭误作品味高雅。

鼓足勇气，接受生活是一团乱麻吧。你们的生活不一定总是完全符合你们的观念，有时甚至你们的选择也未必与你们的观念一致。不必为之寻找合理的解释，要承认那是事实，因为正是在设法找到合理解释的过程中，我们才会陷入曲折、黑暗、没有尽头的谎言隧道，而且有的时候，我们不可能从中全身而退。

去改变世界吧，哪怕只是改变一点点。如果你们对现状感到不满，就把这份不满装在心里，从中获得动力，并采取行动。要深入现行体制，改变现行体制;要挑战那些支撑如此之多美国文化机构的固化臆断;要讲述新的故事，捍卫讲故事的新人，因为事实上，普遍性并不属于任何一个群体，每个人的故事都具有潜在的普遍性，我们只需把这个故事讲好。

哈佛大学的文凭会是你们的敲门砖，给你们带来机遇，但遗憾的是，我必须告诉你们，一纸文凭并不会让你们无懈可击。跟所有人一样，你们的内心也是脆弱的。有的时候，你们会非常害怕失败，会因恐惧而裹足不前。此时，请不要忘记这样一个事实：实际上你并不知道自己会失败。

我很幸运，上天赐予了我宝贵的天资。我从小就知道自己最喜爱什么。写作是我的最爱。倘若我没有这么幸运，我的小说没有出版，那么现在的我说不定身在何方，完全不为人知，很可能穷困潦倒，但我一定是在写作。

在座的各位，你们中有的人和我一样，知道自己喜爱什么，有的则不然。即使现在你们不知道，将来也会知道。你们会找到自己的喜好的。不过，要想找到，就必须尝试。影视达人珊达·莱姆斯曾说过一句充满智慧的话：“一定要身体力行做些事，直到发现自己有其他才能。”要去尝试！如果一件事不成功，就尝试去做另一件事。我在医学院读了一年才知道医学专业不适合自己。其实这样说并不确切，因为在去医学院读书之前，我就知道自己不适合学医，但学医的经历让我更清楚地认识到了这一点。这不是在浪费时间，是在积累经验，而经验会以你意想不到的方式为你效力。

我在创作第二部小说《半轮黄日》时投入了巨大的情感，说不清在此过程中有多少次因犹豫不决而滞笔不前。每每那时，我就会爬上床吃巧克力。但我知道，吃过巧克力之后，沉沦于忧郁的思绪之后，我还是得爬起来，继续写作。事实上，没有自疑和自信，你就无法创造出任何有价值的东西。没有自疑，你就会自满;没有自信，你就无法成功。自疑和自信，二者缺一不可。

伊博语中有这样一句格言：“无论你何时醒来，眼前即是你的黎明。”重要的是，你要醒来。

世界在召唤你们，美国在召唤你们。未竟的工作需要去完成，失去光泽的东西需要重新绽放光彩，支离破碎的东西需要重新修复完整。你们肩负着这些使命。你们会成功的！